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OPHELIA

S ome people are monsters. One hundred percent cruel, evil, neglectful monsters. They’ll call you names or punch you for no reason whatsoever. Do everything in their power so you know you mean nothing to them.

They’ll never show kindness or compassion to anyone. No softness will ever shine through when they look at you, simply because it doesn’t exist within them.

I met those people during my years in foster care.

James isn’t a monster, as much as he likes to pretend otherwise.

He’s rough and cruel. Cold and careless.

Deep down, he has a soft spot for me.

And I…

I hate him.

I also…

Fuck.

The manhandling. The torture. The humiliation. Sucking him off and letting him force one orgasm after another out of me in exchange for food and water. As a way to stay on his so-called good side.

My hatred for him has been dying out one visit at a time.

Our routine has the unfortunate effect of grounding me. Of calming me.

They’ve been growing on me.

He has been growing on me.

More than growing on me. Much more than that.

Butterflies flutter in my tummy whenever I hear his footsteps approach. Being fed by him, being at his mercy, gets me hot for hours after he leaves my cell. In the short time I’ve been here, I’ve been anxiously looking forward to his visits.

As sick as it is.

I don’t have it in me to truly hate him.

Even now. Even when he’s squeezing my throat mercilessly. When everything about him promises violence.

I want him.

I’m so, so very fucked.

Because I’m getting attached to him. And he might—who am I kidding, probably will—end up killing me.

What a cruel joke. I was about to break up with Topher because he wouldn’t fuck me.

James will most likely do it soon. He’ll give me what I want from him and no one else.

After that, we’ll be done. I’ll be done.

Burned to ashes. Buried in an unmarked grave in his backyard. Thrown into the ocean.

Any of the options sounds plausible when it comes to him.

Yet I can’t stop craving this man. Needing this monster like I’ve never needed anyone else in my life.

Who am I? What have I become?

“You were about to let me down.” My toes dangle in the air. Shoulders burning. I’m at his mercy. I’m still making demands. He can’t take away my hard-earned privileges like food and water. “This isn’t part of our routine. Let me down.”

“You haven’t showered in days.”

Humiliation is a slap across the face.

That asshole. I smell bad because of him, and he has the nerve to be disgusted by it. Well, guess what? I won’t be shamed for it.

Hell. No.

I cut my eyes to his crotch. Back to him. “Your cock doesn’t seem to mind.”

“That’s a given. Fucking your forbidden, virgin cunt is all I could think of since the moment I saw you.” His fingers dig deeper into my skin, hurting me. His words sink into my soul. “For the record, you smell fine. I’m giving you a shower for your own benefit.”

James leans into my armpit, darts his tongue out, and licks me.

Fucking licks my armpit.

I moan instead of laugh. I lift my legs to lock them around his hips instead of kicking him.

My mind tries to wrap around this swift change in him while I watch him.

James is far less troubled by it, tying the rope to the hook. Probably so he won’t have to hold on to the end of it to keep me up in the air.

Another way to hurt me.

“No, no, no,” I whine while my heels sink into his ass. “Please.”

He’s bad news. The last thirty minutes have made him even meaner. Whatever he’s about to do to me will be worse than what he’s done so far. I have to stop him.

“You said…” My throat tightens at the feel of James’s knuckles on my collarbone. Of his fingers hooking into the neckline of my dress.

“Yes?” One pull, and the lacey material rips.

This is my cue to talk faster. Which is really hard when all I can think of is being back to our routine. Being on my knees for him. Drinking from his mouth. Taking his cock and?—

Quiet.

“Before, you asked if I knew why I was here.”

He stops tearing my dress, his fingers hot on the skin above my navel.

“Tell me. Right this minute. The real reason, other than you being a kidnapping psycho.” Demanding anything of James Hawthorne is dangerous.

Out of the two of us, he’s the dominant one.

He’s in control. But I need to understand him.

Need him to see me as a person. He liked our time together.

I’m sure he did. He can’t kill me if he likes me. “Why am I being held here?”

A wicked smirk spreads on his face. Slow and deliberate. He lets me watch this terrifying change in him. He hardly ever smiles, smirks, or does anything other than scowl. This can’t be good.

“Scaring me makes you feel like you’re in control over the situation, right?

” My chin wobbles. My voice cracks. My legs grow weak, and I release my grip on him.

“Well, congratulations.” My dress is gone.

He’s torn it all the way down while I was talking.

“Mission accomplished. I’m terrified. Now, can we please return to the way things were before? Just don’t kill me. Please.”

The deep breath he sucks in is an omen. A sign for me to prepare for the worst.

“The reason you’re here is…” He’s talking, but he doesn’t answer my question. Doesn’t tell me if it’s a control thing.

He shows me it is by brutally ripping the straps of my dress, shoving them and the rest of the fabric off my body.

I’ve disturbed him. Shaken his self-control somehow.

He’s here to reclaim it.

“Is the same reason Topher’s mom was locked in a cell in my father’s house over twenty-one years ago.”

I have no idea why she was there. What I know is he’s lying. To me. To himself, I think.

Why?

Doesn’t matter.

He’s done answering, it seems like. He has his belt out, looped around his hand.

A shiver runs down my spine. I point my feet, flex my muscles. Anything to stop the tremors.

The stretch in my shoulders is becoming intolerable. My abs contract as I’m trying to alleviate the pressure, and it helps. A little.

Nothing will help me against this threat.

The most alluring man I’ve ever met.

Fucking your forbidden, virgin cunt was all I could think of since the moment I saw you .

Does that mean he feels the same way I feel about him? That I might not die here after all?

His face. His predatory movements. His words. I have to look closely.

Studying him is how I survive this. No other way.

“Who was she?” I’m desperate for information that might keep me alive.

And I’m jealous of her.

I hate it. My stomach lurches, my body informing me it’s rejecting the strange emotion.

“You shouldn’t be jealous.” I hate that he can read my mind even worse.

He takes a step back, and I have a full view of him. Broad shoulders. Muscles that stretch the material of his T-shirt. Jeans that fall on his tapered waist. Another woman had that. Another woman gave him a son.

Another dead woman.

Oh.

Oh no.

“Am not.” I’m not, I’m not, I’m really not.

“Life didn’t pan out for her the way she imagined it would.”

“I said.” Being hung like this should put me at a disadvantage. I’m weaker, at his mercy. I raise my voice at James anyway. “I’m not jealous.”

He tips his head to the side in a gesture that says Bullshit .

Motherfucker. He doesn’t have to be this handsome when he’s calling me a liar. Before he kills me like he must’ve killed her .

“As to your question about her identity.” The leather of his belt makes an obscene sound as it smacks on his other hand. “She was a med student. Smart and objectively good-looking. A nobody.”

That jealousy rises like a tidal wave claiming my body. Curls around my lungs. I growl in annoyance.

James, tall and infuriatingly blasé, paces the floor in front of me. Paces behind me until I have to turn my head to see him.

“Objectively good-looking, Ophelia,” he repeats. “But I wasn’t attracted to her.”

Crack!

Fire shoots up from my ass, reaching behind my eyes. They squeeze shut, my head bowing back as the sharp pain slices through me.

“You belted me! Monster!” I scream.

“Questioning me…” Crack! “Lying to me…” Crack! Crack! “Taking over my sanity the way you do…”

Another two blows to my ass. Four to the backs of my thighs.

I think I’m going to faint. My vision blurs around the edges. The air I breathe burns my lungs.

“I…hate…you,” I whisper.

A hand tugging my hair pulls me out of my near blackout.

“Sonnet.” His lips are on my shoulder. His light scruff is silk compared to the ache in my ass.

“This pain. This confusion. That’s what you do to my heart.

That’s what I meant when I said that you messed with my head.

I’m willing to bet you already knew. I can’t let you have it.

We are not equals. I don’t feel the things you insist that I feel.

So you’re going to stop all of that right now. You’re my property. That’s it.”

I can’t stop what I can’t control , I think.

Then it’s, Go fuck yourself. I hate you. You’re a bastard.

So many words. Accusations. Fury.

None of them come out. Because of the things he just said. Because his free hand rubs and soothes the tormented flesh of my ass.

“James.” Something so bad shouldn’t feel this good. I’m dripping for him. My nipples are pulled tight. I angle my head toward him, leaning into him. My sadist. My only comfort in this hell I’m in. “This is fucked up. You’re fucked up.”

“Never said I wasn’t.” A squeeze of my ass follows his confession. Where he belted me. I bite my lip to silence the howl. Can’t hold back the tears, though. “That’s who I am. That’s all I’ll ever be.”

He’s lying again. To both of us.

There are many facets to this man. Hidden sides that he himself isn’t aware of. He’s had to be this person, this monster, for years. But when his lips trace a soft trail up my neck, I see what he can’t. When he licks the tears on my jaw, I know.

I. Know.

“Topher told me she died.” Goosebumps rake along my skin as the words roll past my lips.

He rips himself from me, taking his warmth with him. A series of four cracks , two on each butt cheek follows.

I refuse to sob. To let my breath hitch.

Sadly, the stream of tears down my cheeks won’t stop, no matter what.

“You’re here to listen, not ask questions.” Lust. I hear it in his rugged voice. Feel it in his hand on my waist. “I own you. I control you. Do you understand?”

“Yes, I understand.”

He’s insane. Sadistic. A terrible, terrible person.

I’ve been surviving him.

I’ve been falling for him.

He’s my light. What’s been keeping my heart warm over the past couple of days.

The sight of him entering the cell. Having him take care of me. His rough thrusts that shove his cock deeper into my mouth.

This man is the worst, and he isn’t.

Right now, he’s struggling, and I’m going to help him. No matter how much it hurts. Regardless of what it says about me.

“Again.” Crack! “Say you understand.”

His voice. His attention. The pain that transforms into pleasure.

If he takes my panties off, if he spreads my legs now, there’ll be no hiding the evidence of my arousal.

I’m not sure I want to hide it.

“I understand.” My scream is more of a whisper. There’s not much left in me to offer him, but I try. “I understand.”

The belt drops on the floor with a thunk of metal and leather on stone. James shoves my panties to the floor before stalking out, turning into the hall, and disappearing.

“Don’t go.” Another useless whisper. I need him. Can’t he see that? Or…maybe he does. Maybe this is another torture method. “Don’t leave me.”

“Not leaving.” He’s back inside. The sleeves of his T-shirt have been rolled up his lean forearms, and he’s holding a hose.

Another item I missed on my way here, just like the hook above my head.

“What’s this?” I thrash against my binds, getting absolutely nowhere. I have to stop him. Have to get him talking so he won’t use it on me. “What happened to Topher’s mom?”

James’s eyes have gone from blue to almost black.

“Later,” is all I get before a warm stream hits my pussy.

“What—Oh, oh. Fuck .”

This is hell. This is heaven.

I’ve been wiped clean with a washcloth for days. This is real water. Warm. On my pussy, that’s aching to be touched.

Fuck right or wrong. Fuck how embarrassing this is. Fuck being afraid of him. Of one of the most dangerous men in the world.

Fuck.

It.

Life hasn’t offered me many pleasures. I’ll probably never make it out of here alive.

But I have this man here, sick and adamant about making me come.

I’m taking it.

I part my legs. James takes a couple of steps toward me.

“You’re the worst, Ophelia. Being so good.

So tempting.” He raises and lowers the hose.

Circles my clit with it. Water splatters on the floor.

Behind me. On him. Maybe even on my bed.

I’ll worry about it later. “The stream is parting your pussy for me. Your legs are spread. You moan for me. Beautiful. Oh, no, no. I won’t have that.

Look at me when I’m talking to you.” His fingers are on my chin.

The water blasts my pussy relentlessly. “Look. At. Me.”

My eyes flutter open. I didn’t even notice I closed them. It hurts to be caught in his intense gaze. It almost sends me over the edge.

“That’s it.” He’s so close. The water must soak through his jeans, and he’s still there. His hand moves to my hair, tugging on it. “Such a—Fuck, so good. My good girl. Come for me.”

I don’t understand him. I don’t. How am I his good girl again?

“Come.” He pushes the hose until the plastic presses against my pussy. “For.” He tilts it up, and oh God . “Me.”

My fingers dig into the rope. My entire body strains. Coming like this should be impossible. Yet I do. My climax is a freight train slamming into me at a million miles an hour. It knocks the wind out of me. Wipes out every conscious thought in my head.

James is on me in a second. His lips are on mine, cruel and demanding, kissing me back to life.

He swallows my moans. Steals my breaths. Bites and licks me, driving me further into…where?

The road of no return. That’s where.

“James, I’m going to…” I’m fading away. “I’m going to…”

“You’re going to be fine. I have you.”

Those are the last words I hear. His arms around me are the last thing I feel.

Right before I black out.