Page 28

OPHELIA

“ T ell me, Ophelia.” His free hand lowers to my breast, rolling my peaked nipple between his fingers. It hurts. It feels good. “Are you happy that she’s gone?”

“No,” I lie. In my head, a picture of him and another woman appears. Both of them welcoming Topher and me for that first dinner. Infuriating. “No, I’m not. If she were alive, I wouldn’t be here. You wouldn’t have bought me or planned to kill me.”

“Killing you.” He tries the words on his tongue, it looks like. James closes his eyes briefly. When he opens them, his stare is wicked. “Will believing I’m going to kill you make you cry harder?”

“Don’t trick me.” My body turns against me, forcing out a fresh wave of tears. I cry even harder at the frustration. At the ache in my bones. “You’re going to kill me. That’s what you do to women.”

“Yet that doesn’t change the fact that you’re jealous. Of a dead woman.”

“What difference does it make?” I try to cower from him. Raise my hands to my eyes, desperate to stop this madness inside my head.

“It does.” Too easily, with one hand, he peels mine off my face, pinning my wrists over my head. The other one is back on my throat. “The truth, Ophelia. Stop testing me.”

“Fine. Fine. I am. I’m glad she’s not here.” This isn’t right, these emotions he brings up in me. I have no claim on him. I shouldn’t get attached. Shouldn’t be happy about another woman’s unnecessary death. “Argh! I hate you!”

“No, you don’t.” He examines me closely. Silently. “You want to live. With me.”

My jaw slacks. Talk about whiplash. “I—What kind of statement is that?”

He lowers his hand down my chest, squeezing my tit. Grinding his cock on me. He hurts me so I’ll fear him. Moan for him. “Answer me.”

“The first part, yes, you psycho.” I’m not sobbing anymore. But it’s as if my tears obey James. I still cry rivers for him. Traitors. “Of course I want to live.”

“Then you’ll do as I say.” The pressure on my breast is gone, except what happens now is worse.

He pumps two fingers in and out of my mouth.

“You’re going to suck me. You’re going to do it while you think about all the ways I’m going to kill you.

You’ll cry on my cock. When I make you come, you’ll scream around it. ”

An understanding passes from him to me. He…

He’s not going to kill me.

This is a game to him. He gets off on my fear. On my tears.

He should die for this. I should be the one plotting his death.

Impossible. That’s the last thing on my mind. The last, when it needs to be the only thing I think of.

I do want to live. I also want to be his.

“Good girl.” His eyes are back to ice cold. Colder than the night outside. “Good fucking girl with your good fucking tears.”

Pulling out his fingers, he then offers me a swift brush of his lips against mine. That’s it. He gives me an achingly short moment of tenderness before manhandling me so I’m lying on top of him.

I’m sitting on his cock. He has his fingers biting into my hips.

The pressure between my legs grows into an ache. James slides his hands up my body, winding his fingers in my hair, and dragging me into a scorching kiss.

Too soon, he yanks me off him, then manhandles me again until my pussy is over his mouth. Until my mouth hovers over his dick.

I’m panting the lower I go, my hands trembling, weak with need. With fear. With so much confusion. I have nothing to do but wait for his orders. Wait until he puts my sick world back together.

“Wrap your lips around my dick.” He groans when my tears land on it. “Suck me just like you did in the cell. Don’t stop. Even when I make you come so hard that you gag and choke on me. I’m the one who decides when I’m done.”

He’s conditioned me to be turned on by his demeaning orders. Either that or I’ve been craving this my entire life.

I’ve been craving him, period.

Maybe if he does end up killing me, it won’t be that bad. I’d have died at the hands of the only man who ever saw me. The only man who reached into my soul. The only man I never wanted to leave.

“Do it.” His hand cracks on my ass, on the welts he’s left there.

I grab the base of his cock. He’s so hard. Veins cord his length. A drop of precum wets the tip.

“Too slow, Ophelia. I see you need proof I’m the vicious monster you think I am. The man who’ll end your life and throwing away the body.” His hot breath and threats have my thighs clenching. “I’ll give you one.”

Eviscerating that last inch between us, James forces my pussy to his mouth. The pleasure is insanely strong. Painfully so. I reach forward, clawing at the sheets. Trying to escape him.

He’s brutalizing me. A pleasure assault that makes me scream and beg him to stop.

He doesn’t let up.

He does worse than that. He tilts my hips up. Pushes his mouth between my pussy lips.

Bites my clit.

“Stop,” I scream. I cry. I scratch his thighs, drawing blood. “It’s too much.”

No words come out of his mouth. Nothing but growls as he sucks, bites, and licks me in the ruthless way of his. At some point, I’m not sure if it’s pain or pleasure I’m experiencing.

All I know is that I feel. That I’m scared.

That I need more.

I give up on getting away, starting to ride his face. Oh God. Oh my fucking God, that, that, that , right there. I’m getting used to the pain, and it’s so good. Using him. Grinding my hips on him as much as his grip allows. It’s not much, but he knows what I need better than I do, somehow.

When my climax comes, my vision darkens. My lungs burn. I’m shaking all over.

I don’t know what this is. All I know is, “James.”

Six harsh smacks to my ass are a command. An order.

A reminder of what else I’m desperate for.

While I ride my orgasm, he builds another one within me, and I shove his cock into my mouth. He thrusts his hips up until the head hits my throat. I moan at the fullness in my mouth. At the sound he’s making against my pussy. At pleasuring this monster.

In the back of my head, I remember our conversation. What a horrible man he is. What awful things he did.

How he might lie.

How I’m not upset about it. Not really.

I need this.

Wrapping my hand around the base of his cock, with his mouth on my pussy, I start sucking him. I spit on him. I lick him. I gag on him.

Everything we’ve done in the cell, except now we’re in this new position. Now we’re in his bedroom.

“God, fuck. Ophelia. That thing you do with your tongue.” He pumps my pussy with his fingers while he talks. “Just like that. Don’t you dare fucking stop.”

He coats two fingers with my arousal. I realize too late that he’s lubing them, not pleasuring me. He uses my own juices to help him shove one finger, then two, into my ass, up to the first knuckle.

At the invasion, a scream rips from my mouth. I gag harder. Can hardly breathe. I’ve never had anything in my ass and now I have two thick fingers in there.

I have a cock in my mouth. The cock of a murderer. Of a man who kidnaps and then sells women.

A man my soul aches for.

“Suck harder.” He jerks his hips up, his thighs flexing under my fingers.

“Take me down that pretty throat. Choke on me. Just like that. Yes. Yes. You’re such a filthy little thing.

You’re going to come for me again. This way…

” He bites the inside of my thigh. Groans when I cry out, when I take him like he ordered me to.

“I might change my mind about killing you.”

Whether he means it or not is no longer relevant. What matters is his pleasure. His approval. He swells in my mouth, and I taste his precum. I gulp on it, desperate for more.

“Oh, fuck ,” he groans and pulls my pussy to his mouth.

This has to be the sloppiest blow job ever. No rhythm to it. No rhyme.

Just my tongue flattening on his length, my lips squeezing his cock.

I hollow my cheeks because it seems like the logical thing to do. How more of him will go down my throat without me gagging. I do it while he finger-fucks my ass. While his tongue rubs at my pussy. His mouth sucking on my clit.

I’m done crying, but he doesn’t care. He groans and grunts against my wetness. He gives me everything I need for another orgasm to send ripples through my body.

“You’re mine to ruin,” James says when he’s drawn the last wave of my orgasm from me. “Make no mistake, Ophelia. I will ruin you.”

I don’t know what that means. He doesn’t offer any explanation.

James manhandles me again so brutally to sit on top of him without a shred of tenderness.

But he doesn’t shove me down his cock. I’m just there. For him to hold.

He’s a god, lying on his back, his taut abs on display. His furious glare aimed at me. An evil god.

Maybe I’m not worth that much to him.

“What?” I’m confused, clutching his chest. The despair in my voice is humiliating. “What do you want? Why aren’t you fucking me?”

“Don’t worry about that.” He grips my hips, rocks my wet pussy over his cock, once, twice, then, “Go lower. Let me look into those pretty eyes when your lips wrap around my cock.”

I do. I go down his body.

“I’ll destroy your virgin cunt.” In one shove, he pushes my face down his cock, winding his fist in my hair as he fucks my throat.

I cough, I gag. Spit. He’s getting impossibly harder in my mouth.

“When I decide it’s time. When you beg for it.

Now, be a good girl and look at me. That’s it. Desperate and mine. All mine.”

It’s sick to be turned on by this. He degrades me and humiliates me, uses me up. I suck him, craving it. For long minutes, I give him as much pleasure as he’s taken from me. I give him everything.

Until—“Fuck. Fuck . Yes. Close your eyes.” His jaw tics. “Close your fucking eyes.”

James pulls me off him by my hair. I hear his hand stroking his soaked cock before he comes, emptying himself on my mouth, my nose, my eyes.

I’m drenched in him.

I’m eerily calm.

“Beautiful.” He leaves me there, held up. He must be looking at me. I hope so, even though it’s wrong to wish for it. “Wearing my cum. So fucking hot. It’s infuriating, how gorgeous you are.”

He doesn’t mean that I’m infuriating. I know.

He means that he’s lost control. He means that he’s not himself.

I would’ve told him that he had it all wrong. He’s being exactly who I’ve come to expect of James.

A gentle man wouldn’t have shoved his clean fingers into my mouth so I’d take more of his cum. Even as he carries me to the bathroom, when he gets to washing my face, he isn’t being tender.

Methodical, yes. Careful not to hurt me and get everything off me, sure.

Not gentle.

Maybe I don’t need gentle.

Maybe I never did.

Maybe, possibly, what I’ve dreamed of my entire life is to curl up in bed against the big, bad wolf and take my chances with him.

For tonight, I do just that.