Page 38

JAMES

T ime flies . I always considered it such a fucking cliché. A thing people say.

Every second of my life has been long and accounted for. Whether I spent them suffering, scheming, or being the best at what I do.

The hours have constantly crawled by.

During the time Topher was growing in his mother’s womb, it’d been agony. The last month was the worst. I couldn’t leave the house in case she went into labor. In case my father got in a particularly sadistic mood and decided to pull the trigger on her himself.

In those days, I hadn’t been half the man I am today. My dad had me under his thumb. I’d been subjected to his psychological and physical abuse for years.

Anyway. That was then. This is now.

I’m here, in the kitchen, leaning against the granite island and staring out at nothing in particular.

And wondering, because I’m fucking clueless, as to how this week has gone by so fast.

I loathe this dark blue suit I’m wearing. It means I have to return to the routine I’m no longer interested in.

For the first time since I can remember, I wish I could stay at home rather than head out to the office.

Trials, contracts, negotiations, and threats, none of these appeal to me.

What gets my cock hard and my blood pumping is nothing and no one but Ophelia. This creature. This siren who’s shared my bed over the last few nights. Who’s wet for me when I fuck her in her sleep. Who latches onto my silence.

Who’s obsessed with violent sex. Who submits to me, doing everything I order her to. Like walking naked around the house just because. She opens her mouth to take my cock or tell me about herself when I tell her to.

She makes me hug her. Makes me want to hug her.

Read next to her. Rest next to her.

Chaos. Mess.

We don’t make sense.

Except we do.

She’s strange. An enigma.

And she’ll be here while I’m in the office. Alone for another week without the staff.

I ordered them to extend their time at the hotel. I trust them to keep a secret, to take extra care when it comes to her.

That’s not it.

I’m the problem. I’m nowhere near done playing with my new toy.

I was delusional, thinking I could get rid of her. That all I wanted to do was fuck a baby into her.

She’s mine. Plain and simple.

“Good morning.” Her voice is as soft as her footfalls. “You’re up early.”

“Always am.”

The dusk’s orange light bleeds into the room. Any day now, it’ll start snowing. Orange will be traded for white light. The snow will reflect the sun, blending into the gray.

A few feet separate us. Six. Three. She stops there, her bedridden hair loose around her shoulders. Her small body hidden under one of my white T-shirts.

She can come closer. I’m aching for her to touch me.

But I can tell she’s scared. Scared and turned on. I see it in her questioning eyes. Hear it in her shallow breaths.

Ophelia scrunches the hem of her T-shirt. “What’s wrong?”

She ignores or doesn’t notice the device in my hand.

Or maybe she does notice it. Maybe that’s why she stays at a safe distance.

“What’s wrong is you’re not naked, Ophelia.

” I’m a monster. I’m turning everything into a game.

I’m hurting her. Pain flashes over her eyes.

She blinks it away. “What’s wrong is you’re being my filthy fucking property.

Standing there, instead of spreading your legs.

Instead of offering me your pretty cunt, like the whore you are. ”

She gulps. Her nipples are taut. “You want me that bad?”

Every minute of every day. Being hard for so long is torture.

I say nothing.

“So. What was going through your head when you looked out there?” Another hesitant step toward me. She’s being a brat. Defying me. Taunting me. Prying into my soul. “Tell me.”

Her scent carries over to me. It’s sex. My shampoo. Her .

Fuck.

Throughout the week, I haven’t shared many more of my secrets with her. Other than a few words yesterday, I’ve offered her nothing, really, in terms of stories. A sick part of me still needs to test her.

Then dominate every aspect of her life.

She has been good, though. I owe her something.

“When I was young, I hated watching the seasons change.” My hand fits around her nape and I haul her to me.

Kiss her sweet mouth that tastes of mint.

Lick her tongue that tastes like mine. “They taunted me. My father upped his torture the older I got. And though I aged, it felt like I was never old enough to leave him. Turning eighteen got me out of that house, but I still had to wait until I was twenty-one. Each season meant nothing but darkness. I could never see the light. Eventually, I stopped caring for it.”

“Oh.” Her palm slips to my freshly shaved cheek. Her fingers trace the line of my cheekbone. The only warmth I’ve ever known, and it’s my captive offering it to me. “We haven’t talked like that in days.”

We’re both quiet. We’re in this together. I’m a part of something.

Us.

There’s an us , and fuck, I can’t be tempted. Can’t get swallowed up in it. A drowning man isn’t good enough for her.

I raise the hand that’s holding a metal cuff at the end of a long chain. The other metal cuff is already locked around a bar under the kitchen island.

“Hands and knees.”

Her expression morphs from warmth to curiosity, then into determination. “Stay home and I will.”

“No.” I leave out the part that it’s a risk not showing up to work. The burden of worrying is mine to carry. “On your hands and knees.”

Her scowl is adorable.

“Maybe.” Her eyes light up when I start negotiating with her. Poor thing, she still has no idea who she’s dealing with. “If you beg me just the right way, I won’t work long hours today.”

“Long hours? You’d do that? Are you kidding me right now?

” Her fists are in the air. Her cheeks are flushed.

Now she’s turned on. Now she’s furious. Now we’re playing my game.

“It’s bad enough that you plan on leaving me here chained and alone.

Now you’re telling me that you plan to be back at what? Midnight? You monster.”

“Owner.” My grip around her nape becomes a punishing squeeze. She whimpers, and I hold her right. Fucking. There. “Not a monster. Owner. A merciful one.”

I lick the corner of her mouth. Feisty thing she is, she twists her head to bite my lips. The only reason I avoid her is so that I’m not bleeding before work.

Otherwise, I would’ve let her.

Otherwise, I would’ve taken great pleasure in punishing her for it.

“As proof of just how merciful I am.” Her body moves in the direction that mine demands of her. I pin her back to the island, dropping the chain and cuff on the countertop. “You’ll get to orgasm before I leave.”

“I can come after you leave.” Her fingers grab onto my waist, nails digging into me. “You’ll be at the office, and I’ll be here. Fantasizing about Topher. I’ll imagine it’s him on top of me. Call him my owner. I’ll come, screaming his?—”

There’s not a decent bone left in my body when she talks like that. Taunting me. Forcing jealousy into me, poisoning me with it.

Choking me with it.

She won’t get to finish this abominable sentence.

I pull out the butt plug from my jacket pocket. I meant to stretch her, play with her later.

It was supposed to be a gift.

She’ll be having it as a punishment instead.

The crystal at the end reflects the orange light hues that filter into the kitchen, grabbing her attention.

I’d revel in her fear, except my mind goes blank as jealousy blocks out everything else.

Everything other than her punishment.

I shove the butt plug into her insolent mouth.

“—name! Topher!” she mumbles around it. Screams. As much as possible, when I have it secured between her teeth. With my hand covering her jaw, I shut her up. “Mmm! Mmm!”

“I’m assuming it’s monster you’re trying to say.

” A minute or so pass. I drag the butt plug in and out in small motions.

Nothing about what I feel is small. Fire burns in the pit of my stomach.

Adrenaline soaks my veins. “Wrong word. Wrong goddamn wrong. As wrong as it was to mention another man’s name. ”

Her mouth is silenced. Her fists are her last weapon against me. She uses them. Punches my chest. Reaches for my neck. I’m heavier than her. More resilient.

My jealousy and rage turn me a million times stronger than I was seconds ago. Never mind that I was stronger than her to begin with.

“Are you going to do as you’re told? Will you beg?”

Spit dribbles down her chin. I lean in to lick it, pushing the butt plug in deeper. The end almost disappears in her mouth. She screams louder, eyes wider. I scare her.

“Be a good slut and beg me to come home early. Apologize for saying another man’s name. His name.”

She pinches her lips. Throws her fists at me one last time.

There they are. The tears of humiliation. Her body’s way of telling me how much she gets off on this.

“You hate this, don’t you?”

She nods, pressing her fists to my chest. Pushing me away. Pleading with me to stay.

I’m still fucking her mouth as I slide a hand down her body. Two fingers go into her heat, making her thighs clench.

“Ah. No panties. And soaked. Yes, Ophelia.” Her pussy contracts around me. Squeezing me as I pump two fingers into her. “Oh, you hate this. You hate me. Hate being humiliated.”

Her “No” is murmured. Her hips thrust into me.

Her arousal runs down my hand.

I pull my fingers and the butt plug out. “Hands and knees.”

“Asshole owner.” Ophelia’s fight shouldn’t turn me on as much as it does.

“Lose the shirt.”

It’s sexy as hell to watch her whip it off her body. To see her kneeling before me, her fingers pointing at my shoes. All the while, her face is an image of indignation.

“Who will you be thinking about when I’m gone today?” I twirl the plug in my hand. Swipe my tongue on it, tasting her spit. Marveling at how her cheeks flush.

Her chin dips. The submissive gesture doesn’t fool me. She looks at me beneath her thick lashes, fuming. “You.”