Page 6

JAMES

A t the sound of the lock flipping, Ophelia wakes up. She snaps into a sitting position, staring right at me.

Fuck me. She’s a sight.

Wild hair. Wilder eyes.

Both duvets have dropped to her waist, showing the outline of her nipples through the thin fabric of her dress.

Curious.

It isn’t particularly cold in her cell.

“James?” Her voice is hoarse from sleep. From crying.

Her suffering has my skin burning up. I’ll never let it show.

“Yes.” The duffel bag I’ve brought down here makes a loud thunk as it hits the floor.

Then I turn around and flip the lock on the cell’s door.

When I look up at her, her brow furrows. Lips curling into a sneer.

I ready myself for the attack I know is coming in three…two…

“Motherfucker.” Ophelia launches herself at me. She doesn’t get very far.

The duvets drop to the floor as she stands up, tangling between her legs. She stumbles into my arms, still screaming profanities.

“Stay away!” Her fists go to my chest, punching against my white dress shirt. “Don’t touch me!”

“Who’s touching who?” As I steady her, I grab her shoulders harder than necessary. If this is the only chance I get to have her, I’ll handle her as rough as I like. “You’re the one who threw yourself into my arms.”

The dim light does nothing to hide the crimson on her cheeks. “Fuck you.”

“As appealing as the idea is,” I say it because it’s the truth. I also say it to terrify her. I could be kinder. Could pacify her. Tell her that, after tomorrow, she’ll be safe. But I’m a bastard. The fear in her eyes gets me hard as a rock. “I’m here for a completely different reason.”

“Oh God. Oh God. Let me go.” She’s relentless in her efforts to punch my chest. As much as this scenario entertains me, I warn her by digging my fingers deeper into her shoulders.

“You’re not high anymore. You—you finally get it.

You see how crazy this is now, but you can’t release me.

That’s fine. You can. Mr. Hawthorne, please. I swear I won’t tell anyone.”

“I meant what I said earlier. We weren’t high, Ophelia.

” Sonnet . The name won’t leave my lips.

Not just yet. Maybe never. “You won’t die here.

Tomorrow, you’ll be transferred to the auction house.

From there, your buyer will take you to your new home.

It’s an honor to be selected for this part.

You shouldn’t be fighting me. You should be excited.

Grateful. Tomorrow is a big day for you. ”

Honored. Grateful. What a joke.

But she has to believe that I’m this person. This unhinged man who gets off on selling unwilling, innocent women like her.

I sure as fuck am not excited about this or her.

Nothing excites me anymore. I’m incapable of either happiness or love. That’s who I am. Born and raised to be a monster.

Her eyebrows scrunch. Her lips curve down. “What happens tomorrow?”

Poor thing. She heard me. She heard Topher.

We didn’t whisper or sugarcoat anything.

Yet she refuses to believe it.

Wish I could be in such a deep state of denial. Would’ve made my life much easier.

“The auction.”

A sob catches in her throat. She twists her head so I won’t see her agony.

I’m not having that. Tonight, her pain is mine. Every last bit of it.

With two fingers under her chin, I force her to look at me. Big, brown eyes burrow into mine. So fucking sad. So full of accusations.

And pleadings.

She squeezes them shut, and when she opens them, there’s fire in them.

“Why are you here, then?” she snarls, finally hearing the truth for what it is.

She doesn’t fight me, though. I’m bigger.

Stronger. She understands she’s lost the fight.

What a precious feeling to evoke in her.

“To mock me for falling for your son and ending up here? Well, fuck you. I don’t love him.

I had a crush on him. That shit lasted, what? Two months tops.”

I shouldn’t search for proof that she really, truly is over him.

It’s infuriating that I do. My jaw tics as I stay absolutely silent. Waiting for her to fill the silence with more of her ramblings.

“I kept waiting for him to be something other than this…nothing.” Her lips pinch. Yeah, she isn’t into him. She resents him. “So, guess what?”

Caring about her feelings and their history is pointless. Come tomorrow, she’ll be gone.

I’m wasting precious time by listening to her. Time I could spend touching her. Humiliating her. Violating her without fucking her.

Doing everything in my power to get her out of my system.

I ask anyway, “What?”

“More of nothing.”

Her admission does things to me. Things I won’t entertain, not even in my own head.

Ophelia saves me from having to think about it a second later by stomping my foot. The soft contact of her bare foot hardly registers.

She growls at my stony expression.

“I didn’t love him. Do you hear?” I’m getting harder and harder with each word.

It’s wrong to like it, how there was nothing between them.

“I couldn’t. So if you’re here to mock me for being a silly little girl who didn’t see the signs, you can turn around and fuck right off.

My only mistake was showing him kindness by agreeing to this one last dinner. ”

She stops talking, and I…

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck .

This isn’t an emotion that makes me pull her as close as I can.

These are my most basic instincts that make me thread my fingers through her hair. They’re the reason why I tug on her lush strands until she’s looking up at me.

I’m a conqueror. I take . That’s what I do.

There’s nothing behind this primal act other than taking her.

Ophelia’s lips are far, though. She’s so goddamn far and I have to taste her. To press mine to her forbidden ones.

I slide my hands to the sides of her neck.

I lean into her.

And I kiss her.

She tastes like sin. She’s the reason I haven’t kissed another woman in years.

Having to be gentle is eating me alive. Keeping from biting on her plump bottom lip and making her bleed for me has my temples throbbing. The buyers can’t see that another man has had her.

Even if that man is me.

But—yes, there are other things I can do to her. Like coax her mouth open, despite how tight she shuts it.

There’s no saving herself from me.

I groan, and the sound is foreign to my ears. It doesn’t belong to the controlled man I am. The calculated one.

He’s gone now.

Kissing her has fucked with my psyche. For these few minutes that I swipe my tongue along hers and pull her closer—while she resists me—the civilized man in me checks out.

A beast has taken his place. I suck in her air, lick her, tilt her head to get deeper into her mouth. I squeeze her neck when she moans, when she groans and slams one hand to my chest.

Ever since I was born, my heart has been locked behind walls. Barricaded inside my chest. No one can get in here, not even my son.

I don’t love . I don’t care .

I might be responsible for some people, but that’s where it ends.

I don’t desire anything other than power.

A flash of irritation stabs at my gut. It resents the lie.

I desire her . Her lips. Her tongue. Her screams.

Her submission. She gives it to me, unable to resist the urge to please me once I’ve got her right where I want her. After I slide both hands into her hair.

Ophelia eases into me.

She kisses me back.

And that’s so good. Too good.

Hints of red wine and steak and her blend into my mouth.

Closed eyes and long lashes on rosy cheeks are everything I see.

Soft hair and a silk dress are all I feel as I slip my hand over her hip, pinning her body more tightly against mine.

Mine. Mine. Mine.

Fuck. What the hell am I doing?

She’s not mine. Never will be.

She sure as fuck isn’t supposed to enjoy this.

I wrench myself from her, scowling as I step back.

The pain of losing her warmth is uncanny, yet necessary.

“James.” Her rough, breathless voice is going to ruin me. It’s as if she’s still kissing me.

She won’t win. I take another step away from her, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand.

Her taste remains on my tongue. Highly unlikely that it’ll ever go away.

“James. Please.” Ophelia comes closer.

Her expression is torn. Eyebrows lowered. Forehead scrunched.

Her swollen lips part as though she were going to say something.

I have no use for her words. I see what’s going on in her head; I see it perfectly clear.

She hates what we’ve done as much as I do.

We both resent how much we liked it.

“Please.” Her chest expands. Is she breathing in hope? She fucking shouldn’t. “We can leave here. We can have that, this, somewhere else. You and I.”

She’s too close. Ophelia raises her hand.

She absolutely shouldn’t.

In a moment, her fingers will brush the skin of my jaw.

I slap it away.

She tries again. I’m done fucking around, catching her wrist like the bastard that I am.

We stare at each other, fire burning in our eyes.

A million miles between us won’t lessen my need for her, it seems like. The realization is a blow to the chest.

It’s a rude wake-up call.

Because after tonight, I’ll have to let her go. For the sake of the plan.

For her sake.

I won’t risk her life because she fucks so goddamn well with my head.

A line has to be drawn between us.

My hand around her wrist feels dangerous. Like I might snap it.

I fucking might. Break her to pieces just to put her back together again.

No.

“Lose your clothes.”

“James, if this is about Topher.” I’m curious, so I listen.

Fuck me, I listen. “He’s a good man, deep down.

Your only son. I get that you want to please him, but surely, he doesn’t want to do this, right?

” Her free hand gestures at the cell. “Not really. Or he might, but you could talk him out of it.”

“Was I unclear, Sonnet?”

“Sonnet?”

“I said.” Ignoring the slipup, I stalk forward, forcing her back until the backs of her legs hit the bed. My lips are inches from hers, my eyes watching the terror in hers. My hand wraps around her throat. “Lose. Your. Clothes.”

“Why?” Courage flashes across her face. Anger.

She’s a bold little one.

I won’t have it, won’t lose my edge, no matter how hot she is.

Time to instill fear in her. Show her I’m not playing.

“Topher said you were a virgin.”

She gasps. Goosebumps race up her delicate arm. Her pulse hammers beneath my thumb.

“Unfortunately for you, I can’t take his word for it.”

Her pupils are enormous. She’s stopped blinking.

“I’m going to have to see for myself.”