Page 63

Ophelia

T opher’s wake was lovely. A last goodbye worthy of one of New York’s most powerful and wealthiest men’s sons.

Every person who attended it today knew why Topher died. The reason that had been released to the press, anyway.

Camden had accused James of Oliver’s disappearance and was after blood. According to what Topher said when he’d barged into our home, he believed his friend. Thought his dad would kill him next.

My poor would-be stepson. So troubled. So volatile. So very violent. He did have a disturbing past, didn’t he? With his mom’s disappearance and all.

What was James supposed to do to protect himself in his own home?

Shoot them, of course.

That was his account of events.

I supported his version, word for word.

Our interviews were the only way to corroborate our story.

The footage from the cameras installed around the house? Magically wiped out.

The staff? They heard nothing until James called the doctor.

The police chief was happy to make the story go away. Close it and avoid fucking with a man who holds some of his deepest, darkest secrets.

Anyway.

A week has passed since the home invasion. James is back to spanking me and bossing me around. I’m practically healed. The bruise on my chest is no longer a deep shade of purple but has now turned a yellowish hue.

Not like anyone could see it during the wake. My black A-line dress has a high neckline and does a great job of hiding that area.

And the fact that my breasts are a little bit swollen.

“Thank you for coming.” I hear James in the entryway. Hear the soft click of the door closing.

My heart races faster at the sound of him turning the lock. My hand curls tighter around the plastic object inside my purse.

James questioned me about carrying a purse in my own home.

My excuse was that it would look better to the outside world. We didn’t have to rub our happiness in everyone’s faces. I could be a guest for a day. Until we made our relationship official.

It was better this way for everyone involved. No one has asked questions, not even Sage, my former roommate. Especially her. She did her best to avoid me, James, and basically everyone else by standing in the corner of the room.

Understandable.

I would’ve done the same.

“Sonnet.”

A shiver runs up my spine. The authority in his voice will always have heat pooling between my thighs.

“Over here.” Alone. I pulled Clara to the side earlier and asked her to leave when I noticed the people were starting to trickle out.

My pulse kicks up when his steps are louder. When he’s nearer.

When he enters the room, walking toward me.

My man. My owner. My everything.

James is as tall and imposing as he was the first time I met him. His tailored black suit sits on his lean body so well.

Jealousy looks even better on him. He grips my chin, lowering his face to mine. Blocking out everything else.

Topher’s urn, mainly.

For the slightest chance anyone would have the urge to dig up his body, we had to have him cremated. Once we get to Fiji—a vacation to our potential future home—we’re spreading it out into the ocean.

But he had to play the grieving father’s part, and so the urn stayed.

James hates it. That his son can still sort of look at me.

“Is there a reason you’re not waiting for me bent over in our bedroom?”

He ordered me to do it this morning. So that Topher wouldn’t…you guessed it.

Look at me. I’m giddy, suppressing a laugh of excitement.

It’s such a turn-on that he’s jealous like that. That I’m the only one in his world.

“Answer me.” His eyes are dark. Lust bleeds through these icy blues. So much of it that it’s hard to breathe in here.

My body reacts to him. Nipples hard. Heated cheeks. My thighs clench, pussy desperate to have him inside.

“So that’s your answer? Being a brat?” He licks my jaw, my mouth. He bites my lip, tugs at it, and lets go. “Are you asking for a punishment, Ophelia? Before you have my cock shoved inside you?”

My knees buckle, and he catches me, one arm around my back, pressing my body to his. His cock jerks against my belly. I moan. He smirks.

Just like he did last night before he fucked me.

“Horny little thing. You need me to hurt that sweet cunt, don’t you?” Gone is the smirk. His lips press into a fine line. Cock throbbing between us. “Oh, I see. This isn’t about sex for you today, Sonnet. Tell me what’s going on, or I’ll have to spank it out of you.”

His rough treatment. Dirty words. Gravelly voice. I could come on the spot for this man. Another second of this, and I’ll melt into a puddle.

Except I have news to deliver. A secret I’ve been dying to tell him since this morning.

Since James went to instruct the staff on what’s expected of today. I went to the bathroom and locked myself in there. And then…

“I could tell you.” I bite my lip, burning up from the way his gaze cuts to the movement. “But I’d much rather show you.”

“Ophelia.”

The familiar warning doesn’t scare me. It turns me on.

Injects courage into my veins.

I lift my hand.

The pregnancy test is there. Between us. No taking it back now.

A moment passes, then James’s eyes focus.

He reads the word pregnant on the digital screen.

Blinks. Scowls.

“Fuck. Baby.” He steals the test from my grip, releasing his hold on my back to cup my jaw instead.

His touch is rough. His kiss hurts in a delicious kind of way.

Then he moans into my mouth, and I have to, I just need to touch him. I cling to the sides of his neck, yanking him closer. Arching my back, needing my sensitive nipples to feel his hard body.

“Please.” The emptiness in my pussy is killing me. With every passing second, my need for him morphs. Evolves. Becomes intolerable. “James, please.”

He’s harsh and cruel, pulling away. Glowering at me. “How long have you been keeping this from me?”

Through the lust, the need, the unquenchable desires, I see him. He’s not mad.

He has depravity on his mind.

I want his sickness. His punishments. His humiliation.

My owner could do anything, and I’d beg him for more.

“Hours,” I whisper. “So. Many. Hours.”

“My properties don’t get to omit truths from me.” He steps back, leaving me alone. While he watches me, his gaze detached as ever.

He’s looking at me as if I were truly his property.

It’s mortifying. It’s so hot.

My lungs burn. I clasp my hands in front of me. “I’m sorry.”

“Bad girl.” Warmth flashes across his face.

He’s pleased. So pleased that I almost burst out crying.

I won’t.

This isn’t the game we’re playing today.

His warmth vanishes, wiped out by his steely expression. James is back to being as cold as the weather outside, with the snow falling against the windows.

“You’ve earned your punishment.” His knuckles go white around the pregnancy test. The black ink on his hand can’t hide this. That’s how tight he’s gripping it. How much he wants this baby and me. “It’ll serve as a reminder to never, ever lie to me again.”

“I didn’t lie.” Being a brat always makes his punishments worse. Always makes me come harder. “Plus, I said I’m sorry.”

“Your apology means nothing.” His voice is lower than before. Quieter. More lethal. “On your hands and knees.”

“You’re not listening.” I’m taking a risk by taunting him. Poking this monstrous bear. “I didn’t lie, and I said?—”

James’s fist winds in my hair that I’ve left loose today. He yanks on it. Forces my eyes up to meet his heated ones.

God, he’s gorgeous when he’s like this. In control. Bathing me in his darkness.

He shakes his head, slowly. Menacingly.

I shut up. Let him do whatever he likes to me, as always.

And he does. While this strong, awful man manhandles me to the floor, he never lets go of the pregnancy test.

It’s depraved and wrong to play this game. With the pregnancy test still in his hand. With Topher’s urn in the room.

Neither of us seems to care.

“That’s it,” James praises when I’m on my hands and knees.

He’s at my side, his hot gaze roaming my body. Then he crouches, lifting my knees one at a time to pull my dress up from under them before placing them softly on the floor.

“Why are you doing this?” Two can play this game where he’s my big bad wolf, and I’m still his captive. Still in the cell.

“Why?” Tsk, tsk. “Hmm. You really don’t know. What am I going to do with you?”

His hands are on my body. Moving along the curve of my spine. My ass. Bunching my dress up my thighs.

“Don’t hurt me, please,” I fake-beg, knowing full well he can see the dark spot on my panties.

“You’re such a slut for this.”

I scream when his hand cracks on my ass. I melt for him when he does that again.

“Desperate to be my filthy girl. Shaking with how badly you need to be punished. To be humiliated. By me, and only me. Isn’t that right?”

I’m panting, painfully needing him. He brushes my hair to the side, to my back. So I can see him. So he can look at me while he tears my panties off me.

“James!”

“You’ve already ruined them yourself, Sonnet.”

To make matters worse—to embarrass me until I’m burning everywhere for him—he brings them up to his face, studying them. Pressing the soaked material to his nose and inhaling. He’s doing it deliberately slow to mortify me.

He succeeds. I’m struggling to hold his gaze. I wish the ground would swallow me up. That I’d disappear.

I wish I could have him inside me. On me. To have him hurt me like only he knows.

“Were you that wet for me?” He shoves the black material into his pants pocket, just as he had done with the gold keys to the cell all those weeks ago. “Or for him?”

He jerks his chin toward the urn, coaxing an undignified gasp out of me. I choke on air, eyebrows shooting up.

Ignoring my shocked expression, he holds my gaze. Serious. Demanding.

“Well?” He smacks my ass in the same place that’s sore by now.

“You,” I whimper. This shouldn’t be such a turn-on. This is fucked-up, dirty game we’re playing.

But right and wrong don’t matter in this room. There’s just us here. Dark and twisted and us . “It was for you. Always you.”