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Fourteen

Ophelia

For one beautiful moment, I thought I was safe. Well, not safe exactly, but back in the invisible protective bubble I’ve lived in my entire life. The untouchable daughter of someone too scary to cross.

I let myself believe that protection had caught up with me here and a new hairdo and ridiculous lips that sting like hell would be the worst I got out of this experience. Better than losing a finger. I might be able to laugh about that sort of thing one day.

But the look on Sebastian’s face as he popped that bubble? It wasn’t funny. We step into the elevator, and it’s a coffin lid closing behind me. My reflection stares back from the mirror, and it’s not me. It can’t be me.

How can a few small changes turn me into a different person? I thought the dark hair would look terrible, but it doesn’t. My skin, even without makeup, has a glow to it. My eyes, framed by the eyelashes, stand out much more than usual. The swollen lips pull my face into a sensual expression, even though it’s the last thing I’m feeling .

It’s not me. I lean closer, staring at my face as the elevator dings.

“You look amazing. Come on now. Plenty of mirrors in my place.”

Of course there are. I can’t stop a hysterical laugh bursting out, the unladylike honk my dad hates so much. Sebastian just smirks, and his gentle hand on my lower back might as well be the jaws of a trap. We have twenty-one hours together, at least. We’re about to be alone. He’s made his intentions perfectly clear.

Sex slave.

Property.

Pet.

Call it what you want. It all leads to the same place.

The apartment door closes behind us, and I study it for the first time. It has a palm pad to open it, just like the entry at the front door. Do all the rooms have built-in security? Is every door we’ve passed a little prison cell?

Sebastian fills a glass of water and hands it to me without a word. I stare at it, then up at him, brows creased.

“It’s called water. You drink it.” he supplies as he fills his own glass and takes a long drink. “I’d offer you juice, but it’d be painful on your lips.”

He’s right. I know the recovery procedures, but why does he? “What do you care?”

He shrugs. “I don’t really. Drink what you like.”

I resist the urge to throw the glass at his head and take a sip. I wince as my lips touch the cool glass, and Sebastian watches with interest. “Are they sore?”

“Yes. You bastard.”

“Women pay thousands for them. It can’t be that bad. You own a clinic, for God’s sake. Don’t be a baby. ”

I almost choke on my next mouthful of water. My hand tightens on the glass. I could throw it. He’d probably dodge, but it’d be—

No. I study his face and force my arm to relax. The blown-out pupils and the cruel twist to his lip is a warning siren shrieking into the space between us. He’s goading me, and if I lose my cool, he wins. He wants an excuse—any excuse—to do what he’s clearly dying to do.

My hand shakes as I set the glass down. Something is holding him back. A tenuous thread, keeping the predator under control. What is it? Can I find it? Maybe, just like my dad, he has a twisted moral code that he follows. And maybe, just maybe, forcing himself on me is outside the boundary. If so, it’s another bubble of protection. Weak, but all I’ve got.

I try to inject disdain into my voice. “So, I suppose now you shove your dick in me, right? Show me what a big, tough guy you are?”

His jaw twitches, the only visible sign I’ve hit the mark. “That depends on you. We’re going to play a game.”

The air leaves the room as he says the words, and every muscle in my body freezes. A lifeline, but a frayed one that could snap at any second. Scenes from the Saw movies tumble through my head. A game? What fucking game?

He closes the distance between us, a stalking cat, and I shrink back against the door. “The game is you do exactly what I say the moment I say it, and I don’t fuck you today. Does that sound fun?”

My head spins, but these sort of mind games are familiar to me. Growing up, my brother liked to trick me into agreeing to stuff. I try to block out Sebastian’s looming presence, though his spicy cologne washes over me and I swear I can feel the heat from his body even though he’s not touching me .

I lift my chin and meet his gaze. “What, so you order me to stab myself in the face or drink bleach, and suddenly it’s my fault I’m getting fucked when I refuse?”

His brows raise for the beat of a heart, then his face resets to smooth amusement. “Clever question. I won’t order you to injure yourself, leave the apartment, or do anything to change how you look. Like telling you to shave your eyebrows off or anything like that.”

There’s a lightness to his voice that wasn’t there a moment ago. He likes that I’m engaging with this game. He wants me to argue the rules. What else should I ask for? One huge possibility springs to mind. “And you won’t touch me.”

A tiny smile quirks his lips. “No can do on that one. Request denied. Any other suggestions?”

I shiver, and his eyes darken when he notices. His patience is waning, and I’m running out of time. I blurt out the first image that comes into my whirling head. “You can’t stick anything else into me. No fucking me with a broom handle or—”

I cut off as he splutters a laugh. “Jesus. If you want to give me ideas, you’re going about it the right way. Deal.”

Deal. Shit. “And I won’t—”

“No. That’s enough rules. It’s time to play. Oh, one more thing.” He pauses, an orator aiming for dramatic effect. “From now on, you need to call me sir.”

Seriously? What a sad little power play. As if I care. I mutter, “Fine,” and look away, but his fingers find my chin, dragging my gaze back to him.

“That’s not how you say it.”

Oh. Right. Okay then. “Yes, sir.”

It’s just a word, but heat scalds me as the phrase leaves my lips. Sir. Why the hell should he be sir? Why does he deserve it? He doesn’t, and it’s meaningless, but my face flushes anyway. It must be a crimson beacon.

“That’s better. Ophelia Calder calling me sir like a good little pet. I’ll have to video it. Make sure it gets back to dear old Daddy.”

Ugh. God, no. I could just about handle Dad seeing me dragged around on the leash, but complying like this? I’d die. Even though it’s not like I have any other options. If my face gets any redder, it’ll set alight. Maybe I can burn this whole building down with the force of my embarrassment.

Something prickles on the logical side of my brain. Does he want to antagonize my family? The rest of the people here seem averse to that. Why isn’t he scared of them? Does he know something the others don’t?

“He’s already going to kill you. The more you piss him off, the longer it will take.” I wish I sounded more like a confident crime boss and less like a petulant teenager.

Sebastian just grabs my dangling leash and tugs. “Come. No more backtalk. Complete obedience, or you know what happens.”

The heightened color in his cheeks and his rapid breathing tell me he’s really, really hoping I lose this game. Then he’d have his excuse, and hey, suddenly he isn’t violating me. It’s just a game. It chills my blood, and I follow quickly.

“Stand here.” He points to a spot in the middle of the floor, and I, good little pet that I am, take the allocated position. He drops the leash and circles me, taking me in from every angle as I try to stand tall in the heels and not fidget. My feet ache, and the collar’s restrictive pressure makes my breaths come faster as he says, “Get those clothes off.”

Predictable, but knowing it was coming and hearing the words are millions of miles apart. My blood races, adrenaline pouring into my bloodstream. I can’t. I can’t do this. Not just because he’s told me to. It’s too shameful. Too weak. I’m a goddamned Calder. He can’t do this to me.

He sinks gracefully down onto the designer sofa. His movements are smooth, hinting at power beneath that elegant suit. Power I don’t want directed at me. Power that will be if I disobey. He leans back, arm relaxed on the arm, face expectant.

After a long beat of silence, he adds, “The response I’m waiting for is, ‘Yes, sir.’ Then you take off your clothes. In case you weren’t clear.”

Damn him all the way to hell and back. There’s a hole in the pit of my stomach, and it’s growing second by second. He doesn’t say anything else to hurry me along, and why would he? He doesn’t want me to do as I’m told. He’s counting the seconds, waiting for enough time to pass to satisfy his twisted moral compass. Waiting for the moment he can do what he really wants.

If I let my pride take over, he wins the game.

“Yes. Sir.” I spit the words, which gains me a knowing smirk. Then I grip the bottom of the hideous top and pull it over my head. Don’t think about what I’m doing. Don’t look at his smug goddamn face. Get the horrible clothes off my body, and have done with it.

The top tangles in the leash, and I battle with it for a few mortifying seconds before I get it free. It lands on the floor, and I kick it away.

Don’t look at him. Pretend he’s not even there.

Bra next. I unhook it, freeing my breasts from the extreme, uncomfortable push-up, and fling it to the side. Sebastian lets out a rough groan as my breasts fall free. “Oh, that’s a good little slut.”

What the fuck did he just call me ?

My head snaps round, the sudden motion digging the collar into my neck. All my resolve to pretend he’s not there evaporates. I look at him, and oh, God, I wish I hadn’t. He leans forward, legs spread wide, all the relaxed elegance he showed a moment ago long gone. His expression is pure feral desire.

The refined veneer he wraps himself in has shattered, and what it’s revealed is so, so much worse.

“Carry on,” he demands, gaze burning a path through all my defenses. I’ve never felt so vulnerable, but that expression keeps my hands moving. It doesn’t matter. He can call me what he likes, he can strip me, but if I play his game, I’m safe for tonight.

And tomorrow, I’ll get out of here. I’ll find a way.

I yank down the skirt and lacy panties. Don’t look at him. Just don’t look. I clutch the chain of my leash, just to give my hands something to do. I’m not going to cover myself. That would make it worse.

He makes a noise, and it sounds almost like a laugh. What? My head turns, drawn by a magnet, to see his lips twisted up in the way that is starting to scream danger. He relaxes into his seat, some of his composure back, and scans me up and down.

“This is the best game of Simon Says I’ve ever played. What should I make you do next?” He makes a show of thinking. “I know. Jump up and down.”