Page 16

Fifteen

Sebastian

Jacob and Gabriel warned me this could happen. That the sudden rush of power, of realizing I have complete control of another human being, could unbalance me and send me spinning along a path I never meant to go down. They gave me tips to overcome it, to stay calm and not lose track of what really matters, but they’re not working.

Blood pounds in my ears, and God, Ophelia is just so fucking beautiful, naked in her collar and high heels. She’s beautiful, and the horrified disbelief on her face just makes this even better. I wasn’t supposed to enjoy punishing her, but, Christ, I am.

“What?” Her voice is high, and I can't tell if it’s anger or hysteria.

“What, sir. And you heard correctly. Take the shoes off first, if you like.”

A bit of the Calder haughtiness makes itself known as she balls her fists. “I’m not doing that.”

I shrug, though inside, I’m screaming. She’s calling my bluff, and even I’m not sure what I’ll do next. I get to my feet. “Okay. If you’re forfeiting the game—” I drop my hand to my belt buckle .

“Wait! No.” There’s panic in her voice. Panic, and true fear. When did I become such an evil bastard? I pause, head cocked.

“You want to keep playing? Tell me properly.”

Her knuckles whiten as she drops her gaze, though the collar keeps her head up. “Yes. Yes, sir.”

I sit, affecting nonchalance even as triumph surges through me. She’s really going to do it. She’ll do whatever I say.

Fuck. It’s almost too much.

She bends to remove the shoes, and her perfect, rounded ass juts toward me. I can’t wait to touch her. My fingers itch, but I hold myself back. First, I can enjoy the show. She makes a meal of removing her shoes, delaying the inevitable, but before long, she’s facing me, skin beaming red.

I twirl my hand like a Roman emperor. “Go ahead. Until I tell you to stop.”

She closes her eyes and mutters something, I don’t know if it’s a prayer or if she’s telling me to go fuck myself. Either would be understandable. Then she jumps, delicate little lifts on her toes. It’s every bit as ridiculous as I thought it would be, and the way her tits bounce has my hand straying to my crotch, rubbing the aching iron bar of my cock through the fabric.

She’s looking everywhere but at me. I almost command her to look me in the eyes, but I don’t trust myself to speak, I’m so caught up in the way her body moves. Her skin gradually deepens from its usual light tan to a deep, beaming red. Is she getting tired yet? Bad luck, if she is, I could watch this all day.

Her leash jolts around to the rhythm of her jumps, and the end catches under her foot. She stumbles, grabs the leash and shoots me a desperate glance. She’s breathing hard now. I should put an end to her misery.

Not yet, though.

“I didn’t tell you to stop. ”

She flinches at the words, but gets back to work. She grips the leash tightly now, knuckles white on the leather. Her tits are probably getting sore from all that movement. I really should let her stop.

Soon.

There it is. That swell of power. I should feel embarrassed by how much I’m enjoying this, and if she was a helpless woman, maybe I would. But she’s a fucking Calder, and she’s performing just for me.

Christ. If I make her keep going much longer, I’ll come in my pants. And that would be a terrible waste. I raise a hand. “Stop.”

She does, panting hard. I give her a few seconds to recover, then snap, “Hands on your head.”

She lets out a small, pained groan but complies right away. It mustn’t seem like much, after what I’ve just made her do. I study her, top to bottom. Red tinges her chest, neck, and face. Her eyes are a gray storm angled off to the ceiling, and there’s shimmer in them too. She’s fighting tears.

But she deserves this. I’m delivering justice, even though it’s in a messed-up form.

I stand, and she flinches back a step. I give her the full benefit of my friendliest smile, the one that makes old ladies blush. “Relax, pet. You’re doing well. Keep your hands where they are now. I’m going to inspect my property.”

She swallows, an anxious bob of the throat, but doesn’t argue. She’s slipping into obedience, and I’m not sure if I’m relieved or disappointed. I come close, only inches away, and she looks me in the eye for the first time in a while. The position she’s in pushes her breasts up in the most tempting way, and I can’t resist any longer.

I bring my hands to her waist and almost groan at the softness of her skin. It’s been months since I touched a woman, and I grasp the silky texture as if I’m drowning. She sucks in a sharp breath as I trace the bottom of her ribcage, just exploring.

This wasn’t part of the plan. Humiliate her, then send her to bed to think about it—that’s what was supposed to happen. But I’m human, and God, she feels like heaven. I slide my hands up higher, skirting the soft swell at the bottom of her breast. I want to go higher but force myself to linger. Am I teasing her or myself? I can’t think beyond the next breath.

Higher. The soft weight of her tits just about kills me. I find her nipples and roll them between my finger and thumb. She bites her lip as they slowly harden, and I duck my head to her ear. “That feels good, doesn’t it?”

“Fuck off.”

“No. In fact, I think we’ll move this to the bedroom. Come.” I grab her leash and give it a sharp tug.

She gives a last, longing glance at the door as she follows me to my room.

The bedcovers still lie in a tangled heap. No cleaners allowed until I’ve got into some sort of a routine with Ophelia. I throw them onto the floor and point to the bed. “Up you go.”

She obeys but shoots to the corner of the bed, knees tucked up, hiding herself away. Her voice quavers when she says, “Remember. The game. You promised.”

“Don’t worry. We’re just going to watch a movie.” I grab the remote, turn on the TV, and pull up the feed from the miniature hidden cameras in my living room. I select the one I want, rewind to the spot I’m looking for, and set it to loop. Ophelia appears on the screen, naked and jumping.

I get the reaction I hoped for. Ophelia shrieks, covering her eyes. “No. Turn that off. ”

I climb onto the bed, shift the pillows up like I’m settling in for a Netflix binge, kick my shoes off, and sprawl. I hold my arm out. “Come here and open your eyes. That’s an order, pet.”

She crawls over, eyes open but not looking at the screen. I pull her into the crook of my arm and point at the screen. “Watch yourself. Look what I made you do. Should I release this, do you think? Leak it out onto the web? Kendrick would kill me, but I’m not exactly in his good books right now anyway.”

He’d flay me alive and eat my eyeballs, probably. But she doesn’t need to know that.

She stares at the screen, a miserable groan dropping from her lips. “Please. Turn it off.”

I don’t. Instead, I raise up on one elbow and start to play.

Her eyes stay locked on the screen as I trace her curves. She’s stiff under my hands, but when I reach her sensitive nipples, her breathing changes. It’s subtle, but if there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s this. I can spend many happy hours finding the pleasure points on a woman and making full use of them. I know when I’ve struck gold, however much she tries to hide it.

Let's see what else I can find.

I move down the bed, and she shoots me a shocked glance as I place my hands around her feet. I start to massage them, fingers moving in firm circles, and she barks, “What the hell are you doing?”

“We need to work on that tone of yours. Disrespect earns punishments. Do you want me to drag you down to the refectory in just your collar?”

“No,” she mutters, and I pause my massage, waiting, until she adds, “sir.”

Every time she says that, it’s a lightning bolt straight to my cock. I’ve never dabbled seriously in BDSM, nothing beyond a bit of role-play. Making a girl call me sir or master never appealed—too fake and cheesy. But hearing it from Ophelia doesn’t feel fake at all. She remembers, or she gets punished. She’s respectful, or she pays for it.

Jesus.

I try not to let my whirling thoughts affect the firm pressure I apply to her feet or the even cadence of my voice as I ask, “Do the shoes make your feet sore?”

I press my thumbs into her arches, and a tiny, satisfied noise escapes her. “What do you care?” A pause. “Sir.”

I gesture at the bedroom. “I like to keep my property in good condition. You’re no different.”

She makes a quiet, disgusted sound, then answers my question. “Platforms aren’t too bad. Better than stilettos.”

“Good.” I part her legs, just slightly, then move up her calves. The muscles there are tight. She’s been holding herself so tense since she arrived; she has to be all knotted up. Her gaze drifts back to the TV screen, to the looped video of her debasement, and her face twists.

“Keep watching the screen.”

I move higher, parting her thighs and tracing patterns on the soft skin there. I concentrate on the silky-smooth texture, resisting the urge to hurry this or look at her. I want to drag this out, to have her wondering if I’m ever going to move on. The only sound is her erratic breaths. Is she watching me or the screen? I don’t want to break the moment to find out.

I push her legs wide apart, and she makes a plaintive little noise as I finally let my finger graze the very outer edge of her pussy. She’s spread out before me, and the glisten of her arousal almost finishes me off. I finally let myself look at her.

Wide pupils stare back at me, black pools in her stormy gray eyes. There’s high color in her cheeks, and her puffy lips are parted in the most delicious way. Her voice is soft as she says, “Why are you doing this?”

“Doing what?” I drag a fingernail along the edge of her slit, and her eyes flutter closed.

“Touching me like this. You hate me.”

It’s the first time she’s said it, and the words jolt me out of the mesmerized state I’d dropped into. I do hate her. And as much fun as it is working out what spots on her body light her up, she needs to understand this is all part of her punishment.

“You’re right. I do.” I drop my head down, right to her pussy, and spread her apart. The heady scent has me drawing in a deep breath without even meaning to. “And even so, look how wet you are.”

I swipe a finger through the moisture and hold it up for her inspection. “I’ve abducted you. Collared you. Humiliated you. And with all that, you still can’t resist me.”

I give her a devilish grin and swipe the pad of my thumb over her clit. She shudders.

“You were born to be a slave. Just a lost little pet desperate for a master.”

“No!” Her voice is stronger now, pure indignation. I’ve touched a nerve. “I hate this. I hate you.”

“Sure.” I rub over her clit again and, this time, get no reaction at all. “Your soaking wet pussy says otherwise.”

She opens her mouth to answer, but I pull back, and she shrinks away as I lean over her to open my bedside drawer. Her brows knit in confusion as I pull out a tiny bullet vibrator. “Another game.”