Page 17

Sixteen

Ophelia

I hate him. I hate him so fucking much. But even more than him, I hate that he’s right. It’s been so long since I was touched like this, and my body is grabbing on to what it can get, no matter the source.

Ever since Harrison almost killed the guy I was sneaking around with in college, I’ve forced myself to be the sweet, not-quite-virginal daughter the Calder family expects me to be. But dirty novels and vibrators can only scratch an itch so far. Years of frustration takes its toll.

And now, this absolute asshole is using it against me.

Sebastian activates the vibrator, and the sound sends a pulse through my clit. God, I’m pathetic. The sound of an inanimate object has me clenching my thighs.

“What game?” I manage. What more can he possibly do to me? My eyes stray to the hideous video again. I’ve never seen anything more degrading. He made me do that, and I’ve only been in his clutches for one day.

“I’m going to make you come while you watch your favorite show. If I fail, I’ll leave you alone the rest of the day. You can lie in bed, watch TV, eat whatever you want, and I’ll keep out of your way.”

Tempting. Very, very tempting. I’d be able to get my head on straight, and maybe, by tomorrow, I’ll be out of here. But I’m already having to fight to keep from squirming on the bed. I swallow before asking, “And what if I fail?”

He smiles again, and I’m pulled in by the expression even though I know it’s a mask. The combination of the flash of white teeth and the amusement in those vivid blue eyes, is dangerous. “If you fail, then I get to come all over that pretty face of yours. And we play the game over and over again until I get tired of it.”

I’m drenched in feelings, floundering in a sea of them. There’s a hot, traitorous pulse between my legs, which I try to ignore, and a sticky dose of revulsion, bolstered by anger. He’s not doing that to me. Absolutely not. He’d probably photograph it and send it to my dad as a Christmas card.

Why? Why did I have to think that?

“Do I get to refuse?”

“Refuse, and you forfeit. I’ll come on your face anyway.”

There’s something about the matter-of-fact way he says these things messes with my head. It’s as though he’s laying out the rules of Monopoly. Shouldn’t he be cackling maniacally or look like a disgusting creep? Shouldn’t he be more obviously messed up?

Stop. Nail down the rules. “How long do you have to do it?”

“Five minutes. And you have to relax and let me do as I please. If you fight, you forfeit.”

Damn it.

“This is gross and sick. You realize that, right? You know this is wrong? ”

His thumb finds my clit, and unprepared, I don’t have time to school my face. My lips part, and I sigh as he circles his thumb. I didn’t think it was possible for him to look more smug. I was wrong.

“I don’t care. And soon, neither will you. You’ll beg for this.”

Arrogant bastard.

He makes a show of checking his Patek Philippe watch. It’s subtler than some I’ve seen but still flashy enough to catch the eye. Irritatingly, it suits him rather than looking overdone. He turns it to me, showing me the time. “Relax and watch yourself on the screen. Five minutes. Starting…now.”

Thank God he told me to watch the screen. If anything is a mood killer, it’s watching myself bouncing like a trained monkey. Pathetic. Weak. I let the rage and revulsion fill me as I stare at myself. The footage has already looped, back to the start. Was it really only a few minutes? It felt like forever. With that sight in front of me, this should be easy.

I expect him to dive right in, target the vibrator aggressively on my clit, but he doesn’t. He presses to the side, so the vibrations only tease. Then he rolls one nipple between his fingers and lowers his head to the other.

Oh my God.

Lines of white fire shoot from his fingers and tongue, straight into my needy clit. The light vibrations, too far from where I want them, have me desperate to press my knees together.

No. Don’t be stupid. Focus on the screen.

I do, but even that pales as Sebastian twists one nipple and sucks the other. Why is he being so fucking gentle? Why is he…

He shifts the vibrator, rolling it over my clit for a second before pulling away. Then he does it again. And again. Everything between my legs is on fire, and I could almost grab his stupid, teasing hand and put the vibrator on my clit myself .

What the hell am I thinking? The screen, the anger. Focus.

I try to, but my eyes are drawn down by the magnetic power of watching what Sebastian is doing. His strong fingers stretch my nipple, twisting just enough to hurt, and I gasp as my core spasms with need.

He looks up, and our eyes meet. His have darkened from a summer lake to an evening sea. He watches my reaction as he twists my nipple again, harder this time, and I can’t hide the way it makes my thighs clench.

How long has it been? Five minutes, surely. I must be safe now, right?

He moves the vibrator again, and this time, he doesn’t tease. He presses it to my clit, and my body surges toward pleasure.

No. No.

I stare at the screen, trying to summon the rage. The anger. It has to be there. I need it to protect me.

But the vibrations roll over my sensitive skin and force me toward the edge. I try to fight it. To will my body to behave. It’s useless. I can’t stop the blistering orgasm that rolls through me, and I can’t even hide it. My pussy clenches, and moisture spills from me, dampening my thighs, Sebastian’s fingers, every damn thing, and my breath comes out in a desperate whoosh.

Don’t moan. Don’t moan.

I bite my lip, but Sebastian sits up anyway, pure triumph on his face. He twists his watch to face me. “Two minutes and fifteen seconds.”

I stare at the time. The numbers are right, but I can’t believe it. Surely not. It can’t be right. Can it?

The aftershocks of my climax still pulse as Sebastian slides his fingers over my soaked entrance. “Are you sure you don’t want me to fuck you? Seems like you’re pretty desperate for it.”

I hate him. I hate him so much.

I force out, “No. Fuck off.”

“You weren’t saying that a moment ago.”

It’s too much. He’s too self-satisfied, his words too cutting. It’s stupid and childish, but I whip my hand up and slap him right across his smug face.

I expect he’ll stop me, but my hand connects with a crack so satisfying it almost drowns out the terror that comes next, boiling through my veins. What will he do now?

He jerks back, eyes wide, and presses a hand to the red mark on his cheek. I don’t breathe, don’t blink, waiting for him to strike back.

Then he laughs. It’s real and unaffected and fills the room. I can only stare as he gets himself together, gaze finally settling back onto me. “My God. Wait till Jacob hears about this. I’ll never live it down.”

I’m frozen, trapped between relief he’s not retaliating and offense that he finds it so funny. My voice rings sharp as I say, “Who the hell is Jacob?”

“It doesn’t matter.” He smiles down at me and brushes a strand of hair from my face. The heat from his finger remains, a track across my skin. “I didn’t think you had it in you. You’ve been such a good, compliant little thing. I’m happy you’ve got a bit of fight.”

Every word is calculated to enrage me. Sugary, patronizing, and cutting far too close to the bone. I try for another slap, but he curls his hand around my wrist. He might be dressed in elegant clothes and talk with a cultured accent, but his fingers are iron bars, and he forces my hand down to the bed with no effort at all. “Time for your medicine.”

I can’t fight him. I know what comes next, and my skin flushes hot. I shake my head. “Don’t. Please. ”

“A game is a game, and you lost. You had your fun. Don’t try to deny me mine.”

Quicker than I believed he could move, he shifts, straddling my hips. His weight presses me down, and I try to struggle, but he’s an immovable object. Panic surges, and I flail my free hand up, scratching at his face.

He plucks it from the air, too, and presses both to the bed. I can’t move. I can’t do anything but stare up into his face, where all traces of amusement are long gone. He studies me, and there’s a feral light in his eyes, a cruel twist to his lips that quells my urge to keep struggling.

“Behave, Ophelia. If you do, I’ll let you clean up afterward. Keep this nonsense up, and I’ll tie you to the bed and leave you in the mess until I feel like letting you go.”

Ugh. It’s an unbearable image, and it rips the last of the fight from my muscles. I go limp, staring up at him with all the hate I can muster. He shakes his head. “Wow. If looks could kill, I’d be…”

He lets go of my wrist and mimes slicing a blade across his neck.

Oh, good. Back to the joker.

“Get it over with, then.” I try for disdain, but it comes out shaky.

“Since you asked with such beautiful manners.” He frees my other wrist and pauses, waiting to see if I’ll strike. I want to—oh, I want to so much—but it’s useless, so I force my arms to lie limp against the covers.

He undoes his belt buckle.

I don’t want to look at what he's doing down there. It makes it too real, so I focus on his face. His perfect hair got mussed up somewhere along the way, and it softens his face. His lips part, and his breathing grows rough .

Don’t look down.

My eyes flick there anyway. His hand is wrapped around his cock, and he works himself like his life depends on it. My God. If the girls at school knew he was hiding that monster, they wouldn’t have made fun of his scruffy jeans.

I drag my gaze to his face. With great effort, he grinds out, “I’ve been hard for hours. Open those beautiful lips.”

I squeak as his free hand grabs my breast. His fingers dig in, and he lets out a rough groan. A tiny, sick part of me rears up. It’s the sort of noise I fantasized about as I lay alone, bringing myself to orgasm after dull, unsatisfying orgasm. It’s raw, and for one blissful second, I forget where I am and who I’m with.

He moans again, and I close my eyes, lips parting as he lets go, splattering sticky fluid across my face, neck, and tits.

“Oh, good girl. Good girl.” It doesn’t come out as mocking this time. I don’t open my eyes. If I keep them shut, it’s not real.

I taste salt on my lips, and they sting. Reality crashes in, popping my bubble. They’re sore because of what he did to me. This isn’t one of my harmless fantasies. He’s my captor, and as I open my eyes, what I see rips any lingering pleasure away.

His phone is clutched in his hand, and he’s wearing the smirk that makes my hands itch to slap him again. “Say cheese.”

He snaps another picture.

That bastard.

He spins the phone around. The photo he took before I realized what he was doing fills the screen and stops my breath. My eyes are closed, my stupid bee-stung lips are parted, and I look, for all the fucking world, as if I’m enjoying myself. What the hell?

He presses buttons. “That’s my new background. Perfect.”

I can’t find a single thing to say .

The rest of the day passes in a haze. I’m naked for all of it, and Sebastian's hands are on me for ninety percent of the time. At least he removes the collar. I even eat naked, picking at a platter of food spread out on the bed.

Once he finally gets bored of the looped video, he hands me the remote and tells me to put on whatever I like. I stare at it, confused as a time traveler confronted with some strange new device. “What?”

He stares between me and the TV. “A TV show or a film. Choose one. If it’s a tricky concept, I can find you an instructional video to watch?”

“No. It’s…” I gesture around the room. “You kidnapped me. I can’t just choose a show. It doesn’t make sense.”

He shrugs and snatches the remote back. “Fine. I’ll choose.”

Then he stretches his long legs out beside me on the bed and chooses a thriller.

He forces four more orgasms on me and follows up by painting me with his own each time. Either he’s got the stamina of a marathon runner, or he’s been deprived as long as I have.

I’m yawning by seven and dozing off by eight. Every time I try to needle my brain into thinking about my predicament, it shuts down. Too much has happened, Sebastian is invading every inch of my personal space, and all I can focus on is what his hands are going to do next. I’m freshly showered, my skin clean, but his scent is everywhere. On me, around me.

I’m drowning in it.

My eyes slip closed again, and when I force them open, he’s watching me. His thumb brushes over my cheek. “Time to get you set up for bed, pet.”

I’m in bed. I’ve been in bed for hours. He nudges me with his shoulder. “Go on. Brush your teeth, all the usual stuff. ”

I should snap back, but I’m far too tired. I trudge to the bathroom. As I brush, a few bumps and bangs grab my attention. A tight, anxious thread pulls me out of my daze.

What now? I open the door.

On the floor, next to the bed, is a monstrosity that clashes so horribly with the tasteful decor it hurts my eyes. A giant pillow, pink and white striped with a frill all around the edge.

I take a step forward, trying to make it make sense. Then I see the name embroidered in loopy script across the top.

Ophelia.