Page 33

Chapter Thirty-Two

Ophelia

Sebastian can barely move. For the first, and probably last, time in our relationship, he can’t make me do anything. I might pay for it tomorrow if I disobey, but right now, he’d struggle to get off the bed without help. So why am I drawn toward following his command?

Because that’s what it surely is. An order wrapped in praise that makes my blood heat and my stomach flip. He ordered me to strip, and I did it. The way he came back to life at the sight of me did a lot to banish the black cloud that’s followed me around all day.

I can’t seem to tell him no. Drawn as if by a magnet, my hands move to his belt buckle, and he sighs at the touch. His face is a bruised, swollen mess, but his one good eye is the same captivating blue as before, and he watches as I work the buckle.

There’s no threat, nothing making me do this apart from the fact he told me to. It makes me hot and shivery all at once. Up until this point, I could tell myself I was an unwilling participant, but now? Now I’m obeying because it feels right. And because I want to hear his smooth, beautiful voice tell me I’m a good girl for doing it.

I should be ashamed of myself. It’s weak, giving in like this, isn’t it? But something inside screams it's untrue. I’m doing this because I want to. What’s weak about that?

“That’s it.” His voice has the low, hypnotic tone I’m coming to love. “You know what I need, sweetheart, don’t you?”

Fuck. His words are so patronizing it makes me want to scream, but my toes curl, and my clit throbs at the same time. Before I realize what’s happening, “Yes, sir” escapes my lips.

He draws in a sharp breath at my use of the title. I strip off his trousers and boxers, careful not to press on the livid purple bruises covering his skin. Even so, he hisses at the movement before carefully settling his hands behind his head.

There’s something powerful about the pose, despite his immobility. He’s the master; I’m the servant. Why does that have me shifting on the bed?

He notices. Even with only one eye, he notices. “Spread your legs and touch yourself.”

I jump. “What?”

“I want to watch you get yourself off. I really, really wish I could fuck you, pet.”

He wraps his hand around his thick cock, and my stomach tightens, remembering how it felt inside me last night. When my eyes make it back to his face, he's wearing the ghost of his usual smile.

“This is worse for me than it is for you. Trust me.” His voice drops. “Once I'm mobile again, I'm going to chain you face down on this bed with your ass in the air. I'll spend the whole day fucking you. And when I run out of steam, I'll fuck you with a dildo instead. You'll be begging me to break in your ass just to give your pussy a rest.”

It shouldn't turn me on. It shouldn't, but the image is too vivid to ignore. Chained and helpless, just a body for him to use as he wants.

Fuck.

I lick my lips, settle myself back on a pillow, and open my legs so he can see. He groans, and there’s a desperation to the sound that vibrates through me. “That’s it. You’re a good little pet. Get those fingers nice and wet for me.”

I don’t need any more encouragement. I press two fingers into my pussy. I’m soaked, and a flicker of shame cuts through the heated haze in my brain before Sebastian says, “That’s it. Fuck yourself, Ophelia. Fuck yourself like I want to.”

Everything else leaves my head. I thrust my fingers deep, then withdraw and plunge in again, the rough movement different from my usual self-pleasure. I’m not just touching myself. I’m putting on a show for him, and the realization adds a new wave of moisture.

“Look at me. Don’t be shy, sweetheart. You’re beautiful. Look at me while you stretch that pussy. Add another finger.”

His words melt me like a wax figure, leaving me a puddle on the bed. Another finger, and the stretch makes me moan. I meet Sebastian’s gaze, and all I see is the need on his face. Not the bruises. His hand works his cock in hard, rough strokes as he watches me.

“Touch your clit now. Make yourself come for me.”

I add my second hand. I’m so wet my three fingers slide easily in and out once I get past the initial stretch, and he tracks every movement. I keep it up as I rub my clit, and Christ, it feels good. I wish it were him inside me .

The building pleasure comes easily under my own hands. He gives a steady stream of murmured encouragement as my lips part, and my breathing comes faster. “That’s it. Good girl. Make yourself come. Do it now.”

A few more rough circles of my clit, and I obey. My body clenches as pleasure fills me, coating my fingers as I crest. I cry out as it hits me, eyes closing as I thrust my soaking fingers in and out, riding the wave.

Before it has a chance to ebb, Sebastian’s strained voice pulls me back. “Get your lips around my cock.”

I open my eyes, dazed. His hand is pumping fast now, and a shudder runs through me at the indignity of what he wants me to do. Catch his come. For some reason, it feels worse than giving him a blowjob. At least then, I’m an active participant. Here, I’m just a hole to be filled.

“Now, pet. Be good.” His warning tone. I’m drawn to obey.

I crawl up the bed, heat rising in my cheeks as I angle my head, lips parting to wrap the end of his cock. I flick my tongue over the head and taste tangy salt on the tip, and he lets out a deep groan. “That’s it. That’s—”

He cuts off, groaning as liquid fills my mouth. I splutter even though I was braced for it, holding still as he pumps, his cock twitching. “Now swallow.”

Carefully, I do. I’m getting used to the taste, and I can’t claim to hate it. I’m not sure what I can claim to hate anymore. Why did I just do that? There wasn’t a gun to my head. I could have let him finish all over himself and left him to deal with the mess. I didn’t want to, though. And I can’t understand why not.

When I meet his gaze, he’s smiling. “Come here. Lie down next to me. ”

I do, though it’s awkward, too couple-like to feel sane. He turns his head to look at me as I settle next to him. “I could die happy with my cock in your mouth.”

It’s such a ridiculous thing to say that I snort—a loud, unladylike sound—and his smile widens for a second before he winces. “Ouch. Don’t make me laugh, please. It hurts.”

That kills my amusement. I shouldn't feel bad for Sebastian, but my brother is such an asshole it's hard not to.

Was. Was such an asshole.

I can count the happy memories I have with Harrison without moving on from fingers to toes. He was only two years older, but it always felt as though we were miles apart. Dad kept me sheltered and childish while pushing him to experience everything far too young.

I think I always knew there was something wrong with him. Bits of my childhood creep back as I stare at the ceiling. An overheard argument not long before Mom died, where she begged my dad to send him to therapy. My dad’s typical alpha male response. Over my dead body. She won't talk. I've paid her father ten times more than she's worth.

Harrison would have been fourteen then.

Things escalated the older he got, until I think even my dad started to worry. What could he do, though? Harrison was his only son. His heir. God, how will Dad cope with his death? Not well. Not well at all. If he wanted Sebastian dead before, I can't imagine how he'll feel about him now.

I glance at Sebastian. His good eye is closed, but I don't think he's sleeping. I force myself to study the mess my brother made of his face. The cuts, swelling, and bruising. It doesn't look right on him. He's not a natural fighter, and he's in way over his head .

He opens his eye and catches me staring. “I'm not going to win a modeling contract any time soon, am I? Jacob says it'll be much worse tomorrow. He sounded happy about it.”

“He was pissed you left without him.”

Sebastian finds my hand where it rests on the bed and wraps it in his fingers. “And rightly so. If it wasn't for you, I'd be dead. Thank you for that, pet.”

The nickname, which he chose to humiliate me, now sends a warm little curl through my chest. His pet.

“Why did you do it? Why didn't you just let me die?”

I've been asking myself the same question all day and haven't been able to come up with a good answer. I turn back to the ceiling and try to voice my thoughts.

“He already destroyed Maggie. I couldn't let him do it to you, too.” It's the truth, but not the whole truth. I ought to stop there, but exhaustion and the need to stop pretending force me onward. “And I don't want you dead. I should, but I don't.”

There we are. The words are out, and I can't put them back.

“You don't want me dead.” He squeezes my hand. “It's a low bar, but I'll take it.”

He shifts, as if to sit up, but winces and lies back down. “I don’t think I can lock you in tonight. You might as well sleep here.”

He says it casually, but I catch the tension. Sleeping in his bed. It’s a step in a new direction, but I’m not sure what that direction is. I match the fake, chatty tone. “Might as well. I’ve saved your life once today. I don’t particularly feel like smothering you in your sleep.”

“Good to know.”

He squeezes my hand again, then falls silent. His breathing slows, and I think he’s fallen asleep until he says, “Pet? ”

I jump. There’s an odd note to the word. I twist to face him. I can’t pick up the expression on his battered face, but something in the way he’s looking at me makes me shiver. “What?”

“If you misbehave at the ceremony, they’ll set you free. They’ll send you right back to your father. If you want to get out of the Compound, it’s all you need to do.”