Page 57 of Haunted (Blackwood Brothers #1)
MIRA
T he dress Xavier chose makes a statement—elegant black silk that flows like water down my body, appearing perfectly modest from the front with its high neckline and long sleeves.
But when I turn around, the entire back is exposed, held together only by delicate chains that cross my spine in an intricate pattern.
Each chain kisses my skin with every movement, a constant reminder of how thoroughly he owns me.
“Perfect,” Xavier murmurs as I emerge from his bedroom, his gray eyes drinking in every inch of exposed flesh. “You look like sin personified.”
I catch my reflection in the hallway mirror and barely recognize the woman staring back. The Mira who first walked into Purgatory would never have worn such a deliberately provocative outfit.
“Remember,” Xavier says as his driver opens the car door outside Purgatory’s main entrance, “tonight isn’t about hiding what you’ve become. It’s about celebrating it.”
The bass thrums through the sidewalk as we approach the club’s ornate entrance. Xavier’s hand settles possessively on the small of my exposed back, his fingers tracing the chains that hold my dress together.
“Tonight is about showing you off,” he explains, his voice low and intimate despite the chaos around us. “Proving to everyone that the woman who came here to expose me and my family now belongs to me completely.”
The irony isn’t lost on me. I came here seeking a story about corruption and depravity, only to become part of the very darkness I had sought to reveal.
The bouncer recognizes Xavier immediately, stepping aside with a respectful nod. We push through the crowded main floor, where regular patrons dance and drink, completely unaware of what happens on the levels below.
These people think they’re experiencing Purgatory’s limits—the mild kink, the expensive drinks, the beautiful people grinding against each other in darkened corners. They have no idea about the Hunt, the claiming ceremonies, or the true depths of depravity that exist behind closed doors.
Xavier guides me through the writhing bodies, his hand never leaving my back. Every eye follows us, drawn by his commanding presence and the deliberate display of my exposed skin.
We reach what appears to be a service corridor hidden behind heavy curtains. Xavier presses his palm against an unmarked panel, and a section of the wall slides away to reveal a narrow staircase descending into shadows.
At the bottom, a retinal scanner bathes Xavier’s face in red light before beeping softly in recognition. Steel doors glide open with a whisper, revealing the entrance to the true Purgatory.
“Welcome home,” Xavier whispers against my ear.
The elevator descends further than I expected, my stomach dropping with each floor we pass. When the doors finally open, I step into a space that makes the Hunt’s maze look restrained.
The underground level sprawls before us like a twisted amphitheater. Themed rooms branch off from the main area—I glimpse chains and crosses through one doorway, medical equipment through another. However, everything centers around the circular stage, which dominates the space.
It’s larger than I imagined, raised high enough that every angle offers a perfect view. Even from here, I can see slots in the floor where restraints can emerge and tracks in the ceiling for suspended apparatus. The stage practically hums with possibility.
“Magnificent, isn’t it?” Xavier’s breath warms my ear as his hand slides along my exposed spine. “We spared no expense in creating the perfect venue for our members.”
Surrounding the stage, private booths rise in tiers like an opera house designed by the devil himself. Each booth features one-way glass, dark from this side but clearly offering unobstructed views of the stage.
And they’re occupied.
Silhouettes move behind the glass—some sitting, others standing, all focused on the performance space where I now understand I’ll be displayed.
“Who are they?” I whisper, my voice barely audible over the low classical music playing throughout the space.
Xavier’s laugh rumbles through his chest. “The most powerful people in Ravenwood. City council members who vote on development projects. Judges who decide criminal cases. CEOs who control half the economy.”
My blood runs cold as he continues.
“There are even journalists among them tonight. Colleagues of yours who’ve written scathing pieces about corruption while secretly indulging in it themselves.”
I scan the dark booths frantically, searching for any hint of recognition among the shadowed figures. The uncertainty creates a suffocating pressure, knowing they can see me clearly while I remain blind to their identities.
“Your former editor received an invitation,” Xavier murmurs casually. “Whether they chose to attend... well, that’s the beauty of anonymity.”
The thought that my boss might be watching from those booths makes my knees weak. The same person who praised my investigative instincts and integrity could be here to witness my complete degradation.
Xavier’s hand presses firmly against my lower back as he guides me toward a glass enclosure I hadn’t noticed before. It sits adjacent to the main stage, completely transparent on all sides—a fishbowl designed for intimate torment.
“This is where you’ll learn what it truly means to be mine,” he says.
The glass door seals behind us with a soft click that sounds impossibly final in the enclosed space. Through the transparent walls, I watch the shadowed figures in their booths shift forward, their attention now completely focused on our private theater.
Xavier circles me slowly, his gray eyes cataloging every inch of exposed skin revealed by the chains of my dress. When he reaches for a panel built into the wall, it slides open to reveal an array of implements that make my breath catch.
Silk ropes in deep crimson. Leather restraints lined with soft fur. A collection of paddles and floggers hung up.
“Arms up,” he commands, his tone brooking no argument.
I raise my trembling arms above my head, watching my reflection multiply infinitely in the glass surfaces around us. Xavier secures thick leather cuffs around my wrists, then clips them to a chain that descends from the ceiling.
With a soft mechanical whir, the chain begins to retract, pulling my arms higher until I’m forced onto my toes. The position stretches my spine, making the delicate chains of my dress pull taut against my skin .
“Perfect,” Xavier murmurs, stepping back to admire his work.
He selects a flogger with multiple leather tails, testing its weight in his hand. The movement is confident—this clearly isn’t his first time wielding such tools.
“Do you know why I chose this particular display case?” he asks, trailing the leather tails along my exposed back. “Because everyone watching can see exactly how you respond.”
The first strike lands across my shoulder blades—not painful, but shocking in its intensity. The leather tails spread the sensation across my skin like fire, and despite myself, a soft moan escapes my lips.
“That’s it,” Xavier encourages, his voice thick with satisfaction. “Let them hear how much you enjoy this.”
The second strike falls lower, across the chains that hold my dress together. The impact travels through the metal links, creating a symphony of sensation that has me arching against my restraints.
Through the glass, I catch glimpses of movement in the watching booths—figures leaning forward, some gesturing to companions. They’re commenting on my reactions.
The third strike lands across the chains at my waist, and this time, the sound that escapes me is pure need. The leather tails spread warmth across my skin like lava, and I find myself pushing back against the restraints, seeking more contact.
“Please,” I whisper, the word slipping out before I can stop it .
Xavier pauses, the flogger hanging motionless at his side. “Please, what, Mira?”
“More,” I breathe, my voice carrying clearly through the glass enclosure to the watching shadows in their booths. “Please, more.”
The next strike comes harder across my exposed shoulder blades, and I cry out in pleasure. Each impact of the leather sends vibrations through the delicate chains that hold my dress together, creating a constant caress against my sensitive skin.
“Look at them watching you,” Xavier commands, his voice rough with desire. “Look at how they’re leaning forward to see every reaction.”
I open my eyes, focusing on the dark booths surrounding us. The shadowed figures have indeed moved closer to their glass panels, and I can make out the subtle movements that suggest they’re touching themselves while watching my degradation.
The realization sends another wave of arousal through me.
“Again,” I plead, arching my back to present more of my exposed skin to him. “Please, Xavier, I need?—”
The flogger strikes across the chains at the small of my back, and I nearly scream with pleasure. My hips buck forward instinctively, seeking friction that isn’t there.
“You’re soaking wet, aren’t you?” Xavier’s voice is a dark promise behind me. “Getting off on being displayed like this. ”
“Yes,” I admit shamelessly, my voice breaking on the word. “God, yes. Don’t stop.”
He alternates the strikes now—across my shoulders, down my spine, along the chains that barely hold my dress together. Each impact draws another desperate plea from my lips.
“More,” I beg between strikes, my voice growing louder with each request. “Harder. Please, Xavier, I need more.”
The watching figures in their booths press closer to their glass panels, and I realize I’m putting on exactly the show they came to see—a formerly respectable journalist begging to be degraded for their entertainment.
And I love every second of it.
The flogger hits the floor with a soft thud that echoes through our glass prison. Xavier’s hands move to his shirt, stripping it off with urgent efficiency. His belt follows, then his pants, until he stands completely naked before me.
Through the transparent walls, I watch the shadowed figures in their booths shift forward again, their attention riveted on Xavier’s magnificent abs as he positions himself between my spread legs.
His hands grip my thighs, lifting me effortlessly until my feet leave the floor entirely. The leather cuffs around my wrists take my full weight, stretching my arms even tauter as Xavier supports me with his powerful grip.
“Look at you,” he growls, his voice rough with desire. “Hanging here like a feast for their eyes.”
I feel him position himself at my entrance, the head of his cock pressing against my soaked center. With one brutal thrust, he drives deep inside me.
The scream that rips from my throat echoes off the glass walls, amplifying the sound for our audience. Xavier doesn’t give me time to adjust—he sets a punishing pace immediately, driving into me with savage intensity.
“That’s it,” he snarls against my ear. “Scream for them. Let them hear what a slut you’ve become.”
My legs wrap around his waist as he pounds into me, each thrust sending me swaying in my restraints. The chains of my ruined dress bite into my skin with every movement, adding to the overwhelming sensation.
“They’re all watching you fall apart on my cock,” Xavier continues, his words filthy and perfect. “Many of Ravenwood’s most powerful people see exactly how desperate you are for my cock.”
I can barely form words through the assault on my senses, but I manage to gasp out, “Yes... let them watch... let them see...”
Xavier’s laugh is dark and satisfied. “Such a good little exhibitionist. You love knowing they’re out there touching themselves while watching me destroy you.”
His thrusts grow harder, more demanding, and I feel myself climbing toward release with terrifying speed. The knowledge that we’re being watched, that my complete surrender is entertainment for the city’s elite, only drives my arousal higher.
“Please,” I beg, my voice echoing through the glass chamber. “Please, Xavier, I’m so close... ”
“Come for them,” he commands, his grip on my thighs tightening. “Show them how completely you belong to me.”
The orgasm builds inside me like a storm, gathering strength with each brutal thrust of Xavier’s hips. The leather cuffs bite into my wrists as I writhe in his grip, suspended between pleasure and pain while dozens of shadowed figures watch from their private booths.
“Come,” Xavier commands again, his voice rough with his own approaching climax. “Show them who you belong to.”
The words shatter the last fragile wall I’d built to protect what remained of my former self. As the climax crashes through me, I scream his name with desperate abandon.
“Xavier! God, yes, Xavier!”
The sound echoes off every glass surface, amplifying my surrender until it fills the entire chamber. Through the transparent walls, I watch the shadowed figures shift and move, their voyeuristic pleasure in my degradation obvious even from here.
But I don’t care anymore.
The truth burns through me as my pussy squeezes around Xavier’s driving cock—I am his. Completely, irrevocably, utterly his. Not simply because of a contract I signed in desperation, but because every cell craves this darkness.
“That’s it,” Xavier growls, his thrusts becoming erratic as he approaches his own release. “Let them all hear you surrender. ”
My second orgasm follows immediately after the first, tearing another ragged scream from my throat. This time, when I cry out, it’s not his name but a confession that strips away my last pretense.
“I’m yours,” I sob against his shoulder, my voice breaking with the weight of absolute truth. “Heart and soul, Xavier. I belong to you.”
The confession wrecks me; the declaration is irrevocably made, and I mean every word. The version of me who walked into Purgatory six weeks ago was a lie—this is who I really am. Who I was always meant to be.
Xavier’s answering groan is one of complete dominance as he buries himself deep inside me one final time. His release triggers another wave of pleasure, and I hang limp in my restraints, completely spent.
“Mine,” he whispers against my ear, sending one last shiver down my spine.
I don’t protest. I don’t fight. I simply accept the truth that’s been building since the moment I first saw him—I was born to belong to Xavier Blackwood.
The figures watching from their booths have witnessed my complete transformation, but their presence no longer matters to me. Only Xavier exists at this moment, and the undeniable reality is that I am his in every way that counts.