Page 31

“ R ory.” His voice cuts through the air, and I flinch. “Get out of the car.” It’s calm, but his eyes? They’re a storm of danger. I take a deep breath and step out.

I feel his presence like a wall of heat and power.

I fight the urge to step back, but his proximity makes it a struggle. His hand cups my face. The touch is gentle, almost tender, but the way his eyes lock onto mine makes my heart race. I can’t breathe.

“Little siren,” he murmurs, “I’m not going to hurt you.”

I want to believe him, but how can I? His other hand settles on my lower back, pulling me closer. The scent of leather and musk fills my senses.

He leans in, pressing his lips to mine. The initial shock of it makes me stiffen, but then I melt into him. His kiss deepens, and a new, confusing hunger replaces my fear. I want this—his kiss, his touch, his body.

He pulls back, breath heavy, eyes burning into mine. His hand trails down to my waist, caressing the bare skin.

“Why are you doing this?”

“Doing what?”

“Not punishing me...”

“Do you want me to punish you, little siren?”

“No. I just don’t understand why you’re not.” The words barely escape me. His hand strokes my cheek, and I shiver from the contact.

“There’s nothing to understand. You’re mine. I do what I want with what’s mine.” His possessiveness is clear. He kisses me again, his lips claiming mine, and despite my defiance, I respond.

“I’m not yours,” I insist, but his smirk tells me otherwise.

“Yes, you are.” His tongue brushes mine. The reality I hate—the one I can’t escape—is that in every way that matters, I belong to him.

He pushes me inside, and the familiar surroundings give me a sliver of comfort.

Kane bounds up to me, tail wagging like a propeller.

“Hey, boy,” I say, crouching to ruffle his soft fur.

“The little spitfire has returned!” Griffen’s voice booms as he storms into the foyer, grinning ear to ear. He scoops me up in a bear hug.

“Griff,” Axe’s warning cuts through the reunion, and Griffen laughs, setting me back on the ground.

“It’s good to see you,” I say, managing a faint smile while my brain scrambles to make sense of everything.

“Kyla’s here,” Griffen adds with a grin.

“Where is she?” I blurt out.

“Upstairs.”

I glance at Axe, feeling the sting of needing his nod to go. He grants it with a curt gesture, and I dart toward the stairs. As I reach the top, she appears, her face lighting up.

“Oh my god, Rory!” she squeals, rushing into my arms. Tears well up as we cling to each other, the gravity of the past few days crashing down.

“Kyla,” I murmur, my voice trembling.

“I’m so glad you’re okay,” she says, squeezing me tight. I pull back, my tears streaking my face as she guides me down the hall to my bedroom.

“It’s so good to see you,” I say, sniffling as I pull myself together.

We collapse onto the bed, the reality of being back at Axe’s house sinking in.

“Spill,” Kyla commands, her gaze drilling into mine.

I groan and cover my face with my hands.

“This is a disaster, Ky,” I say, muffled by my palms. “Everything was fine until Spencer showed up after rehearsal and dragged me away...” I dive into the whole mess, her eyes widening with every revelation. I skip over the details of the masked man, of course.

“Holy shit, Rory. That’s fucking insane.”

“I’m just glad to be back, even though I’m a prisoner again.” She unexpectedly lifts my dress and looks at the brand.

“I don’t know…but I think it’s kind of hot.”

“Kyla.” I laugh, swatting her hand away and tugging my dress back down. “Seriously?”

“I’m not kidding!” she insists. “You’re his little sex slave. It’s sexy as hell.”

I roll my eyes at her absurdity. “We’re Servants; we’re already sex-slaves. And It’s not hot, it’s degrading. And it hurt like hell.”

She shrugs, a wicked smile playing on her lips.

I dodge her relentless questions about my sex life with Axe, steering the conversation away before she can dig any deeper.

She fills me in on the latest Servant drama. Of course, there’s never a dull moment in this world. Olivia is spreading rumors, flirting with married Sovereigns—just like her sister, causing chaos wherever she goes.

The conversation shifts to the Red Arena, the event everyone’s buzzing about. It’s a bloody display of Sovereigns fighting for their new rank. But for me, it’s the performances that matter. As the lead Siren, I’ll be front and center during the opening ceremony.

Kyla leaves for dinner, and I decide to shower first. Drinking too much for too many days has left me hungover and dehydrated—not my brightest decision. But a girl’s got to cope, right?

Steam swirls in the bathroom, the hot water loosening the tension in my muscles. The door creaks open. I don’t need to look—I can feel him.

My pulse quickens, breath catching as I slowly turn. The heat of the water does nothing to chase away the icy chill spreading through me.

His gaze burns with raw desire, pulling at something deep inside me. My body betrays me, craving his touch, aching with a need I can’t deny.

I want him.

I hate him.

But the ache is relentless.

I squeeze my eyes shut, willing myself to resist, but it’s useless. The hunger doesn’t care.

He undresses slowly, every deliberate movement showing off his sculpted body, muscles taut under smooth skin. My eyes track him, unable to look away as he steps into the shower.

Closing the distance, his fingers trace over my collarbone, light and teasing, sending shivers through me. His heat presses against me, making the ache worse.

He grips my wet hair, yanking my head back as my breath catches. His lips blaze a trail down my neck, his tongue following in slow, deliberate strokes. His kisses burn, his teeth grazing my skin, igniting a fire I can’t extinguish.

“Did you miss me, little siren?”

“No,” I whisper, the word trembling on my lips, but it feels like a lie. I didn’t miss him—just his touch. Just the way his body feels against mine, his lips, his hands. I didn’t miss him. Right?

“That’s unfortunate,” he murmurs, his grip tightening on my hair. “Because I missed you.” The same words he had told me the last time he was away, the smirk clear in his voice. His hand slides to my face, his thumb brushing over my lips.

I open my mouth, taking his finger between my lips, sucking softly. His eyes darken, his body pressing harder against mine.

“Such a good girl,” he groans, voice thick with heat, his gaze never leaving mine.

He pulls his thumb free, his hand gripping my jaw firmly before his lips crash into mine. The kiss is wild and ravenous, stealing the breath from my lungs as he pins me against the cold tile.

His hand slides to my throat, his tongue claiming mine with a desperate hunger that makes resistance impossible.

I tell myself I can hate him and still want this. But deep down, I know it’s not that simple. I might hate him, but I don’t hate him. There’s a difference, and it terrifies me.

He pulls back from the kiss, his hand still wrapped around my throat.

“I want you to show me how sorry you are,” he growls.

I know exactly what he wants. I want it, too. I want to please him, to let him use me, to feel something—anything—besides this constant swirl of conflicting emotions. He drives me to the brink, makes me want to submit.

I don’t want to. But I do.

So, I drop to my knees. I place my hands on his thighs, slowly sliding them up to his cock. I can play the good girl when it suits me, and right now, I want to be a very good girl.

He lets out a deep moan as my hands wrap around his shaft, his skin smooth and warm. I stroke him slowly, feeling him grow harder in my hands.

His breathing becomes heavier, and his grip tightens in my hair.

With a hand braced against the wall, he leans in, trapping me with his body. I bring my lips to the tip of his cock, swirling my tongue around the sensitive head. I aim to tease, to push his limits and give him a taste of the pleasure he craves.

I want my mouth to be the one he remembers. I want him to crave my touch, to beg and moan until he’s lost in the sensation. And then, when he’s at his peak, I want him to feel the sharp sting of my teeth.

He’s a man who thrives on both pain and pleasure, and I’ll make sure he gets a dose of both.

“Look at me.”

I obey. Our eyes lock, and I watch as he loses himself in the moment. I drag my tongue slowly along the underside of his shaft, savoring the taste, the texture. He bucks his hips, trying to push himself deeper into my mouth.

But I’m not ready yet.

I want him to beg.

I want him to need me.

I keep licking, teasing. His hand grips my hair with increasing urgency, pulling me closer. His moans growing frantic, raw with impatience. I swirl my tongue around his shaft, catching the feral gleam in his eyes.

“Little siren, stop teasing me.”

Our gazes lock, and I inch my mouth towards the head of his cock. His groan is guttural, a primal sound that sends a shiver through me.

“Fucking hell, Rory,” he breathes out, “I’m going to make you pay for this.”

I know he means it, and I can’t wait.

I moan as I take him into my mouth, inch by inch. His head falls back, his grip on my hair tightening. He thrusts his hips, a deep groan escaping him. I know he’ll take what he wants, and I’m eager for him to do just that.

I bob my head, his cock sliding in and out of my mouth. The taste is pure sin, and I crave more. His size challenges me, but I press on, determined to deep-throat him. His patience wears thin; he grips my hair and forces my head down, his cock hitting the back of my throat.

I gag, my eyes watering, and his moans grow louder. He drives me to take all of him, his cock filling my mouth and throat, cutting off my air. I feel the power in his body as he uses me, taking his pleasure from me.

He is ruthless and dominating, his strength overwhelming. He thrusts his hips, fucking my face with no mercy. Tears stream down my face, my eyes blurry.

“Such a good girl. Take all of me, little siren.”

I grip his thighs, trying to steady myself. His pace is relentless, and the lack of oxygen makes me dizzy. He thrusts faster, his moans growing more urgent and primal.

He’s The Reaper and I’m his little siren.

“I’m going to come. And you’re going to swallow every last drop.”

My jaw aches, my throat raw. With one final deep thrust, he grips my head tightly and fills my throat with hot cum. I bite down just enough, and his eyes widen as he feels the sharpness.

“Fuuuck,” he groans, his voice a gravelly rasp as his body shudders, his hips jerking. His cock throbs in my mouth, the salty taste filling my senses.

I keep my teeth grazing his shaft, teasing him as he struggles to catch his breath. His grip on my hair loosens, and he pulls out, leaving me gasping for air, my mouth dripping with saliva as I fall back.

Grabbing my throat, he pulls me up, slamming me against the wall. His lips crash against mine, his tongue invading my mouth, the taste of his cum lingering. The kiss is messy, desperate. I moan into it, and he breaks away, his gaze piercing as he searches mine.

“You’re such a bad girl.” I bite my lip, and he lets out a deep groan, his grip on my throat tightening. He brings his mouth to my neck, his lips tracing the sensitive skin. “Biting me. Teasing me,” he murmurs, teeth grazing my neck, drawing a whimper from me. “You want to be punished, don’t you?”

“Yes.” The word escapes before I can stop it, and I immediately regret it.

His hand leaves my throat to wrap around my waist, pulling me against him. He grabs a fistful of my hair, yanking my head back to expose my neck further.

“The things I’m going to do to you.” His grip on my hair tightens, and his teeth sink into the flesh of my neck.

I cry out, the sharp pain of his bite mixing with the pleasure. He kisses along the curve of my neck, his teeth scraping against my skin. His hand abandons my hair, sliding down to the curve of my ass, fingers digging in with a possessive squeeze. When his fingers brush against my pussy, I catch my breath.

“So wet for me.” He slowly inserts a finger, his touch agonizingly gentle.

I moan his name, leaning into him. He inserts a second finger, curling them, and stroking my walls. He pushes me against the tile under the shower head, the water raining down on us. His fingers continue their assault, his thumb pressing on my clit.

“This time, when I make you come, you won’t be able to scream. You will be completely at my mercy.”

He captures my lips in a searing kiss. His hand snakes around to increase the water pressure, the spray hitting us from multiple angles, like a torrential downpour. The intensity of the water is overwhelming.

He pulls away, grinning. “Hold your breath.”

Before I can react, he yanks my face under the shower head. The suddenness and force are disorienting, the water filling my mouth and nose. Panic sets in, my heart racing as the pressure and weight of the water crush me. Instinctively, I close my eyes, struggling to maintain control. His fingers curl and stroke, his thumb circling my clit.

I try to pull away, but he’s too strong, and the force of the water is too much. He holds me there, and the darkness begins to creep in. He pulls me out, and I gasp for air, choking and sputtering.

“Axe.” His name comes out in a ragged choke.

He plunges my head back under the water. I fight with all my might against his rough grip. The pressure in my core builds as I struggle to hold my breath.

He pulls me out, and I suck in a deep breath, my lungs burning.

He jerks my head back, exposing my neck. His lips crash into mine, and he kisses me deeply, his tongue swirling around mine.

His hands keep working, his fingers pumping and curling, his thumb rubbing my clit.

“Please,” I choke out, the words barely audible.

He pulls me close, his lips next to my ear.

“Trust me,” he purrs. His grip, however, is anything but gentle. I thrash, trying to escape, but he just pulls me tighter against his chest. “You’re going to love this.”

“I can’t,” I stutter, trembling, my voice shaky.

“Yes, you can,” he counters smoothly. “Just let go.”

I want to fight him, to tell him no, to deny him, but I can’t. My body surrenders to him, the need for pleasure devastating. He shoves me back under the water again, his hands expertly manipulating every part of me, and all I can do is submit.

The fear, the pleasure, the panic, and the desire are a deadly mixture. The intensity and weight of the water pressing against my face, and the lack of oxygen makes me delirious. I try to scream his name, the sound muffled by the water. His fingers keep pumping, his thumb circling and pressing.

The pleasure is blinding, the water drowning out my screams. The feeling is unlike anything I’ve ever experienced, and darkness takes over.

I come to, coughing and sputtering, my lungs screaming for air. I’m sprawled on the shower floor, and he’s holding me like I’m the most precious thing in the world.

“Breathe, Rory. Just breathe.”

I gulp in air, and it burns my throat, but I obey.

“That’s it, just breathe,” he says softly. “You were such a good girl.” His hand gently strokes my hair. “You took your punishment so well.”

I’m exhausted and confused, and my body is weak. I don’t want his praise. I don’t want to give him the satisfaction of seeing how much I enjoyed his depravity.

As my heartrate gradually slows and the panic begins to subside, I can’t shake the unsettling realization that I enjoyed it. Loved it, even. And that terrifies me more than the fear, the suffocation, and the drowning combined.

“What the hell, Axe?” I rasp, my voice barely more than a whisper.

His lips brush my forehead, a touch that’s both affectionate and unsettling.

“You did good, little siren,” he says softly.

No apologies, no acknowledgment of the fact that he nearly drowned me while giving me one of the most intense orgasms I’ve ever had. He pulls me closer, cradling me against him.

My body leans into him, too worn out to fight back.

“You tried to drown me. I trusted you, and you tried to kill me.”

“No, if I was trying to kill you, you’d be dead.”

“Go to hell,” I whisper, my voice shaky.

His smile against my forehead is both soothing and maddening. I want to pull away, scream at him, tell him to fuck off, but my body won’t cooperate. I’m too spent, too drained to resist.

All I can focus on is his warmth, his arms around me, and the steady beat of his heart.

I’m trying to remind myself that this is the man I hate—the one who’s branded me, violated me, and turned my life into a nightmare. But right now, he feels too good, too comforting.

I hate how much I crave it. I love how safe it makes me feel. I’m a mess of conflicting emotions.

“Shh…Rest,” he murmurs.

We sit there in silence, his fingers slowly tracing my skin, the soft touch completely out of line with his sadistic behavior.

Exhaustion takes over; the lack of oxygen and the intense orgasm making me drowsy. My eyes drift shut, and his arms tighten around me. I know I should fight him, tell him to go, but I don’t. The rhythm of his heartbeat is soothing, and despite the war raging inside me, I let go.

In this moment, I let myself pretend that the anger and hatred I feel for him don’t exist.