Page 38

I drop her lifeless body onto the floor, her face pale, eyes shut tight. I yank out a roll of duct tape and slice off a strip, slapping it over her mouth. With swift, practiced motions, I bind her wrists with rope, pulling them up and securing them to a beam overhead. She dangles there, a limp ragdoll, her body stretched tight.

I yank her top off, letting her tits fall free. Her toes barely skim the ground, her nipples stiffening in the cool air. I step back, taking in the sight. “Fucking beautiful,” I growl through the mask, my voice distorted and rough.

My gloved hands explore her curves, tracing the outline of her breasts, the dip of her waist, the swell of her hips.

I pull the knife from my belt and drag the blade along her skin. The sharp edge leaves a thin, red pressure line in its wake. I relish the shiver that ripples through her, the goosebumps spreading across her skin.

My cock throbs, straining against my pants.

She groans, her head lolling to the side. Her eyes flutter open and a flash of recognition crosses her face. They widen in shock, then narrow into a glare as she processes who’s standing before her. The duct tape mutes her angry protests.

She can rant all she wants after I’ve fucked her.

She struggles against her bonds, writhing as the rope digs into her wrists and the tape cuts into her skin. Her body sways, her breasts jiggling with the movement. Her muffled cries only make me smile behind the mask.

I revel in seeing her like this—completely at my mercy, her defiance stripped away. The power I wield over her is addicting, knowing she can’t stop me from taking whatever I want. It’s even sweeter knowing how much she craves this.

I drag the blade down her neck, over her collarbone, and across her chest. Sliding the edge between the waistband of her panties and her skin, I cut through the fabric. Her whines grow louder as her panties and leggings fall to the floor, the last of her clothing discarded.

I step in front of her, our faces inches apart. Tears shimmer in her eyes, and a muffled protest escapes her lips.

I’ll give her exactly what she wants.

What she needs.

Slowly, I slide a finger inside her, feeling her walls tighten around me. She moans, her hips rolling against my hand, her eyes wild with need. She tugs at her restraints, her body swaying.

I push another finger inside her, stretching her. It’s been over a week since we last fucked, and she’s soaking wet, her juices dripping onto the floor. My pace is deliberately slow, and her whines only fuel my hunger.

She whimpers, the sound barely breaking through the duct tape.

She’s right there, teetering on the edge. I curl my fingers, hitting her sweet spot, and she screams into the tape. I pull out, leaving her on the brink, savoring every moment of her torment.

She’s fucking perfect.

I unfasten my pants, freeing my aching cock, the tip slick with pre-cum. Positioning myself behind her, I grip her hips and lift her, the tip of my cock pressing against her. Her feet dangle, her body completely under my control.

She tenses, her muscles going rigid. My grip on her hips tightens as I thrust into her.

The urge to fuck her is too intense to go slow.

My growl rumbles through the room as I pull out and drive back in, each thrust harder and deeper. Her muffled cries only push me to fuck her harder. Her body rocks, her tits bouncing with each movement.

I watch her reflection in the mirror—head tilted back, eyes shut tight, hair a tangled mess. She’s fucking divine.

Sweat beads on my brow, my breaths coming in ragged pants. I fuck her like a savage, my need for release a primal urge. She does this to me—makes me lose control.

We move together in raw, perfect rhythm. I feel her nearing her peak, her body writhing and thrashing against her restraints. I circle her clit, and she screams into the tape.

She crashes, and I feel the tension build and then break as my climax chases hers, my cum spilling inside her, coating her inner walls. I hold her tight, forcing her to take every drop.

We stay like that, bodies entangled, the air thick with the scent of sex and sweat. My face presses against the side of hers, the cool touch of my mask grazing her flushed skin. I can’t deny it—I fucking missed this…missed her.

I slide out of her and zip up my pants. She hangs limp, exhausted, her head drooping onto her arm. I pull the knife from my waistband and cut the ropes. She slumps against me, and I brace her weight, her chest heaving with shallow breaths.

Her lips part with a weak gasp when I peel the tape off.

“I needed you!” Her voice cracks, ragged and fragile, as she tries to push me away. “I needed you,” she repeats, her voice almost a whisper now. “Why didn’t you come back?”

I tighten my hold, pulling her closer.

She collapses against me, sobbing quietly, her tears soaking through my hoodie.

My hands move over her back, tracing the curves of her spine with a touch that’s meant to comfort but feels foreign. I lower us to the floor, her body fitting snugly against mine.

“I need you. Please, don’t leave me again.”

My fingers weave into her hair, the soft strands slipping through my gloved fingers. I want to hold her, to keep her safe, to protect her. Yet, at the same time, I want to push her away, to shut off these feelings.

There’s a clash between the ruthless version of myself I’ve known and this unexpected, unsettling new part of me. I feel something deep for her, something dangerous, something beyond my control.

Griffen’s right; there’s no denying it. I’m falling for her.

I’m not my father, but sometimes I wish I was. His lack of conscience, his cold detachment—he never needed anyone, not even his own sons. We were just tools to him, assets molded for the Sovereign’s agenda. Soldiers, not sons.

But now, as I hold her in my arms, feeling more than I’ve ever allowed myself to feel, I fucking hate it.

“Why didn’t you come last night?”

I pull her tight against my chest, feeling her heart hammering against mine. She’s quiet, her breathing uneven. I keep waiting for her to say more—anything—that explains why she was so upset last night.

Her eyes drift shut, her face burrowed into my shirt.

“Thank you,” she mutters, “for coming back. For being here.”

I don’t answer. I should take off the mask, but I won’t. I need it to keep my distance, to stay in control. Revealing my face means risking everything I’ve built up around myself.

She shifts, her eyes fluttering open to meet mine. “Take off the mask,” she whispers, her fingers gripping my shirt. “Please.”

My gut tightens, my breath catching.

“Just once,” she begs, her eyes full of desperation.

The moment this mask is gone...I’ll lose whatever the fuck this is.

I stare at her, feeling the weight of every second stretch between us. She holds my gaze, waiting, pleading.

“Fine,” she snaps. “If you won’t be open with me, I won’t be either. I’m sick of being treated like shit by every man in my life.” She jerks away from me, grabbing a clean pair of clothes from her dresser and pulling them on.

A new emotion claws at me. What the fuck is this feeling?

I can’t let her go.

I need her, and that realization terrifies me.

She mutters something, turning away. I’m on her in an instant, crossing the room with a few long strides. I yank the shirt from her grip and pin her against the wall. In one swift motion, I blindfold her with the shirt, tying it tight.

“What are you doing?”

I press her harder against the wall and then rip off my mask. I don’t waste a second—I crush my lips against hers, silencing any protest. Her startled moan vibrates through me, fueling the fire that’s been raging inside. My tongue forces its way into her mouth, and she meets me with the same wild, desperate need.

The kiss is brutal, a collision of hunger and fury, as our bodies crash together in a storm of raw passion.

When we finally break apart, both of us are gasping for air. I slip the mask on, my breath still ragged, and untie the makeshift blindfold. She clings to me, trembling, her arms wrapped tight around my neck.

This is a fucking mistake.

“Thank you,” she whispers, her cheek pressed against my chest.

I want to tell her it’s not worth thanking me.

I’m not doing it for her.

But I stay silent.

When everything comes crashing down, she’ll see me for what I really am.

The villain.

To be continued…