Page 43 of Savage Captor (Deadly Devotion #1)

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I pick up a vibrator and flick it on, letting her hear the sound as it fills the room.

“Is that a fucking chainsaw?” she screeches. A fine tremble sets into her limbs.

“No,” I say sharply. She must’ve never actually heard a chainsaw, because it doesn’t sound anything like a vibrator.

The crux of the issue here is that Scarlett still lives with the fear that I’ll go back to hurting her if she pisses me off enough.

No amount of reassurances from me have changed her stance, which means I need to show rather than tell.

A small cry of fear escapes her lips when I press the round, bulbous top of the vibrator to her nipple.

Her entire body tenses in preparation for pain, but after a moment, she realizes there is none.

Her eyebrows furrow and she shifts on her seat a little, lips parting and closing.

She’s confused, but I think she might be turned on.

I had a pretty in-depth conversation with Max regarding Scarlett’s training.

If I spoke to Cain, he’d advise me to use controlled doses of pain, and that’s a line I won’t breach.

Max, on the other hand, recommended a different route that he believes will be equally effective.

It would also happen to feed into some of my personal fantasies—ones I’ve never truly gotten to indulge in, because I’ve never had a captive who belongs entirely to me before.

Scarlett shifts to the side, escaping the vibrations. My response is to press it against her other nipple, giving it the same attention and treatment.

“Monster…” she wriggles restlessly in her chair, but her response isn’t from fear. Not anymore. Her thighs shift around as she tries to press them together, but she can’t—I secured them apart, ensuring she wouldn’t be able to escape the torture.

“Another thing we need to work on is trust,” I say, flicking off the vibrator and setting it down beside me.

I reach out to clasp Scarlett’s chin, my lips thinning as she flinches away from my touch.

Her fear responses have gotten better, but they’re not entirely gone yet, and I don’t know if I’ll be able to rest easy until they are.

“How many times have I told you that I won’t hurt you? ”

Scarlett swallows hard, legs still shifting around. “A few.”

“A few,” I repeat with a chuckle. “At least twice a day, every day since I brought you to this room, a month ago. And I have kept to that promise. I will not break that promise. Your issue, I think, is a lack of creativity. I do not share this problem. There are dozens of ways to punish or torture someone that don’t involve pain, and today, I’m going to introduce you to a few of them. Unless you want to answer my question?”

“I can’t,” Scarlett says through gritted teeth. “I can’t . Please don’t ask me to.”

She’s protecting whoever it is— really protecting them. All the pain she endured in the annex could’ve been ended if she had told me who was paying for her life instead of her father and pointed me to proof… if I’d listened. Which I probably wouldn’t have. I was stuck in the angry claws of grief .

That grief is still with me, I suspect it’ll always be with me, but it’s now usurped by my focus on Scarlett.

A long breath escapes me as I realize that Scarlett has, inadvertently, helped me begin to heal from losing Sam.

I did nothing but obsess over his loss for nearly half a year, and now, all that energy is put in obsessing over Scarlett.

It’s not necessarily a healthy coping mechanism, but it is an extremely effective one.

“Let's see if we can’t loosen your tongue, then,” I say.

I shouldn’t be looking forward to this next part as much as I am, but undeniable excitement shoots through my veins.

I grip Scarlett’s chin with one hand, pressing into the muscles on either side of her jaw, and touch two fingers from my free hand to her lips. “Open your mouth.”

She doesn’t, so I dig my finger into her jaw, forcing her mouth to open with a creak anyways.

I thrust my fingers in, sliding them over her tongue.

She struggles, trying to jerk away and spit my fingers out, but I don’t allow it.

She mumbles something incoherent around my digits, but I ignore her—I’m not ready to hear whatever it is she has to say yet.

A low groan escapes me as I thrust my fingers back and forward over her tongue, fucking her mouth with them the same way I’ll do with my cock soon enough.

I was already hard from teasing her nipples with the vibrator, but now, my cock’s about to punch a hole through my jeans.

When she gags and coughs, I relent, sliding them out.

“Monster, what the f—” she cuts off with a sharp breath as I slide my fingers, wet with her saliva, over her pussy. A small noise, almost like a moan escapes her as I rub up and down her clit with my index, lubing it up and getting it ready for the vibrator.

“Anything to say?” I ask. “Give me a name and I’ll let you go right now. This is your last chance, though, Scarlett. Say nothing, and I’m going to play. It won’t matter if you tell me what I want to know before I’m done—I’ll still keep going.”

Even if she breaks and tells me right now, I don’t know if I’ll be able to stop.

This is too fun, too titillating. I’m looking forward to seeing what makes her tick way too much to hit the breaks now, but if she gives me what I’m asking for, I’ll force myself to pull back…

or to conjure up more questions to keep her here a bit longer.

Rather than cowering, Scarlett bares her teeth at me. “Do your worst, you fucking Monster.”

I chuckle. “Attagirl. Never give up too easily.”

I stroke her pussy with three wet fingers while using my other hand to trace the curve of her breasts. She lets out a low whine, and her hips buck toward my hand.

“How’s your pussy doing today?” I murmur, probing a finger at her entrance. “Sore?”

“ Yes ,” she hisses, her voice filled with equal parts anger and arousal. “It hurts, you bastard.”

“What a shame,” I say, contemplating whether or not I should stuff her full of a dildo. Probably not. If I do that, I might actually hurt her when I fuck her later, and I’d prefer to avoid as much pain as possible. She won’t get reprieves from me in the future, but for now…

I return my attention to her clit, watching her body language carefully.

I stare at the rise and fall of her breasts as I start to play with her clit with different speeds and pressures.

Stroking it up and down makes her bite down on her bottom lip.

Side to side is slightly less effective, but in circles…

her breath hitches and a small whimper escapes her as her hips shift the tiniest bit forward.

That’s the one .

I start slow, watching as a pretty blush paints her cheeks and spreads down her neck, staining her tits with red. When I increase pressure while lightly pinching her nipple, a louder moan escapes her, but she quickly cuts it off and turns her head away .

“Don’t resist,” I tell her. “I’ll still learn what I want to learn, it’ll just take me a bit longer. I don’t mind. I’m quite enjoying this.”

A pitiful whimper leaves her lips, and I think it might be at the realization that I’m not just doing this for information; I’m taking this opportunity to learn how to work her over, what makes her tick.

I leave the couch and squat before her, leaning forward to suck one of her gorgeous nipples into my mouth.

She lets out another, much louder moan as I speed the actions on her clit.

Her body starts to tremble, and a series of whimpers escapes her.

She’s close—I keep going until I sense she’s right on the edge, and then I pull back. A noise of dejection escapes her lips. She tries to squeeze her thighs together again, face screwing up with confusion and deprivation as she twists around in her bondage.

“Have anything to say?” I ask.

Her jaw sets. She bares her teeth at me again. “Fuck. You.”

“Wrong answer.” I take her chin and thrust my fingers back in her mouth, letting her taste her own arousal, fucking her face again. When she gags, I back off, and then repeat the process of bringing her to the very edge of an orgasm.

Each time she’s on the precipice, I pull away. I even tell her that I might let her come if she begs me for it, but her pride still overrides her need. She only swears at me with a collection of very colorful words.

So, denial might be a soft punishment in the future—it’s certainly pissing her off—but she needs something different to loosen her tongue. Something that could also be used as a harsher punishment.

“Your self-control is impressive,” I admit. “Very impressive.”

“But it’s not going to last forever,” I go on. “You’re going to break for me and tell me everything, Scarlett. The easy way or the hard way—doesn’t matter to me. Either way, I’m going to get what I want, and I’m going to have lots of fun while doing so. ”

“All you’re doing is showing your true colors,” she hisses. “It’s one form of torture or another with you. You don’t want to hurt me because you want to pretend you’re a good person, so you’re weaponizing pleasure instead. That doesn’t make you good; it just makes you twisted.”

She’s right. My Scarlett always knows which buttons to press to irritate me, and while she’s been better at holding herself in check and keeping her quips to herself, denial has well and truly pissed her off.

I make a mental note and file it away. Now, it’s time to switch tactics to see if I can’t break her.