by Jen Davis
Like a damn child, she crossed her arms in front of her chest. “I’m not washing myself while you sit there and watch me like a fucking pervert.”
“Watch your mouth, Miss Linscott. I’ve been real nice so far, so do not force me to show you what I’m really capable of so soon in our little game. Now,” I glanced down at the bucket and back up at her, “clean yourself up.”
“If I refuse?”
I leaned forward, my elbows on my knees, clutching my hands together in front of me. “Let me explain to you how this is going to work. Lesson number one, every time you do as you are told, I will reward you.”
“Like a fucking pet?” she snapped, her eyes burning holes through my forehead.
I smiled wickedly. “If that’s the way you see it, yes. Like a pet. Clean yourself up all nice, and next time I might consider letting you take a shower. Every time you obey me, you will get your reward. Defy me, and you’ll be punished.”
She shifted uncomfortably from one leg to the other. “Punished how?”
“That depends on how creative I feel at that moment. But I would advise you not to chance it since I have the tendency to be very creative when it comes to punishment.”
The way her throat moved as she swallowed was proof she caught my drift. God, I loved every fucking second of this.
“I’m going to tell you one more time, Tatum. Clean yourself the fuck up.”
For a few seconds, we continued to stare at each other. I could just imagine all the gruesome images of how she’d like to murder me playing inside her head. The way I stared back at her, I made sure she got the message loud and clear that she really shouldn’t fuck with me. Although there was a part of me that wanted her to defy me, to give me a reason to punish her so I could see just how far her body could go.
Finally, she crouched down, reached for the soap in the water, all the while keeping her intense scowl on me.
“That’s a good little mouse,” I taunted.
Slowly, hesitantly, she started to move the bar of soap up her arm, and then the other, before dropping the soap back into the bucket and rubbing her hands over the layer of soap on her arms. She moved her hands up to her neck, spreading the bubbles across her skin.
I lifted a brow. “Do not forget those pretty legs of yours, little mouse.”
“You’re a sick bastard.”
“Not the first time I’ve heard that.” I smiled wickedly. “Now, clean your legs.”
She stood up, and I watched with amusement as she pulled the rag she was wearing up, and up, and up, exposing more and more of her body. Her legs were long, slim, her ivory skin making the discolored rag seem even poorer.
Reaching between her legs, she pulled the back of the rag to the front and clutched it tight, forming a kind of pants. Smart move…since I knew she wasn’t wearing any panties under that rag.
While she crouched back down, reaching for the soap, our eyes remained locked on one another. Her blue irises burned, heat waking my every carnal impulse, and I didn’t dare take my eyes off her. But when she placed the bar of soap on the inside of her thigh, my gaze fell to the movement. Round and round she circled the soap over her skin, creating a thick layer of bubbles. I’d have been lying if I’d said my cock wasn’t starting to react to the sight in front of me. The way her hands touched her skin and how she stared at me with hatred in her eyes enticed my monster, made him pace behind his cage.
My gaze moved to the inside of her other thigh, and that was when I saw it—lines of white scars decorating her skin. Some thin, some thick, all crossing and twining together, forming proof that little Miss Tatum Linscott seemed to have demons of her own. And as she washed the soap from her other thigh, I noticed the same marks.
“Are those your handiwork?” I asked, keeping my gaze on her thighs.
Immediately, she stood and dropped the rag to cover her legs. “That’s none of your business.”
I rose and slowly walked toward her, those scars pulling me closer. “Tell me how you got them.”
“No,” she replied sharply.
I continued to move toward her. “Self-inflicted?”
“I told you, it’s none of your goddamn business.”
I stopped right in front of her, gazing down into the blue pits of her eyes, consumed with both fear and fire.
Those scars on her thighs had me wondering if there was a time in her life that she was utterly broken and wrecked…unless…
Maybe those weren’t scars of a damaged soul, but rather a sign of something twisted she carried inside her, a craving for something dark…a release.
Fuck me. The thought alone took my mind to the darkest, most delightful places. If that was true, that she carried around a warped sense of need, then she and I, we had something in common.
I reached out to her hip, but she pulled back. “Don’t you fucking touch me.”
But I moved forward and grabbed her hip, clutching so tightly there was no way she could get out of my hold. “Lesson number two, if I want something from you, you will give it to me.”
Slowly, I wound up the fabric, little by little, letting my fingers brush against her skin. “Here, with me, you have no will but mine. The word ‘no’ does not exist in my world.” The hem of her ugly nightgown curled up in my hand, and my knuckles grazed against her bare skin.
I yanked her leg up, twisting it to the side as I stared down at the prominent scars, depicting something beautifully twisted and perversely inviting. The hunger those scars awoke inside me burned like acid in my stomach, letting me crave the warped desires that always churned in the deepest part of my soul. It wasn’t something I was prepared for. It wasn’t a complication I anticipated when I put this entire plan together, but fuck me, it slammed against my chest, shaking my very foundation. Even though my hatred for this woman poisoned the blood running through my veins, my cock pulsed and ached with a need to extract something twisted out of her. A part of me wanted to taste her, sample her—devour her. I wanted to see her succumb to wicked desires I knew were gnawing inside her, to let her feel what it was really like to be completely and utterly consumed…and owned.
I looked up at her eyes burning like white fire. “You are no longer Tatum Linscott.”
Her chest was rapidly rising and falling, her breaths coming out shallow and fast, its warmth gently moving across the skin of my neck.
“Who am I?” Her voice was soft, as if she were too afraid to ask but needed to know.
The need I saw in her eyes was too tempting, too inviting, and it was feeding the lust that festered in my groin.
I let go of her leg, reached up, and tore the rag down the front, exposing her breasts. She yelped then fought to cover herself. But I grabbed her arms in my hands, squeezing tight, pushing her forcefully against the wall. Allowing my gaze to travel down her chest, staring at her full, round, naked tits, I licked my lips, the sick fucker inside my head loving the way her body shivered and trembled.
I lifted my gaze to meet hers. “You’re my little mouse now.”
Chapter 9
Tatum
There was no mistaking the feral look in his eyes as he stared at me, licking his lips like he was preparing to taste something he wanted…me.
“Take your hands off me.” I tried pushing him away, but it was no use. His grip around my elbow tightened, the look of alpha possession glowing from his face as he allowed his gaze to run down every naked part of me.
Even though my heart was about to rip through my chest, my stomach churning with panic, I swallowed my fear, determined not to show weakness. But there was something else, a need that flickered inside my core, a feeling of want that primed my body to be taken. His hot breath stroked my skin with soft wisps of sensual promises and ignited a slow burn inside me. My nipples hardened, my thighs clenched, and my lips parted slightly with expectation. The feeling instantly shattered my mind in shards of confusion and disgust, yet every muscle in my body was clenched in search of release. How was it possible I could
want this man—this man who held me here against my will, who wanted to break and hurt me? Why would my body react so sinfully toward a man who had the power to ruin me with his touch, wreck me with his wickedness while he relished my demise?
No…never.
With his eyes narrowed into slits, he looked up from my naked breasts and into my eyes. For a moment, it felt like he saw the need I so desperately tried to suppress, the same need I saw casting a shadow over his face. It became too hard to breathe, as if the air had thickened with a sultry tension that swept through me, settling in my belly. By the way his eyes darkened, his tongue flicking over his lips, I was certain he felt it too.
Abruptly, he let go of my arms like my skin burned him, cold air replacing his touch. Taking a step back, he roughed his hand through his hair, glancing down at the floor, seeming confused, mortified…exactly like me.
I grabbed the torn fabric and tugged it together, covering myself. Castello started to pace, his hand still clutched in his hair while he repeated the same phrase in Italian over and over again.
“Non lei, non la…Non lei, non la…non lie, non la…” Not her, never her.
What he didn’t know was that I understood every word. I spoke Italian fluently, but that would remain my secret…for now.
With confusion, I watched him pace, wondering why he would repeat those words. Why not me? Why never me? It didn’t make sense. Was he experiencing the same turmoil inside as I did a few seconds ago, his body pulling him in a completely different direction than his mind? I didn’t know what the hell was going on, and by the looks of it, neither did he.
When he stopped pacing and spun toward me, I sucked in a breath. The look of need was gone, replaced with burning anger, intimidating the hell out of me.
I stepped back, not knowing what his next move would be. We were surrounded by so many different emotions, it was impossible to predict which one would consume us next.
For a few seconds, we stood there staring at each other, waiting, expecting, anticipating. The silence was heavy, laden with tension and something else, something so intense I felt it in every bone of my body. I was too afraid to try to place it, to determine what it was, because deep down I already knew, but there was no way I would acknowledge it. Not with him. Not with him being the devil currently ruling my Hell.
He stalked toward me, my heart beating faster with every step he took. I didn’t recognize the look in his eyes. I couldn’t tell if it was murder…or lust—lust that had no place between the two of us. We were enemies. He hated me, I feared him, so why did it feel like there was something stronger, something that would ultimately destroy us both?
He stopped in front of me, so close I could feel his breath coating my cheeks. All I could do was close my eyes, unable—unwilling—to determine what went on in his dark mind, what he wanted from me now in this very moment, because I was too afraid I would give it to him.
His hand touched the inside of my thigh, and I gasped, my stomach about to explode, my knees trembling beneath me. One simple touch of his hand, and I seemed to have lost all control over my body.
“This isn’t going to work, Tatum.” His voice was low, soft, like the feel of his thumb slowly moving up the inside of my thigh. It was a touch that had the power to turn that flicker of need into a brightly burning flame and to turn the confusion inside my mind into darkly shadowed hate.
His touch wasn’t cold as I had anticipated, but instead it singed my skin, causing me to inhale sharply. Up and up his hand moved, and the longer his touch remained on my skin, the more rapidly I started to breathe.
What the hell is happening?
Fear ran rampant inside me, but my body somehow responded to his touch, betraying me in the worst possible way. I didn’t dare open my eyes. I didn’t want to witness how he was looking at me for fear I might look back at him in the exact same way. I didn’t want to risk being swept away by whatever the fuck was happening since it was too wrong, too disgusting…too twisted, exactly the way I wanted it for so long. It was the most decadent kind of torture as my mind fought his touch, yet my body embraced it.
His hand moved a little higher and stopped just below the apex of my thighs. My body screamed for him to move that extra inch, to touch me where it ached and pulsed with need, but my mind cursed him, hated him, willed him not to touch. If he did, he would feel the soaking proof of my depravity. There would be no more hiding from him. My body would divulge all the secret, perverted desires I’d been hiding for so long—something he would use against me in his sordid quest to destroy me.
But the slightest movement of his thumb, barely touching yet sending the most powerful wave of shameless lust crashing against my core, made me whimper. I hated my body, hated the way my insides coiled because of the way he touched me.
There was a hard jerk, the sound of fabric being torn, pulling me back from wherever the fuck I was, somewhere between here and a place in Hell where I was being seduced by the devil.
I looked down as he tore a piece off the already tattered rag I was wearing.
“That little bucket of water isn’t going to be enough to wash away your filth.” He grabbed my elbow and spun me around, pushing his knee between my thighs, forcing my legs apart. The ache between my legs intensified, twisting my stomach into knots of misplaced lust and desire. How could I like this? What kind of twisted freak was I for wanting him as fear and need ran through my veins in equal measure?
He pushed his body against my back, forcing me harder against the cold wall. And then I felt it—the length of his hard desire pressing against my back. Oh God, this was so damn wrong.
“You’re one dirty little mouse, aren’t you, Tatum?”
I couldn’t answer him. There was no way I could open my mouth since I had no guarantee what would come out of it. Currently, there was a raging war between my body and my head, and with his warmth sweeping through me, feeling the evidence of his desire against my back, I was ninety-nine percent sure my body was busy winning.
“Lucky, or unlucky for you, I prefer you dirty.” He grabbed my wrists and forced them behind my back before tying my hands together with the piece of fabric he had torn from my already shredded rag.
“Which is why we’ll forgo the bath…for now.”
I glanced over my shoulder as panic surged through my heated body. “What are you doing?”
“Taking you to meet the rest of my family.”
Oh God.
For the first time since I got here, I didn’t want to leave the room. For the first time, these four walls represented a safety I never felt before now. Out there, beyond these walls, lay the unknown, and right now the unknown was my worst enemy.
I struggled against the ties, trying to free my wrists, but it was too tight. It felt like the fabric was slicing through my flesh.
“Please—”
He tore off another piece of the rag, and before I could finish my sentence, he placed it over my eyes.
“Stop, please.” My voice shook, my body quivered, and everything inside me burned with the need to escape, to get away.
With a hard tug, he tied the blindfold behind my head. “Shhh, little mouse.” Softly, he placed his hands on my shoulders before leaning closer to my ear, pressing his hard body against mine, letting his heat sweep through my spine. “This is all part of the fun.”
“Castello, please—”
He grabbed my hair and yanked it back, the force stinging my scalp. “I told you to address me as sir, or have you forgotten?”
Soft whimpers rolled over my lips, and I was secretly thankful for the blindfold hiding the threatening tears.
“Come on, the show’s about to start.” He turned me around. “And you’re the main attraction.”
Gripping my elbow to a point where I was certain it would bruise, he started to drag me out of the room while I struggled against his hold.
“Where are you taking me?” I tried to push my heels into the ground to stop him from dragging me. With eve
ry bit of strength I had, I tried to rip my arm from his hold, but he was too strong, twisting his grip around my skin.
“You’ll see soon enough.”
“Please don’t do this.”
“It’s already done.”
As he dragged me to wherever we were going, I tripped and stumbled a few times along the way, but he had no mercy, no compassion. Every time I fell over my own two feet, he just jerked me up without slowing down. My strength had left me, once again leaving the weak, crying Tatum to endure whatever lay ahead. Every step he forced me to take, I felt more and more like a lamb on its way to the slaughterhouse.
The hunger pangs that plagued my body earlier were now replaced with the urge to vomit, to get rid of the bile that was churning in the pit of my stomach. Fear filled the emptiness in my belly now.
Abruptly, we came to a stop, and I heard voices along with a lot of gasps.
“Where am I?” I jerked my head from side to side, trying to determine where I was—with whom.
The fabric around my wrists was cut off, but before I could reach up to pull down the blindfold, someone grabbed my arms.
“Now-now, you’re not ready to see yet,” Castello whispered into my ear as my arms were lifted, and cold, hard steel was placed around my wrists.
“Oh God, what’s happening?” I tried to struggle against whoever was holding my arms, but it was no use. The click of the cuffs being locked around my wrists sounded like fucking gunshots echoing in my ears, and my heart no longer beat with a rhythm but rather thrashed with alarm.
“Are you ready for your fifteen minutes of fame, Tatum?” Castello’s voice was tainted with malice, and I shuddered as he started to untie the blindfold. My body went numb, my insides burning with incomprehensible fear and panic. My lungs ceased to work, only allowing a few shallow breaths at a time.
And then the blindfold was off.
God, I wish I didn’t open my eyes.
I stared at a room full of men dressed in tuxedos, holding glasses of champagne and tumblers of bourbon in their hands. They all looked at me, glaring at me like I was the spawn of Satan.
