Total pages in book: 62
Estimated words: 61652 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 308(@200wpm)___ 247(@250wpm)___ 206(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 61652 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 308(@200wpm)___ 247(@250wpm)___ 206(@300wpm)
“And right there, pet …” he rasped in a husky, addicting tone. “You feel that? It’s your virginity. Now the real question is, should I claim it with my fingers or with my cock instead?”
“Please,” I pleaded, for I didn’t know what.
I was embarrassed, ashamed, afraid, and I still wanted him, needed his touch.
He growled from deep within his chest.
It was over before it even began. He removed his fingers and licked them clean. Backing away, he walked toward the door.
“Aren’t you going to untie me?”
“When you’re my good girl, you get to sleep in my arms; until then, you get nothing but darkness while you’re bound to the bed.”
He turned off the light, and once I heard the door being locked, I welcomed the sleep with open arms, allowing myself to slip back into dreams of my old life where I wasn’t being held captive.
My dreams turned into nightmares, and somewhere along the night, I was screaming in terror. Only to be told, “Shhh… shhh… shhh…”
I passed out again, only this time I wasn’t tied up.
No more dreams.
No more nightmares.
I was at peace.
Laying there, wrapped in my villain’s arms.
CHAPTER TEN
Donovan
“Fuck!”
I kicked the door, again and again, my foot banging against the metal until I felt nothing. When I was feeling everything. She was sleeping in my arms. It was too soon, but I couldn’t fucking help myself. She was hysterical, having a nightmare more than likely about me. I wanted her fear, yet it needed to be on my terms. Not hers. I watched Juliet from the monitor in my office for as long as I could bear it.
“You done yet?” a familiar voice questioned down the corridor.
I didn’t turn around.
I didn’t have to.
“Does it look like I’m done?” I kicked it again.
I sent the guards to go play fetch while I tended to my property.
That’s all she is, Donovan. You’re just taking care of what’s yours—nothing more, nothing less.
“I can smell her fear.”
“What?” I spun around. “You a werewolf now, Troy?”
“I don’t like blood as much as you do. You sure you still want this one? I could take her off your hands … break her for you, really challenge her to become the best version of herself. You know how it goes, kill all hope, burn down everything, so she becomes reliant on you. It’s like having a gorgeous slave who would kill just for your approval.”
I clenched my fists and finally gave him my full attention. Troy was my father’s best friend, and in some form, he was a father figure to me as well—taking me under his wing after I had killed my father. He was one of the only people who understood me, understood what we did, what we provided, and was the only one capable of seeing past every one of my cold, calculated looks to the man inside of me.
And sometimes, I hated him for it.
Troy wasn’t intimidated or threatened by my presence and made sure to put me in my place every chance he’d get. It didn’t happen often. He was getting older and didn’t have the power he once had.
Especially, over me.
“What do you really want?” I changed the subject, walking into another room that stored all my liquor. I poured a dram of whiskey into my favorite glass. “You never visit when I’m working.”
“I missed you,” he chuckled, sitting in his usual spot. The black leather chair was his favorite.
Our habits kept us focused, and each of us were religiously tied to everything we did when breaking someone new, down to the very clothes we wore and people we talked to.
This lifestyle wasn’t simple. It was a calculated web of desire, deceit, lust, training, approval, and money.
And I fucking loved it.
Most days.
He wore a black suit with his black shirt; the first two buttons were undone, revealing the matching tattoo we both got when we started our company. Something I couldn’t think about now, not with his arrogant blue eyes practically twinkling with amusement and not with his dark blond hair pulled away from his face like he’d constantly been running his hands through it. Plotting, thinking, planning. Even in his sixties, he was striking. According to almost every woman he had trained.
In the back of my mind, I was reminded of that day.
The day my world went dark.
The day he offered to rescue me, and I hated that he was right to this very day. My father’s best friend, now my business partner and the only man I could trust.
But could I really trust him?
Fuck no.
We were slave trainers. Sometimes the women were trafficked, and sometimes they were just taken. I took my seat, leaning back, folding my hands in my lap, and waiting for the question I knew would come. It was inevitable. After all, he always wanted what he couldn’t have, and I typically always gave him what was out of his reach. I was indulgent like that, and it was the only way we really showed affection.