Chapter 26 #2
I stand there for a moment, just breathing in the rot and the moonlight, absolutely fucking loving it. After the black flowers and the twisted madness of the rest of the place, this greenhouse feels like the purest distillation of Rhys. It’s decadent, decaying, and completely mental.
I look up at the ceiling again, noticing silvery webs stretched between the black ivy, shimmering like liquid mercury in the lunar light.
They’re massive, thick things, making it feel as though some prehistoric, monstrous spiders once called this place home, weaving traps for things far worse than humans.
Dead vines hang from the rafters like nooses, swaying slightly in a breeze I can't feel, waiting for a neck to slide into them.
I feel a surge of genuine admiration for the bastard. I love his mind—the way he can take a nightmare and build it into a physical space. I almost wish he’d shown me this sooner; it’s the only place in this godforsaken world that actually matches the chaos inside my own skull.
I turn to him, a genuine, twisted smile pulling at my lips. "You're a mastermind, Rhys," I murmur, my voice airy.
But when I look at him, he isn't smiling back. Not exactly. He’s got this look in his eyes—that predatory, wide-eyed hunger that usually means I'm about to be ruined. In his hand, he's clutching some kind of remote, a sleek black device that looks entirely too modern for this gothic shithole.
He doesn't take his eyes off me. He just presses a button.
Snap.
I don't even see them move. Suddenly, thick, coarse vines whip out from the shadows, coiling around my wrists and snapping tight around my waist. I gasp, the air leaving my lungs as the grip tightens—not enough to crush my ribs, but enough to tell me I'm not going anywhere.
Before I can even scream, the vines jerk upward.
I’m hoisted off the ground, my feet dangling, the sudden movement making my head spin.
I scramble, kicking out, but more vines surge from the floor like living snakes, winding around my ankles and calves.
They pull my legs apart, spreading me wide and pinning me firmly against the cold, damp stone wall.
"What the fuck!" I yell, thrashing against the restraints. "Rhys! What the fuck is this? Let me go!"
The more I struggle, the more the vines react, tightening their hold, pressing my back flat against the wall until I can feel every rough crevice of the stone. I'm completely exposed, splayed open and helpless in the middle of this ghostly garden.
I look at him, panic spiking in my chest, but the expression on his face stops the breath in my throat. He isn't chasing me tonight. He doesn't need to. He’s already surrounded me. He’s the air, the earth, and the very vines holding me captive.
He walks toward me, his steps slow and deliberate, the sound of his boots echoing like a death knell.
He stops inches away, his heat radiating off him, contrasting with the midnight chill of the greenhouse.
He reaches out, not to touch me yet, but to trace the line of my jaw with a look of absolute, psychotic devotion.
"Did you think I'd just let you wander through my sanctuary without a price, Ophelia?" he whispers, his voice a low, dangerous growl. "You said it was brilliant. You said you loved my mind. Well, darling, tonight you get to feel exactly how my mind works when it comes to you."
He leans in, his lips brushing against my ear, his breath hot and smelling of dark intentions.
"I'm going to take my time with you here, in the dark, under the eyes of these dead things.
I'm going to fuck you until you forget your own fucking name, until the only thing left in your head is the sound of my voice and the feeling of me stretching you open.
I'm going to mark every inch of this pale skin, leave bruises that look like these vines, so that even when you leave this room, you'll still feel me holding you.
You're mine, Ophelia. Every scream, every shudder, every drop of cum—it all belongs to me.
I'm going to break you open and pour myself into you until there's nothing left of the girl you were. Just my broken, cracked, beautiful little doll.”
I’m pinned like a fucking butterfly to a board, my breath coming in jagged, shallow hitches.
Rhys stands before me, and for the first time tonight, the sheer scale of him feels suffocating.
He’s a mountain of a man, broad-shouldered and towering, blocking out the moonlight.
The psychotic glint in his eyes is blinding, a mixture of absolute devotion and a hunger that wants to swallow me whole.
He doesn't waste time with gentleness. With one violent, sudden jerk, he grabs the neckline of my dress and rips.
The sound of fabric screaming as it tears echoes through the silent greenhouse, leaving me shivering and exposed.
He shreds the rest of my clothes with a manic efficiency, tossing the scraps of fabric into the dirt like they're nothing.
"Look at you," he growls, his voice vibrating in my chest. "My perfect, trembling little doll."
He steps into my space, his massive frame pressing me harder against the stone wall.
He doesn't kiss me; he claims me. He starts at my neck, his tongue hot and rough, licking a long, wet stripe from my collarbone to my ear.
I shiver, my skin erupting in goosebumps, but as I look up, I see the vines above us pulsing, the thick, blackened veins of the plants twitching like living arteries.
"The vines..." I whisper, my voice shaking. "Rhys, the fucking veins... they're scaring me."
A dark, jagged smile spreads across his face.
He loves it. He fucking thrives on it. The moment he sees the terror in my eyes, his energy shifts—it becomes more aggressive, more predatory.
And god help me, it makes my pussy ache.
The fear is a spark, a jolt of electricity that shoots straight to my clit, turning my terror into a sickening, delicious arousal.
I lean my head back, embracing the madness, wanting him to ruin me.
"Good," he murmurs against my skin, his teeth grazing my pulse point. "Be scared, Ophelia. Be absolutely terrified. It makes you taste so much sweeter."
He moves down, his hands—huge and calloused—gripping my thighs, spreading them even wider.
He explores me with a brutal curiosity, his tongue swirling around my nipples, biting them until I cry out, before sliding lower.
He licks my stomach, his breath hot against my skin, his hands roaming everywhere, squeezing my breasts and bruising my hips.
He treats my body like a map he’s already memorized but still wants to conquer.
Then, I feel it.
A light, prickling sensation on the side of my neck.
I freeze, my eyes widening. Out of the shadows of the ivy, a spider descends.
It’s a fucking monster—hairy, bulbous, with eight glistening black eyes and legs that twitch with a rhythmic, clicking precision.
It crawls slowly onto my skin, its bristly legs tickling my neck.
I gasp, a sob of pure panic escaping me, but before I can scream, another one appears. This one is even larger, a heavy, hairy beast that goes down its web as I watch and drops onto my stomach, its weight surprising me. It scuttles across my belly, heading straight for the heat between my legs.
"Don't move, darling," Rhys whispers, his eyes wide and manic as he watches the creatures. He isn't stopping them; he's directing this. He’s turning my body into a playground for his nightmares. "See how they love you? Everything in this garden wants a piece of you. Just like I do."
He doesn't let me spiral into a full panic attack.
He uses it. As the spiders crawl over me, the sheer sensory overload—the terror of the insects and the heat of his mouth—sends me over the edge.
He dives between my legs, his tongue finding my clit with surgical precision.
He licks me with a ferocious intensity, his fingers sliding deep inside me, stretching me open while the spiders dance on my skin.
"You're mine," he mumbles against my soaking wet folds, his voice muffled. "Every shudder, every fucking scream... it's all for me."
I lose it. The combination of the fear and the pleasure is too much.
I scream, my body arching violently against the vines, my vision blurring into white sparks as a massive, crashing orgasm rips through me.
I’m sobbing, shaking, my muscles seizing as I come in violent waves, the spiders still clinging to me, Rhys drinking me in like I'm the only thing left in the world.
As the peak fades, leaving me limp and gasping for air, my chest heaving, I try to find my center. I'm floating, half-terrified, half-shattered.
Rhys pulls back, a look of utter satisfaction on his face. He looks at me—broken, splayed open, and covered in his scent and his pets. Slowly, deliberately, he reaches for the waistband of his pants.
"Now," he whispers, his eyes darkening as he begins to undress, "I take you.”
I watch him strip, my chest heaving, my mind a fucking whirlwind of terror and lust. He doesn't just undress; he sheds his clothes like a predator stripping away a disguise. When he’s finally bare, the sheer size of him is overwhelming.
He’s a fucking titan, all hard muscle and scarred skin, and there it is—right over his heart—the tattoo of the scratches I left on him.
A permanent mark of my violence, etched into his skin.
He looks at me with those manic, blown-out pupils, and I know he’s absolutely gone in the head. And god, I love him for it.
The vines tighten around my wrists and ankles, hoisting me up until I’m suspended, splayed open and helpless like some fucking specimen pinned to a board. I’m dangling in the moonlight, my pussy dripping, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird.
Then, the spider on my neck moves.