Chapter 15
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Ava
Everyone must drink.
Ugh. I have the distinct feeling I’m going to regret this, but I take the chalice anyway, drinking deeply to prove I can be a team player. The liquid is sweet—too sweet—and God only knows what it is, but if everyone else is drinking it, then it can’t be that bad, right?
The orange flavor lingers on my tongue as I hand the chalice back.
But, wait. Immediately, something feels wrong.
A wave of dizziness hits me so suddenly, I waver a little.
The guy just stares at me from behind his mask.
No reaction. No offer to help. Just a cold, detached gaze that sends fear tripping down my spine.
“What’s…” I rock back, but manage to catch myself, my vision blurring. I blink rapidly to clear the haze, but it only seems to get worse. “What’d you put…in that…dri…?” That last word trails off for no reason, but he gets what I’m trying to say, right?
“Something to relax you.”
All the anger and confusion from seconds ago is gone, replaced with a warm, floaty sensation that wraps around me like a warm towel freshly pulled from the dryer.
“Mmm,” I moan, my eyes drifting closed. “Nice.”
A pair of strong hands grip my upper arms to hold me steady.
“Ava Baldwin,” he intones, and the more he speaks, the more I’m convinced it’s Jackson. Who else here would know my last name?
“Yes?” My full weight shifts forward as I sink against him.
“Do you come here of your own free will?”
God, he smells so good. He’s always smelled absolutely delish, but this must be a new soap or something. I inhale, then suddenly remember he asked me a question. “Yes.” Not a lie. I was invited to observe, and I did come here willingly.
He drags me into the center of the circle and removes his mask, tossing it somewhere off in the darkness. It’s Jackson’s beautiful face staring back at me, his expression serious. Solemn. Dark.
God, I’m good. I knew it was him.
He leans in, the tips of his fingers gently tracing the line of my jaw until they reach my chin.
He tilts my face up, and captures me with those intense green eyes—sharp, unreadable, completely devastating.
My thoughts scatter. The room spins, soft and slow, but all I can focus on is him.
The way he looks at me, like he’s about to ruin me, but I’m too far gone to stop it.
“Do you agree to serve the order, to do whatever it requires of you without question or hesitation?” he whispers.
Those lips. Damn. They’ve always held some kind of spell over me—full and smooth, the kind that looks like they’ve whispered a thousand lies to a thousand different girls and never once begged for forgiveness.
There’s a faint curve to them, and I already know the havoc they’re capable of inflicting on my body.
“Ava…”
Oh, right. He asked me something. But for the life of me, I can’t remember what it was. Something about the society. I think. Maybe?
“Um, yes,” I reply quickly, hoping that’s the right answer, because, honestly…I don’t know.
His hand strokes my cheek as he says…something.
I don’t know. I’m so distracted by the way his voice snakes through my veins, I can barely focus on anything else.
The meaning of his words slips right past me.
My brain scrambles to catch just one word, to pin it down, but the second it lands, it vanishes in a haze of warmth and dizziness.
His fingers drift down to the collar of my robe, slow and deliberate, then tug it open just enough to expose my bra—the one I’m not supposed to be wearing.
“You will now be given the opportunity to show your willingness to submit to the order,” he says. “You may halt the ceremony at any point, but in doing so, you will be escorted off the premises and forbidden to enter forevermore…”
Okay, by some miracle, I managed to catch most of that. But…why is he telling me this? Why would I want to stop their ceremony?
“Sure, whatever,” I say, mostly because everyone is staring at me. At this point, I’d say anything just to move this thing along.
The chanting picks up again as Jackson pushes my robe the rest of the way off my shoulders. Cold air washes over me, and I shiver, goosebumps prickling my skin.
Under normal circumstances, I’d be mortified standing here, half-naked, in front of a roomful of strangers.
But there’s something about the steady rhythm of the chanting, combined with the heat of Jackson’s body pressed against mine, that lulls me into a delicious trance.
It’s like slipping beneath the surface of a dream I don’t want to wake from.
Seriously, what was in that drink?
Someone hands Jackson an item, and he drags it across my collarbone. “This feather represents…” I tilt my head back, enjoying the tickle against my skin.
He’s still talking, and God only knows what he’s saying, but, honestly, who cares? When he’s done with the feather, his helper hands him another item.
“This paddle…”
He takes a step back, angles me, then smacks the flat paddle against my outer thigh, blunt and firm.
It should sting, but whatever I drank from that chalice dulls the edge.
It doesn’t hurt. Not really. It tingles and spreads heat under my skin.
Three quick strikes, and I’m floating, more aware of the sound than the pain.
Then comes the whip. It’s thinner, more precise, with leather strips braided tightly into one long tail.
When it snaps against my skin, it’s sharper, more electric.
Not enough to draw blood, but enough to fire up every nerve.
The tail licks across my thigh, then bites, and the warmth that follows feels almost…
dizzying. Like pleasure, but with a razor’s edge.
But I have the feeling he’s going easy on me, like this is supposed to hurt a whole lot more.
When it’s over, Jackson hands the whip off and sweeps me up into his arms. I yelp, not expecting it. The circle moves with us as he carries me over to a table and places me on the wooden surface.
He steps back and reaches into his robe to unfasten his belt. “Remove your panties,” he says sharply.
Whoa, what? That sobers me instantly, like a bucket of ice water straight to the face. I’m sitting up, hands gripping the sides of the table with white knuckles. My eyes dart to the sea of gold masks surrounding us.
“What is this?” I ask. “What’s happening?”
“Lie back.”
Obviously, I don’t do that. But in the end, I don’t need to. I’m flanked by two people who each take one shoulder and push me down, so I’m flat on the table, face up. I don’t fight them because I can’t. I’m paralyzed by the shock of what’s happening.
How did this whole thing go so far off the rails so quickly?
“Open your legs,” he commands.
The wood is hard against my back, and I shift to try to relieve it, but I’m still being held down, so I can’t move much. That’s when the panic sets in.
My sluggish mind scrambles for a way out of this. Didn’t he say I could call the ceremony off? Or did I just make that up in my head? I’m so woozy, I can’t remember.
“You—” I swallow back the bile that’s rising in the back of my throat. “You said I could stop the ceremony—”
Before I can even finish that sentence, he moves to my side and grabs my jaw—his grip so hard, tears gather in my eyes. He leans down so we’re face to face, and when he speaks, his voice drenched in so much darkness, it makes me shudder. “Open your fucking legs,” he repeats.
The chanting fades to background noise as Jackson’s gaze cuts through me like a blade, leaving me bleeding and breathless and completely fucking unraveled. I should look away, or call this off, but I’m trapped by the raw, animalistic hunger I see in his eyes.
That’s when the connection between my mind and body is completely severed. Heat sweeps through my veins, and my thighs fall open. And what’s even more humiliating…my hips lift off the hardwood in a clear invitation.
What the fuck is wrong with me? Is this what demonic possession feels like? I feel like I’ve gone insane. Like, legitimately insane.
My reluctant obedience is rewarded with a slow smile that spreads across his beautiful face. “Good girl.”
With a hand on my knee, he spreads me wider and steps into the empty space between my thighs. I wish I could say I’m horrified by what’s happening, but, shamefully, something deep inside feels like it’s flickering back to life after three years in the dark.
He yanks the crotch of my panties aside with one hand, and his gaze drops to my swollen pussy. An arc of electricity zaps between us. Even in the dimness, I can see the set of his jaw, the way his nostrils flare, and it fans that fire inside me.
“In three years, no one has ever come close to you.” His eyes wander over my body lazily.
Unhurried. Far too unhurried, if you ask me.
But that’s the thing about Jackson McKnight, he doesn’t give a shit if a roomful of people are watching and waiting.
He’s always done his own thing, and fuck anyone who has a problem with it.
He moves closer, grinding against the inside of my thigh, his erection pressing insistently through the fabric of his slacks. Something inside me snaps. Like that sudden panic when you realize you’re about to be swallowed whole by something that’s far bigger than you.
I don’t even think—instinct takes over. I twist my upper body and clumsily dive off the table, my legs tangling with his body for a split second before I hit the floor.
It catches everyone off guard—even the two people who were holding me down.
They scramble to catch me, but I’m already struggling to my feet and stumbling toward the only exit.
My head is swimming and my legs tremble under the weight of my body, but I manage to make it halfway across the room before a strong hand wraps around my arm and yanks me back.
I don’t have to look back to see who it is. I already know.
Every cell in my body is attuned to him.