Chapter Twenty-Two
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Ily
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HENRI STUMBLED AS WE CROSSED the threshold.
Lurching forward, he dumped me unceremoniously onto his bed, freed me from the belt buckled around my shackled wrists, then backed away as if I’d burned him.
The cloud-like softness enveloped me with a whiff of clean sheets and his unique earthy, woodsy scent. My heart skipped as the stickiness of his pleasure dribbled between my legs, and my bruised ribs ached from his shoulder.
Being hauled up here like a dead deer hadn’t exactly been comfortable, and the lack of food in my belly seemed all the more obvious now it’d been squished into nothing.
A few mouthfuls at dinner had barely tamed my starvation, but...if I had to be completely truthful, food wasn’t what I hungered for.
Shifting on the bed, I gathered my legs beneath me and kneeled. My clit throbbed for attention. My entire body on tenterhooks for more.
Henri’s grey gaze met mine.
And all the fire in my blood ignited.
When he’d entered me?
God, I almost came.
When he’d fucked me?
I struggled to remember not to enjoy it.
And when he’d roared and spurted inside me?
I very nearly followed him.
I would’ve followed him.
If it wasn’t for them.
The bastards watching us.
The monsters who destroyed the lives of others.
And I couldn’t.
I couldn’t let myself go.
Couldn’t allow myself to feel anything other than sickening fury and hate.
I didn’t care that Peter said living in a whorehouse caused everything to become sexual. I didn’t care that my body had already begun the slippery slope into its demise.
I wasn’t turned on by this.
I didn’t want this.
But I did want him.
The good man pretending to be bad.
The cop who forced himself to hurt me.
I’d felt his restraint as he mounted me.
I’d sensed his despair as he thrust.
My script in this story came with misery and abuse, but his? His might be even worse.
To be the abuser when you were born to be the saviour?
To become something you didn’t want after spending your entire life denying that part of yourself?
God, what was it doing to him mentally?
How much longer could he cope before he snapped?
“Henri...” I raised my hand, asking him for something...
For him to finish what he started when it was just us in the dark.
For him to erase the fictional fucking between a Master and his slave with something more.
My voice shattered whatever spell he’d been under.
His entire face twisted; his eyes bled with pain.
Biting his bottom lip, he shook his head, threw the belt he’d used to bind me into the corner of the room, then marched into the bathroom and slammed the door.
The suddenness of his leaving made the room flex and glimmer with confusion.
Tears that didn’t seem to obey me anymore suddenly rolled wet and salty down my cheeks.
What happened down there?
What happened between us?
How did him feeding me become the most erotic thing of my life, followed by having sex as one of the most degrading?
Why did my heart split down the middle and wage war on itself? Half of it cursing his name for what he’d done, the other half wanting to get on its knees and thank him for protecting me. For using his body to shield mine. For being the monster to keep the others at bay.
He’d used me against his wishes.
We’d performed a timeless act, not because we wanted each other or let lust cloud our judgement but because we were trapped in a nightmare.
Did that absolve what we did or merely reveal how weak I was?
Weak because beneath my despair lingered the very real, very awful need for him to finish what he started—
Enough, Ily.
I sighed and rubbed my teary eyes.
You’re tired and not thinking straight.
You don’t want him.
Those bubbles in your chest aren’t...feelings.
Oh God, don’t.
I clenched my teeth and begged my mind to quieten.
My twice-denied orgasm lived in my teeth and nerve-endings.
Shame came again, followed by misery.
Fear for Krish.
Horror for me.
Worry for the jewels.
It all percolated and blended until I didn’t recognise myself.
The longer I sat on Henri’s bed, the more my insides erupted with anger.
Righteous anger that flamed quickly with hate.
My hands balled as the last twenty-four hours flickered past.
Yesterday, I’d been free.
My biggest concern was breaking up with a silly little boy, and today, I was at the mercy of a darkly tangled man.
I’d agreed to play along with Henri, but nothing could hide the fact that he was the reason I was here.
Without him, I’d be back in England.
If he’d never noticed me and I’d never noticed him, I would never have been dragged into this mess. Never have his cum inside me. Never have to obey his every command so I wasn’t raped by a hundred others.
Rage funnelled hotter.
Fury I hadn’t even acknowledged unfurled in a gust of ferocity.
Sitting alone in an inescapable castle with unsatisfied lust and a betraying heart, my thoughts turned toxic.
Damn him.
Damn them.
Damn everything.
I wanted to scratch and scream and kill.
I wanted to cry and beg and run.
For the first time since I’d been brought here, I had a moment to sit in my thoughts and they pounced on me.
Screeched at me.
Scolded and sliced at me.
So much feeling.
So much fear.
I drowned.
It’s his fault.
He did this.
He used me to get inside.
He stole my life—
A soul-wrenching sob crawled up my throat.
Wedging a fist in my mouth, I bit down, willing myself to stay silent.
It’s him.
It’s all because of him.
Tears erupted and flowed.
And you think you want him?
How could you?
My cheeks rivered with sorrow. His explicit instructions not to cry echoed in my mind. Another rule. Another law. An imprisonment as much as my cuffs and collar.
I hated them.
Hated everything.
All of it.
Everyone.
I just want to go home.
Wrenching up the blankets, I shot beneath them and cowered below. I shivered as soft cotton tortured my oversensitive skin. I groaned as lightning bolts of need darted between my legs.
I sank into a cesspit of despair and rage, sorrow and fury.
I couldn’t stop crying.
He can’t see.
You know what he’ll do...
Choking on homesickness and terror, I reached for the box of tissues by a pair of pretty birdcage-shaped cufflinks on his bedside table.
My hand shook so hard, I knocked one of them off by accident.
It plummeted to the carpet, twinkling in the light.
It landed with a soft plop. Torn from its partner. All alone on the floor.
I cried harder.
Alone.
God, I felt so, so alone.
I couldn’t leave it there. Couldn’t let it feel a tenth of my pain at being ripped from where it belonged.
Gasping for breath, I went to slip out of my cocoon to claim it, but the bathroom door wrenched open, and Henri marched back in.
His short dark hair stuck up as if he’d run wet hands through it.
Water droplets clung to his stern jaw like ice crystals.
His cheekbones seemed extra sharp. His eyes unfathomably dark.
He froze.
His gaze darted over my face, fastening on my tears.
I stiffened.
I waited for him to launch himself on me and swallow every drop.
He trembled beneath his strange proclivity for sorrow.
With a shaky breath, he stepped toward me, only...the flash of the lonely cufflink glinted on the floor.
Raw panic filled his grey gaze as he darted to the bed and dropped to one knee to snatch it. Swooping upright, he fisted the other one from the table and strangled both of them. “What the hell happened? You touched them? Fuck, do you have any idea what you could’ve done?”
Spinning on his heel, he glowered at the ceiling. “Christ, Ily.”
I wiped my cheeks with the sheet, quickly soaking up my tears to remove any shred of temptation. Once my face was dry, I tipped my chin high. “They’re just cufflinks.”
His lips twisted as he muttered a curse under his breath. His eyes darted to the corners of the room where little red dots hinted cameras watched us, even here.
Swallowing a snarl, he didn’t answer me. Stalking to the other side of the bed where a corded phone rested, he yanked up the receiver.
Was he trying to call someone?
Could it be that easy?
Not looking anywhere near me, his shoulders slouched as someone spoke to him on the other end. His hand clenched around the cufflinks. “Yes, hi. I’m hungry. Do you offer room service in this goddamn castle?”
He nodded to whatever was replied. “Good. All of it. Bring it up to my room.” Hanging up, he shoved the cufflinks into his trouser pocket, then pinched the bridge of his nose.
With a heavy sigh, he sat on the foot of the bed.
The mattress bounced, jostling me beneath the covers, making my hypersensitive skin react all over again. I gasped, willing the zinging, sexual frustration to leave me the hell alone.
He sucked in a breath and twisted to face me.
Our eyes locked.
And so many things crashed between us.
Guilt.
Blame.
Anger.
Animosity.
He’d done what needed to be done downstairs.
We’d survived another day with Victor and his beasts.
This was our reward—hidden and safe behind a locked door. So why did it feel like the worst kind of punishment as his gaze fastened on mine and his awareness sharpened to daggers.
After the longest moment, his shoulders heaved. His voice was achingly quiet as he muttered, “You missed two.”
I frowned, bundled in my blankets. “Missed what?”
He looked away, keeping his eyes resolutely on the carpet. “Tears. There’s two on your bottom eyelashes, just waiting to fall.”
My chest squeezed.
The cost of that.
The battle he’d won to tell me.
“Thank you.” Dabbing my face again, I made sure to swipe beneath my chin for any stragglers before smoothing out the sheet and sitting tall. “You can look now.”
Reluctantly, he turned all the way to face me. Slowly, his chin tipped up, and his eyes skated over every inch. Finally, he nodded and gave me a tragic half-smile. “Better.”
I flushed beneath his intensity. “I-I’m sorry about the cufflinks. I didn’t mean to—”
“It’s fine. They’re fine. I overreacted.”
“They obviously mean a great deal to you.”
His hand went to his pocket, patting them through the material. He gave a sad shrug. “They belong to my brother.”