Chapter Twelve
Hadrian
I’ve never been so happy to receive an alert on my phone. My plan was to leave Juliet alone for twenty-four hours, and the minutes dragged by as I worked on checking every single one of Candice’s systems.
I hate feeling like I can’t trust her. Everything looks good, but I can’t shake the feeling something is going on. Especially given the strange message hidden in the flickering light. Once I wrote it out from memory, the pattern was easy to read.
Dots and dashes. Morse code.
But if the code itself was simple, the message it revealed was anything but.
I will show you fear in a handful of dust.
A line from TS Eliott’s poem “The Wasteland.” It’s had my skin crawling ever since I decoded it and read the rest of the creepy poem. A direct threat might have been less unsettling.
Kendrick and Jacob received the information with the carefully blank expressions of men who think they might be talking to a madman, and I don’t blame them. First phantom lights, now poetry. I sound crazy to myself.
But just as I thought the slow passage of time might actually drive me insane, my phone beeped. Thank God. Juliet only made it fifteen hours before breaking a rule.
I have a reason to see her. A reason to punish the beautiful body I own. Guilt accompanies the thought, but it’s fleeting. The more I see how Juliet responds to me as her master, the more certain I am that she needed this all along.
If only I’d known before. Everything could have been different. Would she have betrayed me if I had her tied to the bed every night? If I was fulfilling the dark needs I never knew she had? Maybe not.
But, on the outside, I couldn’t have given her the level of control I can in the Compound, and it might not have been enough for her.
And if I’d still been married, the Brotherhood would never have approached me—it goes against their code.
I’ve always despised the phrase “everything happens for a reason,” but in this case, maybe it’s true.
Juliet’s betrayal led her into the slavery she’s always craved. Who am I to argue with fate?
She’s on her knees, quivering as she waits for me to pronounce her punishment.
I tighten my grip on her hair, and she whimpers.
It’s a tangled mess, and it has to be driving her mad.
She was always vain about her hair. I don’t like it being messy either, but luxuries like conditioner are for well-behaved slaves.
And Juliet is a long way away from that.
“I…I didn’t…”
She stammers, but I don’t even think it’s a genuine attempt to deceive me. She’s slipped into the role she loves to play. I can tell by the color in her cheeks and her high, breathy voice. I don’t think she knows she’s doing it, how different she sounds when she slips into that mode.
I slap her across the face. It’s not hard enough to leave a mark, but I still feel it on my palm like a brand.
Taking a strap to her ass is one thing, but this feels like a line crossed.
I half expect her to burst into tears, but instead, her eyes widen and her lips part as she draws in a shocked breath.
She actually liked it. Unbelievable.
I need to get my head in the right place for this. Last time, as soon as I stepped into the room, Saldar took over. Now, with all the stress of things happening on the outside, I feel dangerously like myself—prone to overthinking everything and fucking this up completely.
I take a deep breath and try to sink into the headspace I need. It doesn’t matter if she likes being slapped. She’s here to learn a goddamn lesson.
“Don’t lie to me. I know what you did. Admit it to me, or you’ll regret it.”
I yank on her hair again, emphasizing the point, and the squeak she lets out travels straight to my cock. I focus on it, on the power I have to deliver discipline. She belongs to me, and regardless of whatever is going on outside, I need to make sure she knows it.
Her throat works as she swallows, and I can almost see her thoughts. Keep up the pointless charade? Or tell me the truth and face the consequences? Knowing Juliet, she could go either direction.
Her words are music to my ears. “You’re right. Sorry.” A short pause. “Master.”
Her chest rises and falls rapidly as she talks, and Christ, I want to touch her. Soon. Soon.
“What did you do? Tell me. In detail.”
She licks her lips, her cheeks blaze, and she averts her gaze. I file her discomfort away for future reference. This side of Juliet is a puzzle, and I’m going to solve every single bit of it.
“I touched myself. Made myself come.”
I lean down closer to her. Freckles stand out on her skin. “Without permission.”
She meets my gaze. “Yes. Without permission. Sorry.”
Her pupils fill her eyes, pushing the green to a vivid ring.
She never looked at me like this when we were together.
I’ll see that fearful expression in my dreams. I loosen my grip on her hair and touch her cheek as she sighs in relief.
“Well done for admitting it. But slaves don’t own their pleasure, do they? ”
She shivers and shakes her head. “No, Master.”
“What happens to slaves who break the rules?”
That shiver again. I drink it in. Every movement she makes is locked into my memory forever, and it’s building a beautiful tapestry. She bites her lip, and her voice drops to a whisper. “We get punished.”
“Correct.”
She tenses, clearly expecting me to grab her, but there’s no rush. She’s under my spell, and unless I’m very much mistaken, she’ll do whatever I say. I want to make her a participant in her own debasement this time.
I straighten. “On your feet.”
She blinks up at me, then slowly complies. It’s electric, her obeying my commands. Her lips part, and the image of them wrapped around my cock hits me all at once. Perhaps I should have started with that. But no. She can make amends to me later, once she’s been punished.
“Stand in the corner, facing the wall.”
She’ll really, really hate that. Juliet likes to see what is going on. Her momentary hesitation shows me just how much. Once she’s in position, I take my time getting everything ready, checking regularly that she isn’t peeking. If she is, I don’t catch her in the act.
Once everything is prepared, I snap, “Turn around.”
Her confused expression brings a smile to my face underneath the mask. Despite her obsession with all things kinky, I’ve managed to surprise her. Good.
An adjustable pole is attached to an anchor point on the floor, and the thick dildo on the end of it sits just below where her pussy will be. She’ll straddle it, and once I raise it up, she’ll be trapped, impaled by the dildo in her pussy. A one-bar prison, just for her.
Juliet frowns, glancing between me and the device. I beckon her over, and she comes, looking more curious than scared. A pair of painfully high stiletto heels sit next to the pole.
“Put the shoes on.”
She sits on the altar and does, wincing when she stands up in them. Never one for high heels, my Juliet. Her feet will be sore in five minutes. Too bad for her.
I point at the dildo. “Lower yourself onto that.”
I see the moment comprehension dawns. Her brows knit, but she moves over to the bar and positions herself over it.
I don’t offer any help, just watch as she frowns down at it, then awkwardly lowers herself.
Her deep red blush hasn’t abated, and she can’t meet my eye.
She’s happier getting thrown around than she is following orders while I watch.
She struggles, shifting herself around on the large dildo, before she manages to get it inside her.
There’s something fascinating about making her perform for me, and my heart rate picks up.
She’s a living doll, pulled by my strings.
It’s such a perfect image. My hands shake a little as I pick up the remote control.
Once she’s got herself seated, I press the button and extend the pole.
She yelps as her legs straighten, though I stop it just before her feet would have left the ground.
I want her balanced on the shoes. She stares down at herself, then back at me, eyes wide.
Before she has a chance to say anything, I collect a pair of handcuffs and make quick work fastening her hands behind her back, then stand to admire her.
She’s completely trapped in the most humiliating way possible, and it’s fucking beautiful.
The position pushes her breasts toward me, and her chest moves with rapid, panicked breaths. The shoes add length to her long, toned legs. I trace the length of her body. She’s an offering presented as a sacrifice, and now, she’s really afraid.
The shift in her demeanor pulls me forward, and she twitches like a butterfly pinned to a board. But she can’t escape.
“Comfortable?”
She swallows, then shakes her head. “No, Master. I—”
“You get one hour like this today. If you touch yourself again without permission, it’s two. And so on.”
She relaxes a fraction as I set the timer running, and I want to laugh. Does she really think this is her only punishment? This is just the beginning.
I finally, finally let myself touch her soft, pale skin, lingering over her nipples. As soon as I touch her there, they harden. It was always one of my favorite things about Juliet. The gentlest touch has her moaning. Of course, that can work against her, too.
I play until her mouth goes slack and her eyes lose focus. Then, without any warning, I clip the first clamp onto her nipple.
She screams, head snapping forward, eyes full of hurt. These clamps are the savage sort, to be left on no longer than fifteen minutes, and she’s going to feel every second of that time. I hold up the second clamp, and she shakes her head. “No. Please. I’m too sensitive. It’s—”
I snap it into place.
She squeals again, twisting from side to side as if she can dislodge them that way. No such luck. Tears shimmer in her eyes, making the green even more vibrant. I never noticed before how tears change the color of her eyes. “Please. It’s burning. It’ll—”
I tweak one clamp, and she shrieks. Euphoria swamps me. My mind clears, all the usual background noise draining away. I’m right where I need to be. “Try to keep calm, doll. Your punishment will last twenty-four hours, and I have so much planned for you. We’re just getting started.”