Chapter Twenty-Three
Juliet
I slip the paintbrush into the vivarium so Charlie can start to get used to it. The book says it can take a while to gain a spider’s trust and be able to handle them. So why not start right away? She stays right where she is, frozen on the tip of a branch at the top of her tank.
Maybe she’s scanning for prey with her spidery senses. She won’t find any, of course. The only bugs here are the ones I have to feed her. Is it weird that I’d love to see even a rogue cockroach? A reminder that the outside world still exists, beyond Saldar and me.
Speaking of food, it’s time for Charlie’s dinner, so I pop a couple of the mealworms in with her, then pull away. She needs some peace and quiet to eat.
Saldar should be here soon. I hope he likes Charlie’s name. As soon as it came to me, it felt right. Charlotte’s Web was one of my favorite books growing up, even though it made me cry every time.
I can’t stop wondering how he knew about my love of spiders. It makes no sense. It’s like he’s rummaging around in my brain, but mind reading isn’t a thing. Right? Sometimes it’s hard to keep that fact clear. Especially in this place, where he controls everything. Even the bugs.
The lights go out, throwing me into pitch black.
I jump, but the moment of fright passes quickly. He’s been doing this a lot lately for some reason, coming to me in the dark. I take up my assigned position—kneeling, hands behind my back. Sick anticipation shivers over my body. Lights out means playtime, and I’m not complaining.
The door clicks.
I wait, tension spiralling through me, until Saldar’s hands settle around my arms, and he guides me to my feet. I go with him, a willing puppet, leaning into the physical contact. “Over here, doll. The altar. On your back, and spread your legs for me.”
He helps me onto it, and I follow his instructions. This could be good or bad. He snaps my ankles into the restraints, then does the same with my wrists, and even after all this time—however long it’s been—I still shiver at the exposure. At the helplessness of being tied like this.
I’ve always loved the feel of being trapped in place, even though it terrifies me at the same time. I never know what Saldar will do next, and little tingles run over my skin as I wait in the pitch dark. Will he give me pleasure or pain? Both?
Time passes with neither, and I start to fidget.
This is new, and I don’t like it. It gives me time to notice the little things that disappear when he touches me.
I’ve got an itch right in the small of my back, and shifting around does little to help.
The blanket underneath me is bunched under my ass cheek.
I contemplate opening my mouth to ask what the hell is going on but strike that idea right away. This is probably a test of patience, and I don’t want to fail.
When he finally touches me, I don’t bother to hold in my sigh of relief. I’ve long since given up trying to deny the effect he has on me. What would be the point? He traces his fingers over my body in a pattern that’s become familiar, starting at my breasts and moving down in slow, teasing circles.
He doesn’t speak, and I drift in pitch-black silence, lost in the sensations. By the time he reaches my inner thighs, I’m squirming. This is going to be one of the good days. I can feel it.
Then a man’s sigh breaks the silence, and it’s a bolt of sizzling electricity. I tense and strain my eyes in the dark, but it does me no good.
A man’s sigh. Not Saldar’s distorted voice. I’ve learned every sound that can make its way through the mask, and that sigh isn’t one of them. It was human. Different. Not Saldar.
Red-hot panic grips me and I yank on my restraints. Has someone else gotten in here? Has Saldar let them in? But no. Those were his hands touching me. I’m sure of it.
“Shhhhhhhhh.” It’s a low, drawn-out sound, punctuated by his hand sliding up to cup my face. Not Saldar’s voice. But very, very familiar. It’s yanking at my brain. What the fuck? What the actual fuck?
I stare into nothing, and all at once, it’s not quite nothing. Light, slowly but surely, fills the cell. I try to focus as the man leaning over me comes into view, at first just a shadowed outline. A human outline. No mask, no cloak. Just a man, with a broad, bare chest and—
No.
I close my eyes and shake my head.
No.
I must have finally gone mad, because what I’m seeing cannot be real.
It can’t—
“Hello, doll.”
Hadrian says the words like they belong in his mouth. They don’t. They can’t. He can’t be here. That sadistic amusement can’t be on his face. Not once in fifteen years did he ever look at me like that.
“I take it you hadn’t figured it out, then?”
Figured it out? I close my eyes again. This can’t be real. I must be dreaming. I count to five under my breath, sure the illusion will shatter.
Three. Four. Fi—
“Doll. Eyes on me.”
They snap open, ingrained obedience kicking in despite the voice belonging to Hadrian. He seats himself on the edge of the altar, and there’s something relaxed and natural about the motion, as though he’s comfortable in this place. In this role.
I study him, and this time, my brain registers the things it missed on first impression. It’s Hadrian, but not as I remember him. He was always lean, bordering on skinny, and never wanted a tattoo even though I got several while we were together.
This man looming over my prone form is a different beast altogether. Ink covers his thick, muscular chest, colorful Japanese designs which spread over his broad shoulders and down his arms. The pattern continues down into the waistband of his black jeans.
I stare at his body, processing it little by little. I can’t bring myself to look at his face. Not yet. Right there, on his shoulder blade, is a small birthmark, not obscured by the tattoo. We used to joke that it was in the shape of Italy. It’s there. It’s right there.
He knows how much I love spiders.
It hits me in a wave. He knows.
I raise my eyes to his face.
The deep brown eyes staring back at me belong to Hadrian. There’s no denying it, even though the cruel smile on his lips has no place there. He’s enjoying this. He’s fucking enjoying it.
My paralysis melts away as rage swoops in. I’d given up on anger. In this cell, with Saldar, I quickly learned it was pointless. But now? Now it obliterates everything else. My captor isn’t a demon or some faceless sadistic billionaire. It’s Hadrian. How dare he? How fucking dare he?
I thrash against the restraints. “Let me the fuck out of here! What’s wrong with you? You sick fucking bastard! I’ll—”
His face hardens, and he whips his hand out to cover my mouth, cutting off my tirade, though he can’t stop my furious mumbling.
“Be very careful, doll. That’s the only insult I’ll let slide, because I’m sure this has come as a shock.
From this point, you show your master the proper respect. Understand?”
Oh, I understand. I understand I’ll rip his head off his fucking shoulders. The instant he pulls his hand away, I let my anger fly. “You’re not my fucking master, Hadrian. Let me go. I’ll—”
“That’s a shame.”
His ice-cold tone makes its way through the furious, hazy cloud. Fury still scorches my veins, but my brain is starting to catch up. It’s been Hadrian this whole time. Every punishment, every order. All him. I close my mouth and stare at him, chest rising and falling.
My very naked chest. I’m still naked. Still restrained. This new revelation hasn’t changed any of it, though now I feel every inch of exposed skin. Oh God. It’s been Hadrian doing all the things Saldar has made me do. Hadrian?
Hadrian, who never once spanked me no matter how many hints I dropped. He was always a caring, attentive lover who made sure I came before he did, but he never took charge the way I craved. Never used the set of handcuffs I got for him one Christmas, thinking they were a joke.
I should have spoken up about my feelings, but we’d known each other since we were kids, and it never felt right. Every time I tried, I gave up because I just couldn’t picture him wanting the same thing.
Well, fuck. I was wrong about that.
Jesus.
Why the hell didn’t he show me this side of himself before?
My body is still trembling, but now I’m not sure if it’s from rage or shock. Saldar, with his calculated cruelty, and Hadrian. My brain tries to meld the two, and the effort is almost a physical pain.
He moves to the cabinet and pulls it open. “Do you remember what the punishment is for disrespecting your master, doll?”
It’s Saldar’s words in Hadrian’s voice, and it’s all wrong. Now that the light is brighter, I recognize the demonic tattoos on his hands. Saldar’s hands. Hadrian’s hands.
No.
No.
When he holds up the butt plug and the burning lube I hate so much, it’s like he’s slapped me across the face. No. Hadrian can’t do that to me. Saldar did—several times in the early days, before I learned to watch my tongue. But Hadrian? No. No way.
My brain finally connects to my mouth. “Where am I? What are you doing? Why am I here?”
The questions I’d almost given up on having answered pour out, all the more urgent now. “Is this revenge? For what I did?”
He stands over me, and his bulked-up body fills my view. How in the hell did he get so ripped? I used to pester him to come to the gym with me, but he never would. Not what is important right now, but still. Jesus Christ.
“We’ll discuss that when I’m ready. I’m going to unlock you now, and I want you to roll over like a good little doll.”
Good little doll.
It should sound ridiculous, delivered in his light, cultured accent, but somehow, it doesn’t. It sends a shiver deep into my bones. There’s no demon suit now, no props scaring me into submission. Just the only man I’ve ever loved, treating me like his personal sex object.
It’s there, of course, the sick desire I can never escape.
Even now, even fucking now, my clit throbs at the words.
But as he unclicks the restraints, giving me movement back, the rage floods into me full force.
It’s Hadrian. New tattoos and bulk or not, he’s still Hadrian.
He doesn’t get to keep me captive, and he certainly doesn’t get to stick anything in my ass. Fuck this.
I launch myself off the altar, head flying up toward his face.