Chapter 17 Sadie
SADIE
Asharp horn blares through the chamber, cutting through the haze that clouds my mind. My body jerks in the restraints, my heart rate spiking as the sudden noise triggers a fresh wave of adrenaline.
“What’s that?” I gasp, fear replacing the lingering sensations of forced release. “What’s happening?”
Landon’s gaze softens, hunger giving way to tenderness as he strokes my hair.
“Shh, little butterfly,” he murmurs, leaning down to press his lips against mine. The taste of my own arousal floods my mouth, making me whimper against him in humiliation. “It’s just the signal.”
When he pulls back, I swallow hard. “Signal for what?”
“It’s time to convene in the orgy room.” His tone is casual, as if he’s just mentioned meeting for coffee.
My entire body tenses.
“The orgy room?” My voice cracks. “What the hell does that mean? I never agreed to—”
“Don’t worry,” Landon interrupts, his fingers continuing their gentle stroking of my hair. “There’s no way in hell anyone will even look at you wrong. We might put on a bit of a show, but if a man even thinks of touching you...”
His voice drops to a whisper, but the intensity of his words makes my blood run cold.
“I’ll gouge his eyes out with my thumbs first.” His thumb brushes across my lower lip as he speaks, the gesture a disturbing contrast. “Then I’ll chop his dick and hands off and fuck you in his blood.”
I stare up at him, truly seeing the darkness behind those psychotic eyes.
This isn’t an act or exaggeration. The cold certainty in his voice reveals the ruthless, psychotic violence lurking beneath his serene facade.
He’s not making empty threats—he’s stating exactly what he would do, without hesitation.
And the most terrifying part? Some twisted corner of my mind feels... protected by his unhinged penchant for violence.
The restraints hiss as they release, retracting into the chair. My limbs feel heavy, useless after being bound for so long. I expect Landon to roughly pull me up, but instead, his hands are surprisingly gentle as he helps me sit.
“Stay still,” he commands, his voice soft but leaving no room for argument.
He disappears momentarily, returning with a damp cloth. I flinch when he kneels between my legs again, but this time his intentions are different. With tenderness, he cleans between my thighs, wiping away the evidence of what he’s done to me. The cool cloth soothes my oversensitized skin.
This careful attention is jarring after his violent threats moments ago. How can the same man who promised to dismember someone also treat me with such delicate consideration?
“There,” he says, discarding the cloth and then pulling his mask back over his face. “Be a good girl and take my hand.”
I hesitate, knowing I should fight, should run, should scream.
But I find myself reaching for his outstretched hand.
If he’s taking me into an orgy room, I’ll be damned if I’m going to give him any reason to punish me for not doing as told.
Regardless of his gentle demeanor the past few minutes, I’m still painfully aware of what he’s capable of.
His fingers close around mine, and he helps me stand on shaky legs, guiding me toward the door.
We step into a long corridor, his hand firm against the small of my back.
“No more running,” he says, as if reading my thoughts. “You’re mine now.”
I walk beside him, docile and compliant.
My flight response has been replaced by a strange acceptance.
Each step we take feels like surrender, and I hate myself for it.
If I had any sense at all, I’d be fighting, clawing, doing anything to escape this monster who shifts between cruelty and tenderness with terrifying ease.
At this point I’ve resigned myself to the reality that the only way out of this nightmare—is through.
I walk alongside him, my hand in his, moving toward this orgy room.
We enter a vast circular chamber, and I freeze at the threshold. The room pulses with dim blue light, revealing scenes of debauchery scattered throughout the space. Bodies writhe against each other, moans and cries echoing off the walls.
Directly across from us, three men tangle together on a low platform.
One man kneels between another’s thighs while the third takes him from behind, creating a chain of pleasure.
Their muscular and inked bodies glisten with sweat, faces contorted in ecstasy.
I can’t tear my eyes away, a shameful heat flooding between my legs at the sight.
“Enjoying the view?” Landon asks.
I swallow hard, drawing my gaze away from the men and toward a man in a green mask. Before him hangs Lia, suspended from the ceiling by intricate rope work that wraps around her body like a web. Her back arches as the man in the green mask runs a feather across her skin.
Landon’s hand tightens at my waist. “Don’t worry about everyone else. All that matters is us.”
He guides me to a nearby table, lifting me onto it with ease. My back meets cool marble as he positions himself between my legs, pushing them apart.
“I need one more drink of you before I fuck your tight little cunt,” he growls, eyes darkening as he pulls his mask back down around his neck. I never expected him to be so generous with the pleasure.
The crude words send a shiver through me. I twist sideways, trying to close my legs. “No! Get off me!”
My resistance only makes Landon laugh, the sound rich and knowing. He catches my wrists in one hand, pinning them above my head while his other hand strokes my inner thigh.
“Look at you,” he purrs. “Fighting me even when your body is begging for it.” He leans closer, his lips brushing my ear. “It’s clear as day, little butterfly. You have quite the non-consensual kink—you love the struggle, the push and pull.”
I shake my head, but can’t form words to deny it.
“Don’t be ashamed.” His voice softens slightly.
“I’m the perfect man to fulfill all your dirty little fantasies.
” His fingers drift higher up my thigh. “I see the darkest parts of you, Sadie. The parts you hide from everyone else.” He lowers his voice, eyes blazing.
“I love those parts of you, Sadie. The darkness you try to hide. The shameful desires. I love all of it.”
Love? My body tenses, heart racing. No, this isn’t love—it’s obsession, possession, a dangerous twist of desire. The casual way he drops that word terrifies me more than his threats of violence.
Before I can process it, Landon slides down my body, his mouth finding my center again. His tongue flicks expertly against me, and despite my mental protests, my body responds immediately. I gasp, arching against the cool marble table.
I stare down at him—this brilliant, unhinged man between my thighs.
The white mask hangs around his neck, which, when on, makes him look like a beautiful demon, his blue eyes locked on mine as he devours me.
The sight is perversely erotic. His hands grip my thighs, spreading me wider, vulnerable to his assault of pleasure.
“Fuck,” I breathe, my resistance decimated.
My hands, which had been pushing against his shoulders moments ago, now tangle in his dark hair. I pull him closer, all rational thoughts screaming in my head. My hips rise to meet his mouth, chasing the building pressure.
Through the haze of unwanted pleasure, I notice more people entering the vast chamber.
Masked figures drift into the periphery of my vision, some watching, others joining the various scenes of debauchery scattered throughout the room.
The knowledge of being observed adds a forbidden thrill that intensifies every sensation.
But my focus narrows to Landon—his tongue, his fingers, the hungry sounds he makes against me. Nothing else matters in this moment. Not the audience. Not my shame. Not even my fear.
I grip his hair tighter, holding him against me as he works me toward another peak. The contradiction tears me apart—hating him, wanting him, fearing him, needing him. I’m coming undone beneath his mouth, and some broken part of me never wants it to stop.
My entire body trembles on the edge of release, rational thought dissolving beneath Landon’s skilled tongue. The shame of being displayed in this public space fades against the overwhelming need coursing through my veins.
“Please,” I gasp, pulling at his hair. “Please, Landon. I need you inside me.”
He lifts his head, eyes darkening with satisfaction at my desperate plea. His lips glisten with my arousal as he smirks.
“Not yet, little butterfly,” he murmurs, trailing his fingers lightly over my thighs. “I’m not done playing with you.”
Frustration tears through me. My hips buck upward, seeking friction that isn’t there. “Damn you,” I hiss. “Stop teasing me.”
Landon chuckles. He rises slightly, dragging his body against mine without giving me what I’m begging for. His hardness presses against my core through his clothes, making me whimper.
“But I love how desperate you are.” He nips at my earlobe. “How you forget everything—your pride, your anger, your fear—all of it disappears when you need to come.”
His hand slides between us, fingers circling my most sensitive spot without providing enough pressure. I’m painfully aware of people watching us, but I can’t bring myself to care.
“Please fuck me,” I beg shamelessly, my nails digging into his shoulders. “I need you inside me now.”
“Patience,” he instructs, deliberately rolling his hips against mine before pulling away again. “Good things come to those who wait.”
His eyes glitter with amusement. He’s enjoying this—drawing out my torment, making me beg for it. Every brush of his fingers, every press of his body against mine, is calculated to push me higher without letting me fall.
I’ve never felt so desperate, so utterly at someone else’s mercy. The rational part of my brain has completely shut down. I’d do anything—anything-to make him stop this exquisite torture and give me what I’m begging for.