13. Conrad
S he’s so perfect. Too perfect. How am I going to be able to even leave this room, leave her alone for a second?
My cock is still buried inside her and though I can feel it already softening, I don’t want to pull out. Oh, I know she’s hurting. I know her poor cunt is bruised but she’ll get used to that pain, get used to that feeling. I won’t coddle her; I won’t pretend to be something I’m not. Her body is mine to use as I see fit but if she’s good, then I’ll take care of her too. I’ll love her in ways she’ll never know were possible.
A silent tear streaks down her face.
It’s just as beautiful as the rest of her, but then I remember what we’ve just done. That we’ve just had sex for the first time with her being present to it and that tear, it symbolises everything she feels about it, about me.
To say it pisses me off is an understatement.
My hands grip her body. She’s so fragile that it’s easy to flip her over and pull her so that she’s face down right across my lap. She needs to learn that I’m not fucking around.
With my left hand, I strike her hard.
She screams out, throwing her head back.
My hand leaves a livid print right on her perfect arse cheek but that doesn’t stop me delivering a second blow, and a third.
“Sssstop,” She sobs. “Please ssstop.”
“You don’t get to cry.” I growl out. “Not when I’m saving you.”
“Saaaving me?” She practically screams back, and suddenly all that fragile docility turns to fury. She starts kicking more, lashing out, slamming her body any which way she can. “Saving me from what?”
I grab a fistful of her hair, yanking her around so that she’s straddling my hips, facing me.
“I could have left you there, left you with them.”
“Who?” She hisses and clearly, she has no idea what happened last night. No fucking idea at all.
“Giselle laid you out like a five-course meal.” I state. “She drugged you and handed you over to me, and then watched as I did what I wanted to you.”
Her face pales even more. She shrinks back against my hand that’s holding her up, as if she’s trying to fold up all those tiny pieces of herself. “She, she watched…”
“She got off on it.” I snap, still feeling my anger at the fact she’d laid there, touching herself, tarnishing my moment with Brynn.
That clearly hurts her more than I expected as she curls up into herself like she’s just received a physical blow. And I can see she’s shuddering, shivering, trembling.
Her eyes dart about. “What, what are you going to do with mee?” She asks. “Why, why am I here? Where even amm I?”
My lips tilt. That sweet, soft, vulnerable tone does things to me that she can’t even imagine. I drop my own eyes to stare at her body that’s on full display for me once more.
“You’re in my home.” I say. “And that’s where you’re going to remain from now on.”
“Your, your home?” She whispers.
I lean in, seize the moment and claim her mouth once more but as we break apart, she screws her face up before slamming her head right into mine.
“You fucking bitch.”
“I won’t staaay here.” She screams. “I won’t be your, your, your sex slave or whatever the fffuck you think I am.”
The laugh I let out is loud, cruel, and I know it puts her even more on edge. Does she really think that’s all I want her for? Is she that stupid? Or perhaps her family has her so downtrodden that she doesn’t believe she is worthy of anything else, worthy of more.
Perhaps that’s it, my sweet little doll sees me as too good for her. Too above her, too high up the order to be anything better than that in my eyes.
“I don’t want you as a sex slave.” I state, stroking her hair softly. “I can take any woman from Oblivion for that.”
“Then what…?”
“You’re going to be my wife.” I cut across her. “Our families want a marriage, and they’ll have one. But it’ll be you I tie myself to. You who bears my children, not Giselle.”
She gulps, shaking her head more and from the tiny trickle of blood I can see, she split her lip when she headbut me. “I don’t want, I don’t…” She draws herself up, shattering that illusion I have of her, that notion that she saw herself as lower than me. She’s fighting back the tears now, and that pisses me off more. “I want to go home. Taaake me home.”
“You are home.” I reply.
She shakes head more violently. “I want to go home.” She starts screaming. As if she had one, as if that place she grew up in was a sanctuary and not a glorified prison camp.
“Enough.” I sigh, growing bored. Only she doesn’t relent, she sobs even harder. Begging for me to return her, begging for me to let her go, to marry Giselle instead.
Christ, does she not get it? How can she not understand? I’ve done all of this for her, for us. She should be thanking me. She should be getting on her knees and treating me like I’m her very salvation.
“You’re not going anywhere.”
“I don’t waaant you. I don’t waant to be your wife.” She sobs.
And that is the final straw. I shove her back, leave her sprawled on the bed and I get to my feet. I don’t want to hurt her but by God, I will if I have to. If that’s what it takes, if that’s what needs to be done, then I will break her spirit, I will do whatever is necessary to ensure she complies.
She rolls over, curling up into the duvet, becoming more and more hysterical as each second passes.
And it strikes me then that she’s young. Na?ve. Perhaps I’m being unfair in expecting her to accept this right off the bat.
Fine then, I’ll give her time, a little time to let her adjust to her new circumstances.
“I’m not an unkind man.” I say as I swallow my pride. “I understand this will take time. But the sooner you accept that I am your future, the sooner we can both be happy.”
She looks up at me in horror. “Happy?” She splutters.
“You will be happy, Brynn,” I state, leaning over her to grab her belly. Her skin is so soft, so delicate. “You will be content. I’ll put a child in your belly, I’ll treat you right. And you will learn to love me, just as I do you.”
God, I could fuck her all day. Lay here and never leave this bed.
But that won’t do. Not unless I want my brother to know something is up.
When I stroll into Oblivion, it’s hard not to compare all these women, all these slaves to the beautiful creature locked up at home. Sure, I’ve had my fill of them. I’ve enjoyed them more than most – after all, what would be the point of taking care of this place if it didn’t have a few perks?
I glance at the guards. They’re good at keeping their eyes forward, and off the merchandise. After hours, they too can have their fun. It helps instil orders, it helps maintain fear. The slaves have to understand that they’re at the bottom of the pecking order, and that no one here gives a shit about their wants.
I stroll into my office. Dustin is there, as usual. He hands me the list of today’s infractions and I run my gaze down, looking for repeat offenders. When I spot a name I recognise, I tell him to have them taken down for a public beating. They’re usually effective, very effective. Sure, the slave in question will be out of service for at least a week, but it’ll ensure the others keep in line.
Dustin nods, disappearing off to do as he’s told.
In front of me there’s eight screens, all showing different parts of Oblivion. Mostly it’s just fucking. Average, boring fucking. I hit a button, switching from feed to feed with my eyes searching for nothing in particular.
I can waste hours like this. Hours of just looking, monitoring, seeing tiny infractions, moments of rule-breaking. You let them get away with one thing and that’s it, that sedition will grow, it will spread.
It’s a fact my father taught me, taught us. And it’s something Magnus repeated to me often as he brought me up.
In my pocket my phone vibrates loudly, cutting right through my thoughts. As I pick it up, I see her name. If anything, I’m surprised she has the gall to reach out. I imagined she would have slithered away, licked her wounds in private and reflected on how big of a fuck up she’s made.
“What do you want?” I ask.
“Hello, dear husband.” She says demurely, as if she wasn’t knuckles deep in her own cunt last night while I was violating her niece.
“I’m not your husband.” I reply. God this fucking woman .
“Not yet.” She says in a flirty, teasing tone that pisses me off even more.
“I’m busy, Giselle, either get to the point or get lost.”
“She’s gone.”
“Who?”
“Brynn, my niece, the girl you fucked in my bed.”
I pause, my eyes staring at one of the screens as that image hits me. Her bed? Her fucking bed? The thought makes my stomach turn and more anger hits me as I realise she’s done it again, she’s tarnished our first time even more.
“Well?” She continues.
I blink, realising that I haven’t replied. I should have been prepared for this, I should have known that even though they don’t want her around, they’ll still notice that she’s suddenly MIA.
“Why are you calling me about it?” I ask. “Shouldn’t you be speaking to the police, or the Brethren, or…” I trail off, hoping I sound as disinterested as I can be. We both know she won’t speak to anyone, her family won’t want the scandal.
“You fucked her, I figured it makes most sense to ask you first.” She snarls.
Seriously, this fucking bitch. When will she take a hint? I run my hand through my hair, feigning more boredom. “Have you checked her room?”
“Of course I have.” She hisses. “I thought she’d still be where we left her, still half out of it, but she’s gone. There isn’t a shred of…”
“What do you want me to do about it?” I should have been smarter, packed a bag, made it look like she’d run away. But then, there’s still time for that. The house is big enough that I could make it look like she’s just hiding somewhere, licking her wounds until she comes to a decision.
“You’re a Reaper.” She states. “And considering what we did, I figured you’d be the best person to approach.”
“Does your father know?”
“No. He’s still away on business, thank god.”
“Fine. In that case, gather her things, bag it all up and I’ll come collect it.”
“Why?”
“Do you want people to be suspicious?” I snarl. “Do you want people to think that she’s not run away?”
“What if she hasn’t? What if…?”
“What if what?” I ask. God, she’s so dense I have to spell it out. “Of course the girl has run. You think she’d want to stay there after what you did?”
“What you did.” She says. “I did it for you. For us.”
“And now we need to cover our tracks.” I state, doing my best to ignore the pathetic tone of her voice.
“What if she comes back? What then? How would we explain…”
“She ran away.” I shrug, trying hard not to smile at the way this plan is coming so perfectly together all of a sudden. “If she returns, then we can have her shipped off to Oblivion, just like you always wanted.”
She takes a sharp intake of breath that gives away her absolute glee at that thought, and I know then that I have her. She’ll do my bidding; she’ll cover my tracks and I’ll have everything I need to ensure Brynn is right where I want her, without arousing any suspicion.