14. Chapter Twelve
Chapter Twelve
Roman
T aking my pop’s old pickup truck, I drive into town. Luckily, people are too busy getting ready for the holidays to notice Roman Senior’s crazy son—the golden boy killer. But I fucking hated that kid. His golden boy persona was all an act. I’d hear how he would degrade Xena, gaslight her while cheating on her. It’s one of the reasons I took her virginity; he didn’t deserve to be her first. Not that I’m any better. But she was mine then, and she’s mine now.
I park the truck in the small plaza, thankful that the grocery store and pet store are in the same spot. Shutting off the engine, I step out and head towards the pet store first. The moment I walk in, I’m hit with Mariah Carey’s "All I Want for Christmas" blaring through the speakers. I start browsing the aisles, looking for what I need. Bingo.
My hand goes up to grab the box, turning it over to check if the voltage on the collar is strong enough for her but not enough to actually do any real damage. I want to zap her into submission, not kill her or really hurt her. That’s something I’d rather do with my cock.
The weight of the box feels just right—secure, not too light, not too heavy. I study the different settings on the collar, making sure there’s room to tighten it to my liking. The padding on the inside catches my eye; she’ll be wearing this for a while, so it better be comfortable. I plan to get her sober one way or another, and withdrawals are gonna be cruel.
I’m gonna make her life hell before I show her heaven.
I head to the counter. The saleswoman eyes me suspiciously, taking in my disheveled appearance and the collar in my hands. I flash her a charming grin, the kind I’ve perfected over the years to keep people from asking too many questions. Thankfully, it works—her clumpy lashes bat as she gives me the once-over with those hungry blue eyes. "You must have a big dog… a big dog for a big man."
I nod slowly, the grin still plastered on my face. "A new pup, actually," I say, placing the collar on the counter. She reaches for it, her long red nails clicking against the box, clearly itching to ask more questions. But I don’t give her the chance. I dig into my pocket, pull out a crumpled fifty-dollar bill, and slide it across the counter. She reluctantly takes it, her curiosity still lingering.
I walk out of the store, the cold winter breeze hitting me full force as I head towards the grocery store. The tinkling of Christmas music gets louder as I walk inside and grab the basics—milk, pasta, cereal, snacks, water, and some juice. I pay with the cash I took from Xena’s purse—not like I’ve got a job or money of my own. But that’s gonna change. I just need to make sure Xena gets clean first.
Back at the house, I unpack and put away the groceries before starting to cook something for both of us. Tonight, she’ll eat well, get fucked, and then the days to come will be the hardest—for her and for me. I’ll be going over the cabin from top to bottom, making sure there’s no hidden stash or anything that can make her relapse.
She screams in the background, but I continue my task, cutting up carrots and celery to add to the chicken browning in the pot. After the chicken is nicely browned, I toss in the rest of the ingredients to make chicken noodle soup—her favorite. Xena’s screams grow angrier and more volatile as her body starts to crave a fix. It’s going to be a long night for both of us.
Good thing I’ve got ten years of pent-up need to counter her addiction. I’ll keep her busy, let her body focus on my cock instead of her fix. I’ll substitute the oxy with me.
Placing the heat on low, I wash my hands and grab the collar before heading to check on my little snake. "ROMAN!" she shrieks. "Motherfucker!"
Opening the door, I’m greeted by a mess. She’s shaking, eyes wide and full of tears, her wrists bleeding from where the restraints have dug into her skin. I try not to let the sight of her like this move me—I have to be strong for both of us. She’ll break, and I’ll be here, ready to pick up the pieces.
"You piece of shit," she shrieks, thrashing around. I straddle her without saying a word, and she spits in my face. Her warm saliva coats my lips, and I groan, licking it off as I pull the collar out of the box. Xena is completely losing her shit beneath me, and I can tell it’s not just the drugs. Something else is going on. She’s never been great at listening, but this… this is different.
"Relax," I say, slapping her face lightly—more of a wake-up call than a punishment. "I’m not the enemy here." I whisper as I start fastening the collar around her slender neck. She thrashes wildly beneath me, a mix of fear, rage, and withdrawal making her movements erratic and unpredictable.
"Stop it, Xena!" My voice is stern, commanding, in direct contrast to her wild, animalistic behavior. She needs structure now more than ever. She needs me to hold firm where she cannot.
"Get off me! Get off!" she snarls, spittle flying from her lips as she fights against the collar, against me. But I’m stronger—there’s no way her 5’1" frame is going to move a 200-pound, 6’3" man. My grip is unyielding as she struggles, but I’m ready for this.
"I hate you!" Her words are spat with venom, her honey-brown eyes blazing with fury and defiance—the same fire I fell in love with so many years ago. But now, it’s distorted by the poison that’s invaded her. I’ll bring her back. I don’t know what the fuck happened, but I’ll bring her back.
"I hate you!" she repeats, voice cracking.
"No, you don’t." I say flatly as I finish buckling the collar. "And neither do I. I love you, but my love isn’t the fluffy kind—it’s consuming. I love you, and because I love you, I have to break you, baby."
Her eyes glisten with a mix of fear and anger as she thrashes. "I don’t need you… I need my pills. Not you," she hisses.
I pull the remote out of the box and hit the button. The collar hums as it zaps her, her body convulsing on impulse. Almost instantly, the fight drains from her eyes. She lies beneath me, trembling like a cornered doe.
"That’s enough," I finally say, releasing the button. The harsh buzzing stops, replaced by her heavy panting. The spit and venom are gone now. "Behave." I whisper as I lean into her, cupping her perfect breast in my hand.
Her full lips part as I replace my hand with my mouth, covering her nipple and drawing a sweet sound from her lips. "I hate you," she whispers, but her wetness gives her away. I move to the other tit, my hand slipping between us, then disappearing between her legs.
My girl is wet and eager. Her body reacts instantly to my touch, a stark contrast to the turmoil from moments ago. She arches into my hand, the fight in her eyes softening, betraying the residual anger in her voice.
"Liar," I tease lightly, nipping at her other breast before swirling my tongue around the pierced nipple. My dick strains against the zipper of my pants, but this isn’t about me—not right now. This is about conditioning. Rewards when she’s good, punishment when she’s bad.
Right now, she just needs relief—no edging, just sweet, sweet relief.
My mouth travels lower, her body fully in sync, reacting to every flick of my tongue, every nip of my teeth. When my tongue flattens on her perfect pussy, Xena’s body arches off the bed. "Ro," she breathes as my tongue circles her clit before plunging as deep as I can inside her. Her hands instinctively grip the sheets beneath her, knuckles white as she gasps for air, her body embracing the sweet relief that was just moments ago a distant hope.
I move one hand to pin her hips to the bed, holding her steady. Xena moans and shudders as I continue my worship. Every taste of her is intoxicating, like the richest wine. Now, it’s no longer about the conditioning—it’s about adoration. Adoring my Xena, my beautiful, defiant creature. My movements become more assertive as she writhes beneath me, her moans reaching a crescendo that echoes through the room.
"Ro…" she calls out my name again and again like a desperate prayer, each utterance punctuated by her heaving breaths and gasps. I press my mouth harder against her pussy, tasting her exquisite pleasure and feeling her muscles clench around my tongue as her orgasm takes hold. She cums, squirting on my face, and still, I don’t stop. Instead, I plunge deeper, drinking in the sweet taste of her release.
I feel her body convulse and shake beneath me as I ride out her orgasm. Her grip on the sheets loosens, then tightens again as the aftershocks roll through her body. "Oh, God, Ro," she gasps as I continue to feast on her.
Ten years without her has done nothing to satiate my hunger; if anything, it’s intensified it. The taste of her is like a memory—sweet and intoxicating, hitting me with a force that leaves me reeling, craving more.
I finally raise myself up from between her legs, feeling the sticky wetness of her orgasm smeared across my face. Without a word, I leave her in the room and head back into the kitchen.