Chapter 14 – Chrissy
Chapter
Fourteen
CHRISSY
I forced air into my lungs and hoped deflection would work.
“He… helped me today,” I said. “On the road. In the foyer. He carried my suitcase, walked me to my room, and made sure I understood I was on probation.”
“That wasn’t my question,” he murmured, his lips grazing the shell of my ear through the blindfold.
Heat pooled low in my core and my pulse stuttered in response.
“Did Jacob touch you,” he repeated, “in a way that broke my rules?”
My nails bit into my palms.
Something inside me wanted to protect Jacob at all costs, but something about lying to the man who might become my husband didn’t sit right with me. I licked my lips and spoke, hoping the gamble I was about to take would work.
“We were alone,” I said, choosing each word like it might explode.
“I was upset. He… was kind. He made sure I understood what was at stake, but he didn’t do anything that felt…
wrong. I’m the one who touched him, sir, not the other way around.
I kissed him because I wanted just one thing for myself before I signed my life away to you.
It was reckless and insane of me, I know.
But, to be clear, Jacob didn’t instigate anything.
If you throw me out of the game for what I did, then so be it, but please…
don’t take it out on Jacob. None of this is his fault.
It was all me, and I should bear the full weight of the consequences alone. ”
Silence stretched long enough that I wondered if I’d just hanged both of us.
Finally, he exhaled, the sound brushing the edge of something like a laugh.
“Interesting,” he said. “I expected you to lie to me, Miss Jones.”
Ice sluiced through my veins.
“But,” he continued, “you’re loyal. You protected the man who put himself between you and elimination, even when you thought it might cost you everything.”
His fingers brushed the blindfold at my temple, just once, like he was tempted to rip it off and see what that loyalty looked like in my eyes.
“That matters to me,” he said.
My shoulders sagged, just a fraction.
“So I can stay?” I whispered.
“For now,” he said. “I’m not finished with you yet.”
The relief was sharp enough to hurt, but it only lasted for half a second.
“Understand something, little doll,” he went on, voice dropping lower and colder.
“You were late. You fraternized with my staff. You became the center of a scene at my table on the first night of the Game. You kissed my groundskeeper when one of the basic rules of the game is ‘no kissing’, for fuck’s sake. ”
“None of that was—”
“Jacob’s fault?” he supplied, amusement curling at the edge of the words.
“You’re so protective of him… it’s almost adorable.
However, fault is irrelevant. Responsibility is not.
You signed a contract agreeing to function as my willing prisoner for the duration of this Game.
You agreed to the rules, and you agreed to submit to punishment when you break those rules.
You agreed to behave as a wife would when asked, because that is the role you’re competing for.
It wasn’t very wifely of you to sneak around behind my back and make out with a member of my staff like a horny teenager… was it, darling?”
Heat and dread tangled in my stomach.
“No, sir. You’re right. That wasn’t the sort of thing your wife should do at all.”
“I’m going to punish you, Miss Jones,” he said calmly. “For your lateness. For the disruption. For letting Jacob get close enough that I’m half tempted to cut his fucking tongue out because it touched something that, contractually speaking, belongs to me until the Game is over or until you lose.”
I sucked in a sharp gasp.
“Please, don’t—”
“You will take your punishment well,” he continued, cutting off my plea not to hurt Jacob for what I’d done. “You will remember that you consented to this when you accepted my invitation. And if you endure what I decide to give you tonight without breaking? If you do that, I will reward you.”
“Reward me how?” I asked, hating the little tremor in my voice.
“I’ll soothe the sting of your punishment, and you’ll be allowed to stay,” he said simply. “You’ll keep your place in the Game. You’ll have another chance to fight for that money you’re so desperate for. For your grandmother. For your pride.”
His hand wrapped around my throat, then, and he gave a measured squeeze, as if to silently remind me that he could and would break me if I provoked him.
“And if I don’t?” I whispered.
“Then you go home,” he said. “And Jacob’s sacrifice will have been for nothing.”
The room seemed to shrink around us. He let the words hang between us like a noose.
“Last chance to back out, little doll,” he said quietly. “Stand up, walk to the door, and I’ll have someone escort you to your car. No prize. No more tests. No more anything.”
I stayed frozen, sitting on the edge of the bed. My hands curled tighter in the blanket, knuckles aching.
“I’m not backing out,” I said. “I can’t.”
“Such a good girl,” he murmured.
The praise slid down my spine like something molten. My heart slammed into my ribs.
“Thank you for the second chance, sir.”
“Then we begin,” he said.
The mattress dipped again as he shifted closer, his presence suddenly overwhelming with its mix of scent, heat, and the quiet authority in his every breath.
“Remember your rules from here on in, darling,” he said softly, his thumb brushing once over the hollow of my throat. “No names. No kissing. No falling in love with the wrong person.”
His fingers tightened around my throat, just a fraction.
“And remember this, Miss Jones,” he added, velvet voice gone dark. “Whatever happens next is both punishment and proof. Show me you can take it… and I’ll let you stay.”
I swallowed hard, braced myself, and waited for the first line I wouldn’t come back from.
“Yes, sir.”
“Stand up,” he commanded, using his grip on my throat to help me to my feet before my brain fully processed that I’d intended to follow his order anyway.
I licked my lips.
“What now, sir?”
“Now, I want you to stand very still for me. Can you do that, darling?” Something in his voice made my blood run cold.
Then came the distinctive snick of a switchblade snapping open. My instincts screamed at me to run, but I gritted my teeth and didn’t move a muscle. Mr. Stonewood trailed a finger along my collarbone for a moment before sliding his finger under the strap of my dress on my left shoulder.
“This dress looks delectable on you, darling, but I’m afraid it’s in my way.”
The strap tugged taut and the sound of a blade ripping through silk assaulted my ears. A choked, disbelieving sound ripped out of me on instinct, and Ben chuckled, low and dark, as he moved to the other side and cut the other strap.
“Quiet, darling. You’re doing well so far. Keep still for me just a little longer.”
He tugged the bodice out just enough to slice a two-inch line right down the middle of it. I heard the clatter of him setting the knife down on the nightstand and let out a small sigh of relief just in time for him to grip the bodice on either side of the cut and rip it in half with his bare hands.
I let out a startled shriek before I could think better of it as he moved down the length of the dress, shredding it clean in two and shoving the tatters to the floor.
“That dress probably cost more than two months of rent at my apartment, and you just destroyed it like it was nothing!” I snapped the words before I could think better of them.
“I paid for it, and I’ll destroy it if I want to,” he drawled. “And just look at you, baby. You were hiding this under that pretty green silk? Hiding this from me should be classified as a war crime.”
He traced a finger over the edge of the cup of my red lace bra and groaned. The air kissed my skin like a dare.
I snorted, glad that he couldn’t see me rolling my eyes behind the blindfold.
“I’m so glad you approve, sir.”
I don’t know what possessed me, but I couldn’t keep the dry sarcasm out of my voice.
“Turn around and bend over, Eighteen.”
“I beg your fucking pardon?”
“It’s time for your punishment. We’ll add sarcasm and insolence to the list of your other infractions.”
Fucking asshole, I thought, even as I reached out my hands and spun around, feeling blindly for the edge of the bed. There were a thousand clapbacks on the tip of my tongue, but I swallowed them. Remember, Chrissy, you have seven hundred and fifty thousand reasons to keep your mouth shut.
With an impatient sound, he gripped the nape of my neck and guided me until I was bent over, my cheek pressed against the crisp, cool duvet cover, leaving my ass exposed to him.
“I hope you like the view, sir,” I taunted in a sickly-sweet tone, wondering just what the sight of me in such a skimpy red lace thong was doing to him.
That earned me a vicious slap on my right ass cheek, and then he bent over, pressing his chest against my back as he leaned down to whisper in my ear.
“I’m going to give you the luxury of choosing what tool I use to deliver your punishment with, little doll,” he purred.
“Eat me,” I hissed, loathing the patronizing condescension in his tone.
He barked out a startled laugh.
“Only if you take your licks like a good girl, darling. Now, would you prefer me to use a paddle, a flogger, a cane, or my hand to punish you with?”
I gritted my teeth.
“Your hand, sir.”
He went very still, his chest rising and falling against my back with a slow, deep breath.
“Why my hand, Miss Jones?”
I huffed out a humorless laugh.
“If you’re going to punish me, I want you to feel it, too. You don’t get to distance yourself from this, sir. I want it to hurt your hand just as much as it hurts my ass.”
“I had no idea you were so petty and vindictive, but I must admit it’s a surprising turn-on for me.”
He ground his hips against my ass and I realized two things in quick succession.