Chapter 30
OWNED
As soon as the others have left the house, I lift Hailey over my shoulder and pick up the backpack. My fingers are claws and dent her ass. I dig deeper, entrenching them. My jaw tightens. My teeth grind. She hasn’t noticed my problem, I think. I’ve shoved my desires deep, but I need control of her.
“Hey. Too hard!”
“Quiet.” Where will I put her?
I begin to explore the house, ignoring her muffled complaints, and she falls silent after threatening to bite my back. As if that would stop me.
Somehow, the meeting triggered memories of the chopper crash, my last breaths, and a vague romantic love of a woman with her name, Hailey, in my world. I knew I knew her. The remembering has shaken me to my foundations, dislodged but then re-cemented my belief in our fates. That was bliss.
Perfect bliss.
We were meant for each other, and our love has bridged worlds.
Nothing could surpass that, I assumed.
Until Esau said, “Priority two.”
That rumbled through my head like the zigzag cracks of an earthquake.
The mission was never cancelled. I’m still active, waiting, just waiting, for orders.
I was in limbo, ready for ignition.
Priority two. I swallow. It’s not the same. Mission active, yes, but I killed my handler. Priority one was impossible and I resisted it. I fucking did.
Priority two. Torture. Rape. Kill her. Do it in front of the father, Simon Tarrant, before killing him.
I don’t have to. I can resist.
He’s already dead. Abort the mission.
I stalk through the house on leaden feet. The house sways, trembles, taunting me.
I need to find the right place.
I just…
I can do this.
I can.
Control is the answer. Unscramble my mind.
I want to have her. I have always wanted that. Even in my own world. We are meant to be together. My need is desperate and dark, and to stop myself killing her I will need every scrap of control.
My heart chugs through the automatic motions of pumping blood. My jaw tenses, relaxes, flexes, and I hear a tooth crack ,and a sliver breaks off and hits my tongue. I swallow it. My legs walk from room to room, seeking somewhere, something. Life has devolved into this.
I need…
Somewhere beautiful. Something to remind me of what is good in this world. This is Hailey’s world. Love needs beauty. If I love, I shall not kill, I shall not torture. God, I hope that’s true.
Tears leak from my eyes and trail down my face without a word of sadness being said.
I must not kill.
Subvert the command. Channel it. My cock throbs, jostled by the shifting of my pants as I walk.
If I don’t get myself inside her… If I don’t make her suck on me, bow to me, sob for me, yield to me—
A bird flits by wings drumming the air.
“Kail? Kail?” She’s smacking my ass and lower back with her fists and has been doing so for a while.
“Here. It’s here.” I turn in a slow circle. I flick the light switch beside the doorway.
I’ve found it. The place. Somewhere pretty but ripe with places to do things to her.
A low chandelier of multicolored glass prisms hangs from the ceiling above a high, square timber table and a pair of red leather armchairs.
Framed posters of nature from around the world feature on the walls—a lake in Scotland, a rainforest in Australia, Islands of the Caribbean and mountains, mountains of snow in France or Switzerland, the jungle and deserts of Africa.
Yet this is a gym with a padded bench, an overhead bar, a bike, with ropes, bars, and metal weights.
Behind the table and chairs is window seat recessed before a mullioned window.
Through the glass I see night sky, space, and the land. Revenant sleeps below.
My hip nudges the table.
It’s late. No moon. No people in sight. Below the window is the cliff I climbed on my way to find the hoodie. The attic I explored is above.
The house has ceased to sway.
Was the bird that flew by real? The command may be creating holes in my real-time memory.
When I turn from the window, I see the white not-a-cat. In the arched doorway I entered through, it sits watching us, elegant and patient, as proper cats often are. The black mark on its forehead reassures me. Squiggle Cat has arrived. It’s real, even if the bird was not.
Sweat beads my forehead as I lower her feet first to the floor. I don’t believe I’ve ever sweated while a frankenstruct. As a human, I must have, but that’s a whole other story.
The sunken lights are low and muted, and perhaps there is a higher setting, but I like the dimness.
Still…light ushers away evil while the shadows welcome it.
“Stay,” I tell Hailey. She stares at me. Her tongue touches her upper lip, her feet shift, as if she is wondering what to say, what to do.
“Kail?” she murmurs.
I bend my knees and cup her face in my hands, with my thumbs closing her mouth. “Shhh.”
She inhales sharply.
My dreams of women tied and tortured, swinging by rope, red lines, blood leaking and running in rivers, of cries and choking and chains, those are silenced by the serenity I find in her eyes.
Her teeth move beneath her lips as my thumbs play over her, pushing this sexy mouth into whatever shape I want it to be.
The world rumbles while I stare at her for several moments too long. While the house distantly creaks and squeaks from something tiptoeing in the cellar, while I remember all that I’ve known of and seen of her body, of the things we have done and shared in these past few days.
My thumbs press on her softness. I kiss the top of her head then move down her face to her lips to kiss those, too, and she trembles and gasps into my open mouth.
I bite her, gently stretching the edge of the corner of her lip.
I am overcome by a mushrooming desire to deepen the bite, to cut through, to sever, to make her bleed.
My jaw muscles ache as I angle my head and kiss her again, hard, until she whimpers and paws at my back and shoulders.
Then, I straighten and smile.
The smile brings a fleeting understanding to her face. She thinks she does but she can’t know my intentions, and I cannot ever tell her of this secret. Of this lethal compulsion they fucking well gave me.
Control. Possession. Love.
She wears a collarless white shirt and a pair of black leggings with tiny silver studs running down the sides.
I begin to undress her, starting with the buttons of her white collarless shirt, then I kneel to roll down her leggings, to kiss and run my tongue over her little navel.
I turn her in my hold, hands on her at hip level, inhaling her, her scent, her curves and hip bones that my hands trail over.
The swell of her ass cheeks. When I part them and tongue her asshole, she reaches back to grab at me as if I am a lifeline, as if without me she cannot breathe.
It is I who cannot breathe without her.
Her shoes are gone. Her leggings too. Her fingers slide over my face, poke at my nose, then my mouth, and I bite one.
“Take care,” I murmur, taking her wrists and nipping the peachlike swell of her ass to make her squeak and wriggle.
I stand then press on her shoulders until her knees buckle and she falls to them. Then I drag off her shirt and her bra. Now, I have her absolutely motherfucking naked.
“Fuck me,” I whisper in awe as I circle her, with my arm reaching out and trailing over her, to give her body featherlight touches. I don’t deserve this. I’m a monster, remember?
Do I care, I ask myself. Hell, no. The control I have of her, her obedience, it fills and floods this place in me that demands I do awful things to her. It drowns those villainous, inhuman needs.
The irony does not escape me. Those inhuman instructions were given to me by true humans.
Head turning, she follows my path, and her mouth crinkles at the corners as if she is amused.
I retreat until my shoes hit the backpack. From it I pull the collar made of silver links, the black dildo, and the chain leash.
“Crawl to me,” I croak, my throat tight with lust.
I almost say her name, but doing so lessens this. As of now, in this moment, I need her to be my possession, my thing to fuck and play with. “Come to me, my hot, wriggly petgirl, so I can fuck you thoroughly and fill you with come. I’m going to leave you leaking from every filthy hole.”
Her eyes widen, and though she hesitates, she slowly lowers herself to all fours and crawls toward me. Her ass sways, as do her breasts where they hang beneath her. As she nears my feet, she watches me through the hair that’s fallen across her face.
Her every movement betrays an eagerness to obey.
I plant the dildo on the floor, upright, pull my shirt off over my head and drop it. The rubbery thing buzzes violently when I trigger it by holding down a raised spot on the base. The dildo is at least ten inches long, and if she tries she might fully impale herself.
“Fuck that thing. Sit over it and lower yourself. Stop when it’s as far in as it can go.”
I watch her sneak forward on her knees and hunch over it, with her hands propped on the floor for balance. I can tell when it starts to penetrate her, as she closes her eyes and her breathing changes. She finally halts then wriggles.
“Are you wet enough?”
She nods then a blush sweeps her face. “Yes.”
“Hands clasped at your back, sweet fuckthing.” Petgirl or fuckthing, decisions, decisions? Once she’s done so, has grabbed her hands, I whisper to her ear, with my hand at the angle of her neck. “I’m going to make you fuck that thing even deeper, then you’re going to suck on me until you come.”
I press on her shoulder and force her down, and she squeaks and whimpers and tries to push back, laughably.
“Stop resisting. Down.” Her legs lose their tension and she sinks an inch, abruptly, and whimpers. Her eyes are closed.
“Good, petgirl. I hope you like that name because it’s yours. Open your fucking mouth.”