Chapter 10 #3
The air thickens to suffocating, my pulse a war drum in my ears, veins burning with possessive fury.
She’s pushing me, testing the leash I’ve wrapped around her throat, and it’s working.
Visions assault me as I imagine slamming Carl against the rail, my blade carving that lecherous grin from his face until he bleeds out into the lake; or better, hauling Lea below deck right fucking now, ripping that cream dress to shreds, pinning her against the cabin wall and pounding into her raw, merciless, her slick pussy clenching around my cock as I fuck the defiance out of her, filling her with my cum until it drips down her thighs, marking her inside and out while she screams my name.
She’s mine to command, mine to ruin—not this prick’s fantasy.
Before I can act, Eleanor Davenport swoops in like a perfumed vulture, latching onto Lea’s arm. “Darling Lea, you must meet the Symphony board—they’ll adore you!”
I watch her melt into the cluster of socialites, her laughter ringing out, genuine interest sparking as she engages.
She listens, asks questions that draw admiring nods, her hand gesturing elegantly.
Is this A-plus performance intended for me?
Or is she reveling in it, slipping from my grasp, maybe even entertaining Carl’s “offers” to twist the knife?
“Nico, sweetheart!” Eleanor gushes back to me, claws on my sleeve. “She’s divine! The devotion in her eyes when she looks at you... reminds me of my third husband, before the divorce turned nasty. You better watch her carefully. I’m seeing plenty of admirers.”
The words grate like glass under my skin. Devotion? Or deception? The jealousy roils, twisting into possessive fury.
“She knows her place,” I mutter, my gaze never leaving Lea.
Eleanor flits off to Judge Harrington, oblivious.
Across the deck, Lea’s deep in conversation with the hospital’s chief surgeon, her expression alive, leaning in as he speaks—too close, his eyes devouring her like he’d devour her pussy if given half a chance.
She’s thriving here in this den of vipers without me pulling the strings.
This won’t stand.
The last guest departs as the sun dips toward the horizon, igniting the sky in fiery oranges and bruised purples.
The staff swarms efficiently, clearing crystal flutes and discarded canapes under Blake’s watchful eye.
I dismiss him from the yacht, telling him to make sure all guests have left the property.
I stride to the helm’s intercom, my jaw tight. The need for privacy is a burning imperative. I press the button. “Captain, prepare to cast off. Take us to the center of the lake.”
The captain’s voice crackles back, laced with professional concern. “Sir, the forecast is turning. Radar shows a significant storm cell moving in quickly. The harbormaster is advising all vessels to remain docked for the night.”
The warning is a distant noise against the roar of jealousy in my head. A storm? Good. Let it come. It will match the one I’m about to unleash.
“You have your orders, Captain,” I say, my voice leaving no room for debate. “Take us out. Now.”
A beat of silence, then a resigned, “Yes, sir.”
A low thrum vibrates through the deck as the engines engage.
With the yacht now moving, I go to find Lea.
She’s on the upper deck, alone, staring out at the churning lake, her bare feet planted on the polished teak, heels discarded like shed armor.
The evening breeze messes with her hair, making her look ethereal, untouchable.
For a moment, I watch her. This enigma who’s twisted from asset to obsession, from pawn to the blade now slicing into my chest. The jealousy festers, a venomous coil in my gut, fueled by her smiles for Richter, her touches that should have been mine alone.
“The event was a success,” I say, stepping beside her at the rail, my voice a low rumble.
She turns, her composure a fragile mask. “Eleanor was thrilled. You’ve bought yourself a reprieve.”
“You performed flawlessly,” I concede, the words like ash in my mouth. “Too flawlessly.”
She arches a brow, the spark of challenge igniting something feral in me. “Is conviction a crime now?”
“When it blurs into betrayal? Yes.” I close the distance, crowding her against the rail, the heat of her body stirring my cock despite the rage. “You reveled in it. Flirting with Richter like a siren.”
“I was obeying,” she retorts, her voice steady but shoulders tensing.
“What I demand,” I growl, low and lethal, “is truth between us. No more fucking games.”
Surprise flickers across her face. “Truth? From the puppeteer who rigged my life? Are you for real right now?”
Her accusations hit like bullets, but I shove them down. “The world gets my lies. You get honesty or nothing.”
She laughs, the sound bitter and hollow. “Truth is poison in our world, Nico. We both choke on it.”
I seize her arm, my grip ironclad, and drag her below deck, through the salon, and into the master stateroom. I slam the door, the latch clicking shut.
“That display today,” I snarl, yanking off my tie with vicious tugs, “let’s test if your ‘devotion’ holds in the shadows.” My voice drips ice, but heat surges through my veins, cock hardening at the thought of what I’m about to do to her.
She stands defiant in the room’s center, eyes wary. “What do you crave now, Nico? More proof of your throne?”
“The real you. No masks.” I drape the tie over a chair, eyes raking her. “Strip. Bare everything.”
A heartbeat’s hesitation, then she unzips the dress, letting it pool at her feet like surrendered virtue.
Ivory lace clings to her curves. Bra cupping her full breasts, thong framing the apex of her thighs.
She unhooks the bra, slides off the thong, standing naked, skin glowing in the dim light, nipples pebbling under my gaze.
No defiance, no submission—just waiting, vulnerable.
I circle her, predator to prey, noting the faded marks from last night. Not enough. I need her shattered, the real Lea exposed, not the temptress who toyed with Richter. “On the bed. Face down. Ass up.”
She obeys, crawling onto the mattress, positioning on all fours, then lowering to her stomach, face turned, eyes tracking me. I whip off my belt, the leather hissing through loops like a serpent uncoiling, folding it double, testing the snap against my palm.
“Did you get wet playing whore for Chicago’s elite?” I demand. “Smiling at Carl like you’d spread for him? Touching him like you touch me?”
She flinches at “whore,” but holds steady. “I wasn’t?—”
“Weren’t you?” I cut in, bringing the belt down across her thighs, leaving a crimson stripe. She gasps. “Count, Lea. Earn your truth.”
“One,” she breathes.
I strike higher, harder, the crack echoing. “Louder.”
“Two.”
I unleash again and again; the belt lashing her thighs, ass, each welt blooming a beautiful vivid red. She counts, her voice straining, body trembling, but no breaks, no pleas. By ten, her skin’s a map of fire, but her control holds, infuriating me. I need her broken, not this resilient shell.
“Turn over,” I say, my voice rough with frustration.
She rolls gingerly, wincing as welts meet sheets, lying exposed—pussy glistening despite the pain, betraying her twisted arousal. My cock strains.
“Tell me you love being my slut,” I loom, hand fisting her hair, yanking her gaze to mine.
“I love... being yours,” she recites, but it’s hollow, scripted.
“Liar.” I release her, storming to the drawer, yanking out the paddle—thick leather, unyielding. “Explain the game with Richter. You ignored me, amped it up—why?”
“Fine! My life’s a dump, my mom’s a spy, my job was a setup, and you’re the one who locked me up. But you… you light a fucking fire in me, Nico. I don’t even know who I am anymore.”
Her confession should please me, but it cracks something. Still, jealousy drives. “On your knees.”
She struggles into position, trembling. I raise the paddle. “You are mine. Your confusion? Mine. Your fire? Mine.”
The first smack lands brutally, her cry piercing. Welts deepen to purple. “Who owns you?”
“You,” she sobs.
I strike again, harder. “My name.”
“Nico!”
I lose count, each blow fueled by rage—at her, at Richter, at myself. “What are you?”
“Whatever... you... want,” she whimpers, collapsing forward, bonds straining.
One more—savage, the crack like thunder. She doesn’t answer. Instead, a guttural sob rips from her depths, raw and primal, body curling fetal despite restraints, waves of agony crashing.
The sound halts me, paddle mid-air. Not pain’s edge, not pleasure’s peak—this is shattering, soul-deep breakage. Her body shakes, bruises blooming like storm clouds.
Triumph? No. Horror floods me. It’s sharp, visceral, a knife to the heart. The paddle clatters to the floor. What the fuck have I done?
Guilt seizes my chest, squeezing like a vice. I’ve broken men, ended lives, felt nothing. But her? This woman who’s invaded my thoughts? I’ve gone too far, pushed beyond control into cruelty.
With shaking hands—me, shaking?—I gather her trembling form against my chest. She curls into me, sobs muffled in my shirt, and something fractures inside: my ironclad need for dominance crumbles.
Her wellbeing surges paramount, eclipsing the beast. I cradle her, murmuring apologies, foreign words on my tongue, vowing silently: no more.
Her pain matters more than my empire, my control. In breaking her, I’ve remade myself.