Chapter 19
Chapter Nineteen
L ondyn
Londyn jerked upright, clutching the sheets to her bare breasts.
For a brief second, she wasn’t sure where she was. Her eyes darted around the darkened room, taking in the quiet hush as she took a deep breath. Slowly, she settled against thick, fluffy pillows.
She was still Oliver Winter’s prisoner. His toy.
Somehow, she had survived God only knew how many hours of degrading torture in his chamber of horrors. She wasn’t sure how she’d ended up in this room. Everything was a complete blur of pleasure, pain, tears, and euphoria.
Shifting her naked legs, Londyn winced. She was so sore, her muscles screaming each time she moved. When she threw back the coverlet and perched on the side of the bed, her actions were wobbly and slow.
Everything hurt. Everything. Her breasts. Her arms and shoulders. Her bottom. The tenderness between her legs had her biting back a sob. How many times did he invade her flesh with his long, thick fingers while denying her the orgasm her body craved so desperately? She couldn’t answer that question. At some point during her time in the underground room, she’d lost count and blacked out.
But it was her throat that hurt the most. Oliver fucked it three times that she could recall. The piercings… Oh, God… the piercings. She could still feel the cold metal bars clinking against her teeth and sliding across her tongue until the head of his cock touched the back of her throat. Even though she had the strange feeling he had held back from abusing her far more than he could, it did not erase the way he forced her submission. How he made her swallow and accept everything he gave her. How would she survive when he decided it was time to claim her virginity? Those piercings would likely tear her to pieces.
Londyn lowered her head, wrapping her arms around her waist. She bent over, rocking slightly. Her hair was a tangled mess. After being drenched with sweat, it had dried into stiff waves. She needed to wash it. God, she must be a mess. Glancing down at herself, she expected to see skin smeared with his cum and blood and her own arousal. But surprisingly, she was relatively clean. He must have wiped her in between those moments of insanity. A faint memory of a warm cloth passing over her lower spine made her shudder. When he had swiped it between her legs, she had moaned at the sensation and bucked her hips in desperation.
“Ah-ah,” he chided. “You don’t get to come, Londyn. Not now, and certainly not in the near future. Should you think about getting yourself off when I’m not around, I would advise you to think again. I will know if you do something so foolish. You won’t be able to hide it from me, and your punishment will be severe if you disappoint me. Your orgasms are mine, dove. I decide when, how, and where you may have one.”
Clenching her teeth, Londyn shoved aside those memories, refusing to dwell on her body’s betrayal when Oliver touched her. And his cruel words when he forced her to acknowledge how much she liked him touching her.
She ached all over, but she was also alive. Alive. He hadn’t killed her, and he finally promised to do it quickly and painlessly when the time came. She must be grateful for that, at least.
Despite the soreness and the aches rippling through her body, Londyn could no longer ignore more pressing needs. She was starving. Thirsty, despite the cool sips of water Oliver had occasionally forced on her. And she needed to pee, although her insides clenched at the thought. That was likely to be painful, considering how swollen and sensitive she was down there . She rose from the bed, holding one of the posts for support. The longer she stood there, the steadier she became. Steeling herself, she shuffled to the attached bathroom.
It didn’t hurt as much when she urinated, which was a small miracle. A cup of water from the tap alleviated her thirst for the moment; now, she needed to find something to eat.
Londyn made her way into the walk-in closet, pulling her favorite Vanderbilt University sweatshirt and a pair of panties from the small pile of clothes stored in the dresser drawer. She refused to wear anything from the stack of high-end garments Oliver left on the bench by the door. Ignoring those clothes, she went to the door. Was it locked to prevent her from leaving? So far, that had not been the case, and only his admonishment to stay put had kept her from attempting to venture out before now. Now, she wondered if she was brave enough to defy him.
Quietly, she turned the door handle, her heart pounding.
It was unlocked. But only when her stomach growled hungrily did she make a decision.
Peeking into the dark hallway, Londyn saw nothing that would prevent her from leaving the room. She chewed at her bottom lip, wincing when she belatedly remembered that it was also swollen from Oliver’s kisses and nibbling bites.
Black iron sconces illuminated the corridor with low light. Holding her breath, Londyn quietly closed the door behind her and approached the stairs. Glancing over her shoulder, her eyes searched the shadowy darkness. Somewhere at the opposite end of that dark hall was Oliver’s room.
What would he do if he caught her roaming through the house? What awful punishment would he devise?
Londyn paused. Contemplating that very real possibility was almost enough to send her running back to the safety of her room. But her stomach clenched again with hunger, and her lips tightened. She had not eaten since dinner the night before.
She crept down the massive staircase, anticipating Oliver Winter bearing down on her at any moment. Ready to crush any sign of bravery or rebellion. But the house remained eerily quiet. Stepping into the large great room, she could only hear the tick-tock of an enormous wall clock, its exposed gearwork steadily clicking and whirring away the seconds and minutes toward the midnight hour.
The room was empty, and Londyn hesitated, gathering her bearings as she tried to remember where the kitchen was. Maybe to the left. Yes, the left. And the front door, where Oliver ushered her in just four days ago, would be to the right.
Indecision trickled through her body. Should she even attempt to escape? Would this be the only chance she had to get away? The temptation sent a shiver down her spine, but she closed her eyes against it; her breaths shallow and ragged in the still air. What if he was waiting to pounce on her? Waiting for her to make the fatal error of thinking she could get away? The house must be under surveillance… armed with cameras in every corner. Glancing around the area where she stood, she could see no evidence of a camera system, but those things were so discreet. A criminal like Oliver was bound to have the latest technology when it came to security. There were probably cameras, all right. Several of them, and all the size of a coat button, scattered throughout the house like tiny eyes watching her.
Although her sense of survival screeched in protest, Londyn turned left. After feeling her way down another short corridor, she entered the kitchen. It looked different in the dark, the slabs of white marble gleaming starkly in the dim light cast by subtle undercabinet illumination. Opening the doors of the gigantic refrigerator, she rummaged through its contents, locating a block of expensive cheddar cheese with a few slices already conveniently cut, a bowl full of red grapes, and a bottle of Evian water. Placing the items on the large island in the center of the room, she noticed a fruit bowl and grabbed a banana and an apple.
Pulling up a barstool, she gingerly perched upon it and drank half of the water before quickly eating the cheese. Her stomach grumbled in appreciation, and she polished off the banana and the apple before starting on the grapes. Popping one into her mouth, Londyn chewed it slowly while inspecting the kitchen. A large, sleek knife block sat beside the gas stove, and for a moment, she considered arming herself.
Bad idea. Remember what happened the last time?
She squirmed uncomfortably, remembering how badly it hurt when Oliver had pushed inside with his thumb during that first punishment back in the cabin at Diamond Lake Ranch. It was stupid to consider taking a weapon when he would undoubtedly discover the reckless theft and punish her again. The man had eyes like a hawk. He missed nothing.
Sighing, she popped another grape into her mouth and swallowed a mouthful of water. Her gaze drifted until it landed on the steel door leading to the underground room. Her pulse fluttered with frightened awareness. The things he’d done to her down in that dark, scary space could not be forgotten, no matter how hard she tried to erase the memories from her brain. Not only had Oliver used his fingers to drive her to the edge of multiple orgasms,but he’d also used his tongue and teeth. And several times, he used the length of his cock, sliding the hard shaft and the barbells up and down her clit without actually entering her pussy.
That had been the worst. Because she desperately wanted him inside her, filling the ache his hands and lips had created. The cold steel of his piercings had been slick with her arousal, easily slipping over her clit again and again until she nearly screamed with pleasure. But every time she was close to falling over into the abyss, Oliver softly chuckled and eased off from tormenting her until the impending climax waned. Then it started again, an endless cycle of arousal and denial, punctuated by interludes where he fucked her throat or masturbated over the curve of her ass.
And each time, she wanted more. More. More. More.
Frightened by her thoughts and the reality of how easily Oliver controlled her body, Londyn frowned. She tugged at the hem of the tattered and threadbare sweatshirt. It was a far cry from the thousand-dollar slip he ripped from her body, but no doubt it would tear just as easily with a tug of his fingers. The cotton was thin from multiple washings, but it was soft and comfortable, and, most importantly, it was hers . A memento of her former life. A token of her dreams and aspirations. A reminder of Paris and the fragile, dangerous world where her older sister would soon be alone, helpless, and unprotected.
London sniffled, dashing the tears away from her cheeks with an angry swipe of her hand. She would not cry. It did no good.
“If you are weeping over the current state of your clothing, I can’t say I blame you. What the fuck are you wearing, dove?”