Chapter 30
Chapter Thirty
L ondyn
Londyn gingerly sank onto the dining room chair Oliver held out for her.
Her bottom was on fire. Although she had carefully examined herself in the bathroom mirror, there were no visible bruises from that awful spanking. Only the five tally marks on her back spoke to her captor’s obsession with her body, along with the bruises on her hips where he’d gripped her so tightly while fucking her that first time. But no evidence of abuse existed on her backside—just the lingering heat caused by his palm.
He said he owes me five more cuts for the orgasms he gave me. Will I feel them this time? Will I even notice the sting of the knife if I’m coming at the same time? Will I feel it when he slices my throat? Or will it, too, be painless and wrapped in pleasure?
Londyn shook those thoughts out of her mind. She was angry—at him, at herself, and at the world for allowing this to happen. And she was angry that she wasn’t fighting harder to escape. It was stupid to feel this way, but Londyn could not help the unsettled turmoil rolling through her. How could she get away when being near Oliver only made her feel safer? It did not make sense, but it was the truth. Even his punishments made her feel as though this was where she belonged. And when he calmly tended her afterward, carefully setting her to rights, straightening her clothes, and feeding her; she could not deny the attachment and dependency that was slowly but surely developing.
Stockholm Syndrome… I got an A on a paper regarding that same subject in Psychology 101 duringmy first semester at Vandy. How could I know I’d have firsthand experience in a debunked theory. And prove that it truly existed?
Oliver recognized her agitation. After ensuring she was seated, he took the chair at the head of the table, watching closely as she downed the glass of wine in a couple of gulps.
“You’re upset,” he murmured, leaning across the table to refill her glass.
“You’re very perceptive,” Londyn mocked. She sipped the wine much slower this time, studying him over the crystal. “Maybe it’s because I cannot sit comfortably on my own ass, thanks to you. Or maybe it’s because a monstrous tyrant is holding me prisoner.”
Oliver smiled at her display of temper, which only infuriated Londyn more. Her palm itched to slap his handsomely sculpted cheek. To see what kind of punishment that sort of behavior would earn her.
Stop dreaming up reasons for Oliver to punish me!
“Stop laughing at me,” she demanded, irritated with her train of thoughts.
“But you’re so damn adorable when you are mad.”
Londyn’s mouth thinned into a hard line. There was no talking sense to this man. He was cruel. Stubborn. And powerful. Sparring with him was exhausting, and if she could bring herself to face the truth, pointless. He’d been very clear from the beginning that he wouldn’t let her go. He might take excellent care of her after using her body, but he truly didn’t care about her. It was a fact she must accept.
She glanced down at the elegant gown she wore. It was one of many packages that had arrived while he was gone. She wasn’t sure how he managed to get so many things for her, things that all seemed crafted specifically for her.
Oliver dished up the pasta Miss Miller had prepared for their dinner, his lips still curving upward with a grin. “Miss Miller’s an excellent cook. Not gourmet, of course, but still, her dishes are among my favorites.”
“I’ve never had gourmet food, so I wouldn’t know what I’m missing.” Londyn picked up her fork, testing the tines with her forefinger. “I’m glad I met her. She’s very kind.”
“She is. She takes excellent care of the house during my extended absences and spoils me when I’m here.”
His casual statement was a reminder of their impending departure. Oliver had not given her any details about the trip. She had no idea when they would leave or the exact location of where they were going other than to his brother’s estate. She didn’t even know if she was expected to pack the items he’d given her or leave them behind for future disposal. And the question lingered—why would he buy these things for her, wasting that money, if he was going to dispose of her soon?
“Does your brother know we are coming?” she asked in an attempt to glean even a small bit of information from him.
“Oh, he knows. It’s bad timing, but he knows,” Oliver said, swirling his glass and watching the Pinot Grigio catch the light from the iron chandelier overhead.
“Bad timing?”
For a split second, he looked as though he would not respond. A muscle ticked along the steel cut line of his jaw before he shrugged. “He’s getting married in a month.”
Londyn’s eyes widened. “Married?”
“Yeah. Married. Oh, I’ve told him it’s a crazy idea, but he won’t be swayed. But I guess if he’s going to marry anyone, it should be Ava. She’s turned his world upside down.”
“You don’t like her?”
“On the contrary,” Oliver said before taking a long swallow of wine. “She’s an amazing girl. They are meant for one another; love each other to the point of madness. She’s got the backbone and strength it takes to be in our world. It’s just… this is the type of thing that leaves you fucking vulnerable. Gives your enemies a way to hurt you. Kingston is giving them ammunition by marrying her.”
“Isn’t that your brother’s concern?” Londyn asked. “I mean, it shouldn’t matter what he does or who he marries.”
Oliver’s head tilted. “But it does. Because he loves her, I will do my part in protecting her. And him, if it ever comes to that again. Although I doubt it would ever come to that. Kingston would slaughter anyone who hurt her.”
“What do you mean, again?”
He hesitated, his brow furrowing. “Last year, I betrayed Kingston. Tried to sell the woman he loves to the same men who sold you to me. I wanted to take over his empire. Steal his throne. But taking her would have destroyed him and me, too, eventually. So, I eliminated the men I had taken as partners and backed out of the deal. Seems I couldn’t stab my brother in theback, after all. Although I desperately wanted his crown, I realized it would never fit me like I wanted it to.” Oliver’s voice dropped to a low murmur of remembrance. “He forgave me, of course. And so did Ava. But the fact remains, I planned a coup, even if I never went through with it.” His fingers closed tight around the wineglass stem. “Kingston trusts me now, but I keep warning him it’s my fucking nature to do what is in my best interests.”
Londyn let out a shaky breath. “Why are you telling me this?”
“Why? I don’t know. Maybe I like telling you my deepest, darkest thoughts. Seeing your reaction when you learn my secrets.” His icy-blue eyes held her hostage, a hand raking through his thick, dark hair in obvious agitation. His gaze dropped to her breasts, where they swelled against the black silk evening gown she wore. He had commanded her to dress formally for dinner, and she had obeyed, of course. Donning the elegant gown and matching Dior heels, arranging her hair in an elegant updo that Paris had shown her how to do long ago, and applying a bit of mascara and lipstick from the toiletries he had provided. When she entered the dining room earlier, Oliver’s gaze lit up in appreciation.
Londyn could not deny the preening satisfaction that sent butterflies flitting around her heart before she shoved the feeling down deep into her gut. She wanted him to like what he saw. Wanted him to want her, which was crazy, considering her current situation.
“Maybe… maybe I’m considering the possibility ofkeeping you alive. You can be my live-in therapist.” Oliver mused, twirling the wineglass between his long, blunt fingers. “How could I be sure you wouldn’t try to escape me if I spared your life?” Rattled by his shocking confession, Londyn was silent. She could not promise that if an opportunity to get away presented itself, she wouldn’t take it. But what did it matter, anyway? His murmured suggestion wasn’t genuine or even a truthful consideration. It was just another way to torment her. Dangling the hope of freedom and waiting for her to snatch at it.
“Would you try?” he asked, pinning her with those perceptive eyes.
For a moment, Londyn caught a glimpse of something else deep in the depths of his steady gaze. A flash of… longing. A vulnerability that made him very human. It was apparent in that split second that this hard, brutal man wasn’t as immune to fear and uncertainty as he wanted the world to believe. Suddenly, Londyn understood the reason for the word tattooed across his knuckles. She understood the possessiveness. The way he wanted to completely own and rule her. Everything in his life had been won in bloody fights for dominance and ownership. He held tightly to his possessions and savagely protected them by whatever cruel means were necessary. What he feared most was losing what he treasured most.
And in dawning awareness, she knew that she was that treasure. He may have meant it when he swore to end her life, but things had changed. He did not want to lose her now.
The revelation made her breathless. And sick. Because she did not want to leave him any more than he wanted to let her go. Her eyes filled with tears, both for herself and for Oliver. What was between them was hopeless. It would not end well. It was a grim reality Londyn could not ignore.
“I have a gift for you, Londyn,” Oliver said suddenly, rising from his chair and standing behind hers. Londyn did not dare crane her neck to look at him, wondering if he had guessed the track of her thoughts. She sat silent and still as his large hand rested on the curve of her shoulder, his fingers lightly tracing her collarbone while his thumb rubbed the nape of her neck. Every nerve inside her both tightened with anticipation and softened with desire. Oliver had the terrifying ability to scramble her brain with fear while stoking every illicit craving her body harbored. She subtly leaned into his touch, soaking it in and savoring the tingles of hopeless excitement.
Her eyes fluttered shut as she sensed him reaching into the inner pocket of his jacket. There was a shuffling of something being opened, followed by a muffled pop as it closed. She couldn’t be sure, but it sounded like it might have been a jeweler’s box.
Cold and heavy, a chain was placed around her neck. No… not an actual chain, but a necklace. It nestled into the hollow of her throat like a lump of ice.
Her hand automatically moved to touch it as Oliver secured it around her neck. There was a quiet click, and his fingers brushed the hair on the nape of her neck, twirling the small curls around his finger as he caressed her.
“I had this made just for you, dove. A symbol of my ownership. And my devotion.”
Londyn could hear the smile in his words, and her heart pounded. Devotion? What does that mean? Does he realize that the word carries the weight of forever?
“I am the only one who can remove it, so don’t even try,” he continued in a soft murmur. His free hand came up to encircle her throat from the front, tilting her head back until her eyes opened to see him standing above her. “It’s a diamond collar, set in platinum with a two-carat stone pendant in the shape of a heart. A ring at the top of the pendant allows a leash to be clipped to the collar. Useful if you decide to crawl away from me instead of to me.”
Londyn whimpered at the image his words conjured. A leash? A diamond-encrusted collar? What was next? Caging her as though she were a mischievous kitten?
Please, keep me in a cage if it means I will be yours.
Oliver kissed the tip of her nose and pulled her up from the chair. “Come seeso that you can thank me properly.”
A large mirror framed in sleek black metal hung over a sideboard, and Oliver guided Londyn there until she could see her reflection.
Her breath caught in her throat. The diamond choker fit around her neck perfectly, the heart pendant sparkling like a chunk of ice in her throat’s hollow. She traced it, stunned by its terrible beauty and horrified that its embrace somehow felt… right. As if it had always belonged around her neck, shackling her to the man behind her.
“I’m going to fuck you while you are wearing this, Londyn. Just this and nothing else.” Oliver’s gaze caught and held hers in the reflection. His eyes were as cold and hard as the diamonds around her neck. Breathless under the weight of his stare, Londyn stood frozen as he continued in a low, husky voice, “I will watch you crawl for me, and I want you to wonder if I’m going to choke you with the leash until you pass out or give you enough slack to hang yourself when you try running. And you will try it, Londyn. I know you won’t be able to help yourself.”
“I won’t…” she argued, but his laugh cut her off.
“Don’t lie to me, dove. You would have kept running today if I had not caught you. This makes it a hell of a lot easier to keep you close.”
Oliver turned her until she faced him. His fingers hooked the necklace, although there was barely enough room to fit between it and her skin. Leaning forward, he brushed her mouth with his, kissing her softly and licking the tears she did not realize were trickling down her cheeks—tears that spoke eloquently to how lost she was to this man. He had managed to break her. She wondered if he even realized it.
“Don’t cry,” he murmured. “At least, not yet.”
He stripped the dress from her body, tossing the designer gown to the floor as if it were no more than a used dishrag. She was bare beneath the garment, just as he liked her, and Londyn immediately wondered if her obedience pleased him.
Allowing her to keep the high heels on, Oliver clipped a black leather and jewel-encrusted leash to the small ring at the top of the pendant. Londyn’s heart pounded like a war drum as he commanded her.
“Hands and knees, Londyn. I want you to crawl for me like a good girl.”
Humiliation stung Londyn with the force of a thousand bees, but, God help her, she obeyed. Willingly. Obediently. Sinking to her knees, she placed her palms flat on the floor, choking back tears and hating the flood of arousal that dampened her thighs. She was his now. Completely and utterly his. And she would have crawled a thousand miles for this man to simply pat her on the head and give her a smile of approval.
Oliver led her to the table, pulling out a chair at the opposite end so that he could sit. With legs spread wide, he might have been a dissolute king sitting on a throne. A tyrant to be pleased. A god to be worshipped.
He tugged the leash, dragging Londyn forward until his muscular thighs bracketed her slender form. When she tried rising on her knees, bracing her hands on the top of his legs to steady herself, Oliver shook his head.
“No. Stay as you are,” he breathed, passing a hand over the top of her head and shoving her back into her previous position. Before she could think to protest what he was doing, Oliver pulled her hair free of the updo, spreading it with his fingers until the dark waves cascaded over her shoulders and across her bare breasts. “Lay your head on my knee, Londyn.” He spoke softly, his hand slipping to tweak her hard nipples until a moan escaped her, and she did as she was told.
“I do understand you, dove,” he continued in a soothing manner. “I know the darkest corners of your heart, and you know mine. You want this. You want the praise. The degradation. The domination and the punishments. You need the security of my hand around your throat as I command you. You are hardwired to obey me. You might not understand it all yet; this is all so new to you, but you crave the peace that submission gives you. The way it quiets your mind. I’ve given you the freedom to let go of everything and worry about nothing. You can let go, Londyn. Let go and let me take care of you.”
Londyn struggled, her independence fighting the truth in Oliver’s words. She wanted to scream. To kick and bite and shake her head because that was not her.
I’m not like that!
So easily led and manipulated. She was strong and smart. Proud and stubborn.
But she was also a woman with a horrible weakness. For Oliver. For those insidious words of praise. For his brutal, unyielding strength. For the way he handled her so carefully. So tenderly. Even when he fucked her mouth like he hated her, he took care of her afterward. He treated her like a prize possession. Like the woman he adored and cherished. And she craved that. Not from just any man. But from this man. This tortured, dark, twisted, soulless man had ripped her heart from her chest and wrapped glittery chains around it. She belonged to him. She was his.
The realization toppled her resistance. Oliver had given her more over the past few weeks than any other man. And if it ended up being the death of her, she could not deny her feelings toward him. When she sank into the promise of his words, she let them drown and pull her under the current.
She was tired of fighting. Tired of the struggle to survive. To breathe. To live.
She did not resist when he rose from the chair and dragged her to stand. She did not fight when he handed her a glass of wine that she had not seen him fill and made her drink until it was empty. And she did not fight when he bent her over his expensive dining-room table, unfastened his trousers, kicked her feet apart, and plunged his pierced cock deep into her pussy.
“You’re fucking drenched for me, dove. Is it the weight of the collar that makes you so wet? Or was it crawling for me that got you so hot?”
Londyn let out a muffled scream at the burning, stretching sensation, but how could she fight him when her body sang out in ecstasy with his savagery? Even when he looped the leash around her neck, gripping it with a handful of her hair and pulling so tightly that stars flashed before her eyes, she did not fight. It felt too good. Too overwhelming and too right. It was everything she never knew she wanted or needed. It felt like she finally belonged somewhere in a cruel world, and she was safe in the arms of the monster.
She surrendered with a cry, melting, loving every minute of his brutal, half-crazed possession. Craving his every thrust into her fragile flesh. Wanting more even after she came so hard that she must have stopped breathing. Everything faded to a soft black until the only sounds were her quiet sobs of bliss and Oliver’s harsh groans as he fucked her without mercy.
When he jerked her head up until her body bowed, she was already flying into oblivion, soaring among the stars and clouds and adrift on the wind. Her body rocked with his thrusts, the edge of the table digging into her hips and bruising her. Her legs shook as he used his thighs to spread hers more, and she bit back a depraved plea to fuck her harder.
“You’re mine, Londyn,” he growled, plunging so hard and deep that Londyn dazedly wondered if he was trying to rip her apart. “Now and forever. Life or death. Pain and pleasure. Good or bad. You are mine .”