Chapter 55
Chapter Fifty-Five
Lily
The darkness is absolute, a weight against my eyelids that feels heavier than any blanket.
I try to move, to shift away from the oppressive void, but my limbs refuse to obey.
A slow, creeping panic starts to prickle at the edges of my consciousness.
My wrists are pinned above my head, wrapped in thick rope.
I twist, and the rope bites into my skin.
The same sensation encircles my ankles, pulling my legs taut, spreading them wide apart on a large bed.
I strain my ears, but there is only silence, an unnerving stillness that amplifies the frantic thumping of my heart.
A sound breaks the silence. Footsteps. There are heavy, dragging slightly, as if the person making them is in no hurry.
The sound echoes slightly, telling me the room is large and empty.
Each footfall sends a fresh jolt of ice through my veins.
I squeeze my eyes shut, a useless, childish gesture, and focus on controlling my breathing, on making it silent. In. Out.
Don’t let him know you’re awake.
But you know he already knows.
The footsteps stop, right beside the bed.
I can feel the presence there, a shift in the air, a disturbance.
I don’t dare open my eyes. I can feel his gaze on me, a physical touch like a crawling insect, tracing the lines of my body, pausing on the rise of my breasts, the dip of my stomach, the exposed curve of my hips between the ropes on my thighs.
The scrutiny is so intense it feels like a violation, a slow, methodical stripping away of my defenses.
A hand, cold as the grave, settles on my stomach.
I flinch, a violent, full-body spasm, and a choked gasp escapes my lips.
The hand is large, the fingers long and powerful.
It rests there for a moment, a dead weight, before it begins to move.
It slides upward, the calloused palm dragging against the thin fabric of lingerie, a slow, possessive exploration.
It traces the bottom of my ribs, then moves higher, cupping the weight of my breast. The thumb brushes over my nipple, and the touch is so cold, so unexpected, that it pebbles instantly, a hard, aching point against the rough cloth.
My eyes fly open.
The face above me is one that I know, one that haunts my waking hours.
It’s him. Nico Vidalia. His features are sharp and cruel in the dim light, his eyes black, reflecting nothing.
A slow, predatory smile spreads across his lips, revealing his diamond tooth.
He doesn't speak. He just watches me, his hand still molding my breast, his thumb circling my nipple with a maddening, teasing pressure that sends a jolt of confused heat straight to my core.
“You look delicious like this,” he finally says, his voice a low rumble that vibrates through my bones. “All tied up and waiting. A feast.”
His other hand comes up to join the first, and together they grip the neckline of my lace bra.
With a single, brutal wrench, the fabric rips.
The sound tears through the silence, sharp and final.
The cold air hits my exposed skin, and I gasp, my back arching instinctively.
His gaze drops to my bare breasts, and his smile widens.
He leans down, his face hovering just inches from mine.
I can smell his breath now, whiskey and smoke.
He doesn’t kiss me. Instead, his mouth descends to my chest. His lips are cold, but his tongue is a searing brand of heat as it leaves a wet, deliberate stripe over my nipple.
I cry out, a raw, desperate sound, and thrash against my bound wrists and ankles.
The ropes dig in deeper, the pain a sharp counterpoint to the horrifying pleasure that blooms in my breast. He sucks the hardened peak into his mouth, his teeth scraping lightly, a threat and a promise all at once.
His other hand continues its exploration, sliding down my ribs, over the soft swell of my belly, his fingers tracing the line of my hipbone.
His touch is a violation, a constant tactic of humiliation. I hate him. I fear him. But there’s no one here to save me.
He releases my nipple with a wet pop and begins to kiss a slow, torturous path down my body.
His mouth is a brand of fire and ice, leaving a trail of cooling saliva on my skin.
He licks the hollow of my stomach, his tongue dipping into my navel.
I writhe uncontrollably, a sob catching in my throat.
Every fiber of me screams for him to stop, but I know if I do, I’ll suffer something worse.
His hands move to my thighs, his fingers pressing into the soft flesh, holding me still as he settles himself between my spread legs.
I am completely exposed to him, my most intimate place laid bare.
He looks up at me, his black eyes locking with mine, and the sheer, unadulterated hunger in his gaze makes my breath catch. This is it. This is the end.
“You are my favorite meal of the day,” he whispers, the words a final, terrifying promise.
He lowers his head. And then his tongue is on me.
It’s not a gentle exploration. It’s a voracious, consuming kiss.
He latches onto my clit, sucking hard, his tongue flicking the sensitive bundle of nerves with relentless, brutal precision.
My hands clench into fists above my head, the ropes cutting into my wrists as I buck against his mouth, hating how my body is reacting to this.
He eats me like a man starved. He laps at my juices, his groans of pleasure vibrating against my flesh.
The pressure builds, an impossible, terrifying storm gathering deep inside me.
My thighs begin to tremble, my entire body shaking with the force of the impending orgasm.
I’m going to come, for the monster who has you bound and helpless.
A guttural cry tears from my throat as my orgasm crashes over me. I thrash and sob because I know it isn’t over. He rises up over me.
“Don’t cry,” he purrs. “No one is coming to save you. Just accept that you’ll be mine for as long as you live.”
He lowers his head to my neck, his cold lips brushing against my frantic pulse. I feel the sharp points of his teeth against my skin.
And then he bites down.
I jolt awake with a scream, my heart pounding in my chest, the nightmare clinging to me like a cold sweat. I can’t shake the feeling of dread that is wrapped around me. I gasp for breath, my mind racing with the images that haunt my sleep.
“Hey, hey, I’m here.” I feel Killian’s warm presence beside me as he holds me. “It’s just a dream.”