Chapter 18
eighteen
-Serena-
Before bed, I slip into the sexiest nightie I can find and only then snuggle under the sheets.
If I'm suffering, he’s suffering too.
I try to close my eyes and drift off. I really do.
I should be able to sleep because I burned off some calories at the gym.
I'm tired enough, I just can't do it. It's like my mind keeps me awake. And now I know he’s seen Inception because he just planted an idea I can’t shake.
An idea my body is way too eager to accept, especially since the tension building up these days inside is killing me.
I can't even think straight. I'm still supposed to be in the bed of the enemy, yet here I am, trying to seduce him into fucking me.
At this point, the word conscience means nothing to me—I clearly don’t have one. I only have cravings, and right now I need to do something about the ache pulsing between my legs.
I know he told me not to touch myself, and I'm really trying to listen to his command. But my hips start moving against the pillow I have between my legs, and I almost cry out in agony realizing I've become desperate enough to hump a pillow.
I glance around the room, trying to think of anything else. I start counting random objects—until my memory decides to punish me, flooding me with the images of Set moving on top of me.
Fuck!
The image feels so vivid now, it sends a wave of heat crashing over me.
I'm almost sweating from the memory, my breasts aching to be touched, my nipples already hard.
I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to get some sleep and chase every other thought away. Maybe I could’ve managed if his scent wasn't hitting me so hard from the sheets.
I lose all self-control, and I find my hand slipping beneath my panties, fingers brushing the spot that’s begging for friction. Just a little, I lie to myself, right before my fingers start gliding over my clit.
God, it feels so good when I imagine my hand becoming Set's. My pulse races, and so does my rhythm. I need to satisfy the craving somehow before I end up doing something stupid because of it.
I know I should stop, but I just can't. I'm too close. It’ll only take a few more seconds to cure myself from what he's doing to me.
My body tenses, my hand rushes to get me there, and those seconds of silence that warn me of my incoming release numb everything around me.
The sound of a text message makes me jolt upright—my heart still pounding, my body still not at ease, but there’s only one person in this world who texts me.
I glance at the screen, and a chill replaces the heat inside my body.
Get your hand out of there, or I'll come tie you to the bed for A WEEK!!!
I groan in frustration as I look around me for cameras. He must have some hidden somewhere around the room. There’s no way he could’ve known otherwise.
Oh, this is bad. I quiver thinking about how I just disobeyed one of his orders. I know now that when it comes to me, that isn't exactly like getting a death sentence, but he has other ways to punish me. Ways that make my body go rogue against me. Ways that’ll make me doubt my own sanity.
I try to shut my eyes again, hoping to be asleep before he walks through the door. But things are never easy in my life. I don't manage to fall asleep. I toss and turn on every side of the bed until I start counting again. Nothing seems to be working, even though I look at the clock and it's 2 a.m.
Suddenly, I hear Eight Ball meowing at the door, and figure he might help me sleep if I let him in. Back in Italy, I used to fall asleep with him curled up in my arms every night.
I get up to open the door to let him in, but before I get back to bed, another text from Set lights up my screen.
Living room. Now.
This doesn't sound good at all. But he heard the door, he knows I am awake. There’s no fooling him now into thinking otherwise.
With slow steps, I head toward the living room. I know I'm in trouble. I just don't know how bad it is.
Whiro must be gone, I don't think Set would’ve summoned me if his brother was still here.
I slip into the room and he notices my presence but doesn't say a single word, just curls his index finger, calling me to the bar.
The space feels endless, and despite everything, I wish it took even longer to reach him.
He’s perched on a high stool, elbows resting on the bar, his phone in one hand. His finger moves again, so I come closer and as soon as I'm within his reach, he draws me to his chest and raises his phone in front of me so that we're both looking at the same image.
Jesus, please don't let this be what I think it is.
No such luck. As I look at the screen, I see myself in the bedroom from a few hours ago. The camera’s off to my right, and it's not the only one in the room.
"Set," I want to explain myself, but I have no real idea how.
"Shush, let's watch this," he says, pressing play.
I should’ve figured he had cameras, but I think I was too desperate to find some release—too desperate to break free from his hold.
I watch myself as my hand moves against my folds, over and over again in slow circles, searching to end my misery.
"You have cameras..." I murmur, another shocking thought coming to mind. "Did you watch the footage of us when I was gone?"
"No. I wasn't in the mood," he snaps, changing his attitude completely.
Judging by the look on his face, the images must have been too painful for him to watch.
Still, I'm glad he didn't make a movie night out of them.
But I can't stop my cheeks from burning, knowing he has them.
That he's watching me… That he could watch me whenever he wanted.
"Why do you even have cameras?" I snap, furious he’s filming me without my consent. Well, he's done plenty of things without my consent—or knowledge. So, I don't know why this even surprises me.
And his mood didn't seem to have improved, "For moments like this, when you go do something stupid after I told you not to," he snarls, making me watch the whole video of how I managed to humiliate myself to death.
There’s a weird tension when the footage ends.
I'm waiting for him to say something, but the silence stretches long enough to make me break it.
"I... I should go to bed. I'm tired." I try to make my getaway.
And even though I know it won't be that easy, I owe it to myself not to back down without a fight.
"You weren’t tired earlier," he whispers at the back of my neck, already ready to give me another order. "Get on your stomach. On that chair." His voice lands, and my eyes widen, my skin instantly prickling.
"Set, please, I'm tired," I whimper, hoping he might show me mercy, just this time.
But this is Set we’re talking about, "Chair, now."
Still, I don't move. I think it's my body's way to protect itself from whatever he’s planning.
Not that he gives a fuck. Next second, I'm up in the air, my head and hands dangling, ass up, draped over the chair like a rag doll.
"What are you doing?" I ask, but don't try to fight him. He's like a damn lion—the harder you fight him, the harder he corners you.
"You thought what I've done to you so far was torture?" he asks, voice barely restrained.
"I won't do it again," I reassure him, especially since I know I'm being watched in every damn corner of this house.
Though he doesn't look so convinced by my words. "You will," I feel his hand moving over one of my ass cheeks, gently massaging it.
"Set," this time I almost beg him. Though I don't know exactly for what, maybe just to have mercy.
"You’ll listen next time, or things will only get worse for you.
" His hand moves to my panties, testing that thin line that goes down between my legs.
"You're still wet. Or is that from me?" He pauses, letting out a heavy breath.
"Did I do that to you?" his voice turns sinfully smooth.
"Answer," he says, his heavy palm spanking my ass.
"No.... Yes." I cry out, not even sure what the question was. I just can't focus with him holding me like that.
"You're undecided," he says, fingers playing at my entrance. "Let me help you make up your mind." Two of his digits enter me up to the knuckles, and my body jolts from the intrusion.
The moment is so brief before he withdraws them, I barely register what's happening.
His hand moves to my ass again, smearing one of my cheeks with my own arousal. And the gesture does something that sends my haze spinning. It's like I feel the cold air in the room brushing the exact spot he tainted, sharp against my skin. But it's not cold he's going for. He’s after the heat.
His palm lands on the skin he marked, making the imprint of his fingers sting against my flesh.
I whine, trying to rise from the chair, not from the pain, but from the depraved craving I find satisfaction in.
He doesn't let me move, of course, just puts his other hand to the small of my back, keeping me glued to the chair while he repeats the move with my other cheek. And I just get wetter and wetter, praying to every god he wouldn't be able to resist me like that—and take me already.
But Set's will is unbreakable. So he repeats, massaging my cheeks between slaps, gradually increasing the intensity until I'm sure I won't be able to sit for days. And I want more. I don't know what it is about this man, but he brings kinks out of me I had no idea I had.
I'm so wet that I'm beginning to think I’ll come from his next slap—and as always, he stops just in time to make me crawl in my own misery.
"Do you want me to let you come?" he asks, like he was about to give me the answers to my prayers.
"Yes," I cry out in the sweetest voice I can muster, hoping to lure him into actually doing it, praying this isn’t just another one of his tricks.
But he always has Plan B. "Okay, I'll let you. But you'll have to do it yourself."
Well, I could’ve done that hours ago—if he hadn't interrupted me in the first place.
And then the trick. "With me watching you."
The bastard keeps pushing the line, day by day. But this is damn straight crossing that line. "Are you fucking kidding me? Have you gone mad?" I snarl, stunned by the sheer audacity.
"Watch your mouth before I fill it again with my cock," he threatens, and I feel the hand that's keeping me fixed to the chair losing its grip.
Such a jerk—and here I was, thinking maybe we were turning a corner. But there are no better terms with this man. He always follows his need to own me, and I'm not going to let that happen to the extent that he dreams. He can do whatever he wants with me. He won't get me to beg for him.
His hand slips from my back. He's not keeping me fixed to the chair anymore, so I take my chance.
I jump back to my feet, then storm straight to the bedroom, slamming the door behind me.
I know it won't keep him away since it's his bed, after all, but at least it shows that I have not succumbed to his dirty demands.