Chapter 4 #2
If he was going to kill you, he’d have done it already.
Would he, though? I remember him telling me that those who commit the worst crimes deserve to be punished before they die.
My heart beats so fast I feel nauseous. Is that why I’m here, then? So he can kill me?
If you were anyone else, we’d have killed you already.
I thought he meant they’d spared me because they knew me. Or maybe even because I’m a woman. Now, however, I’m rethinking this. Maybe he meant they needed to punish and torture me before they killed me?
He could kill me and dispose of me, and no one would even try to stop him.
I look at him in a new light.
I look at those strong, powerful hands that have been over every inch of my body. Masterful, sexy, manly hands that know exactly what I like.
Hands that have pulled triggers to kill, beaten human flesh, wielded knives to cut through skin and sinew.
Another wave of nausea roils through me.
“Now,” he says, turning to face me with a length of rope. “Let’s pick up the conversation. Where were we?”
“I have to use the bathroom,” I blurt out.
He rolls his eyes and a corner of his lips quirks sardonically. “Nice try.”
“No! I’m going to be sick,” I say, covering my mouth before I vomit all over his shoes.
“Jesus,” he mutters, before he jerks his head. “Go!”
I barely make it to the bathroom before I vomit the entire contents of my stomach. My cheeks flame in humiliation. I hate that I’ve done this. When I’m finally exhausted and done, I wipe the back of my hand across my mouth and hope he doesn’t get suspicious.
I rinse my mouth over and over until he yells, “Get out here. You’re done now.”
I glance at myself in the mirror and wince. My eyes are watery and bloodshot. My cheeks look hollow. My skin is pallid and pale and a little clammy, like moist dough. Ugh.
I wonder idly if they have paper bags under the sink. I’d like one to put over my head, please.
I turn around and startle at the sight of him standing in the doorway.
“You done?”
“For now,” I snap. God, I hate him.
“Good. Strip. If you’re not completely naked and those clothes in that basket behind the door by the time this timer goes off, I’ll whip you as a prelude. Clear?”
My heart skips a beat. Will he be able to tell? Is it too soon? God, I hope I get nauseous again and this time don’t make it to the bathroom.
I bare my teeth at the bastard as I yank my top off. “Crystal.”
I hold his gaze while I rip my clothes off in angry, rapid movements. If he’s trying to humiliate me, this is the wrong tactic. I’ve been a hired prostitute at a brothel and a slave at a sex club. I’ve long since lost any shame in being naked.
He stares while I strip, but if the sight of me naked arouses him, he doesn’t let on at all, he only watches, like he’s making sure I obey. When I’m standing before him naked and a little cold, he nods.
In two steps, he enters the tiny bathroom and grabs my wrist. I trot to keep up as he drags me into the bedroom, snaps his wrist, and releases a length of long rope.
I grit my teeth.
“Now then. Hands in front of you.”
I obey. With every second that passes, my apprehension grows. If he crosses a certain line, I may have to tell him everything.
I can’t.
I won’t.
“Good. Now, let’s see what we can get from you.”
When he arranges me on the bed like I’m an article of clothing, I close my eyes and try to put on a brave face. It’s not like he hasn’t done this exact thing before. I’ve always loved being at his mercy.
But that was when I trusted him.
That was when he trusted me.
And that makes all the difference.
The bed pressing up against my naked belly, that coiled leather at the ready, I expect him to spank me, but he doesn’t.
Instead, he spreads my legs and reaches between them.
I gasp when he fingers my sex and spreads me wide open.
He’s got some kind of gel on his fingers he spreads liberally all over me like he’s lubricating me, but soon, I know that’s not what this is.
A warming, tingling sensation spreads throughout my sex until my entire lower body feels like he’s been torturing me with foreplay for hours.
“Oh, how nice,” I snap. “You know how to get me all aroused with literally no effort on your part. If that’s not the most masculine thing I’ve ever—”
A sharp thwack hits my ass.
“No more of your back talk. Open your mouth again, and I’ll gag you with my cock until you shut up.”
I press my lips together and rant in my head instead, because I am very well aware of the fact that he’s fully prepared to make good on his promise.
His hands are on my hips. I close my eyes as a rush of unexpected emotion chokes me. The warmth of his hand, the power of his touch. All I’d need is his mouth at my ear whispering sweet nothings and I’d be right back at Le Luxe, having the most amazing sex of my entire life.
If he likes the way I feel at his mercy, he hides it well. He’s a man on a mission and nothing’s going to sway him.
Nothing.
I gasp when he strokes my pussy, hard and fast. No warning, no foreplay, but it doesn’t matter. That gel did its job, and I’m so aroused my hips jerk with the first spasm of orgasm.
“Good to know this shit works,” he mutters, which would be cute if he wasn’t an asshole.
And then he’s gone. His warmth. His body. Those fingers that I need between my legs before I pass out.
My body pulses with need and want, stronger than anything I’ve ever felt before.
My clit throbs. Even the walls of my sex ache as if I need to be filled by him.
I whimper when I feel something hard and cold where his fingers once were.
It begins to vibrate, and I come apart. I climax so hard I scream, though no one can hear me.
I’m wrecked from spasms of heat and pleasure, my back arching so long and tightly it hurts.
And then there’s no more pleasure, only a sensitive clit and the continuous vibration.
“Lyam,” I gasp. “Please. Make it stop.”
He sits on the edge of the bed. How is he doing that? He isn’t holding the vibrator any longer. The jerkface has some kind of contraption set up so it stays in place. Lovely.
My hips jerk and I need the sensation to stop. “Lyam—”
“Tell me.”
“No.”
The vibration increases in intensity. Another climax builds on the first. I shake and tremble as sensation begins to rise again. I press my lips together so he doesn’t hear me cry. I’m so sensitive I don’t know what to do with myself.
So this is how Lyam Gerard punishes a woman.
And he’s only warming up.
Goddamn him.
I climax again, and again, until I’m crying freely onto the bed. I can’t get away from this or move.
“I can keep this up all night, Cosette,” he says with a yawn which is probably fabricated. I barely hear him. I feel like I’m in a tunnel of blissful pain.
I’m hoarse from screaming and my sex is on fire as the vibrations go on, and on.
I can’t tell him. I won’t.
I scream out loud when something bites at my nipples. I open my eyes. I didn’t even realize they were shut or that he’d turned me over. Lyam has the remote in one hand and a violet wand in the other, grazing it against my nipples.
I squirm and plead. I don’t even know what I’m saying as the words fall out of my mouth. “I can’t tell you,” I sob. “I won’t, Lyam. You can—do whatever you want to me. I won’t cave.”
The violet wand kicks up.
“Fine, then,” he says. He pushes to his feet and reaches for the strap. I can see him out of the corner of my eye.
That’s when true panic sets in.
He can’t do this. This might be the one line he can’t cross. If he whips me—
He reaches for the silken hood.
“I’m getting the answer out of you tonight, one way or another,” he says grimly, as he slips the silky fabric over my head.
I can’t breathe. I start to panic. I gasp for air but something’s wrong. I’m not getting any air.
I try to scream but my words are muffled. I’m trying to gasp for air when it hits me.
I have to breathe.
If I can’t breathe, I’ll suffocate, and if I suffocate—
“Will you tell me now?” His words are dim and far away. I want to shake my head. I want to tell him to fuck off, but it isn’t just about me.
I have no choice.
I have to tell him.
Something inside me breaks when I know he’s won.
I nod my head, only to get him to take the hood off.
When he does, I gasp for air.
“I couldn’t breathe with that on,” I cry. “I couldn’t breathe.”
“Of course you could.” But his voice falters.
“Why-would-I-lie,” I stammer. My teeth chatter as I climax again on a scream because of that godawful contraption. I wish I could shut my body off. “I-couldn’t.”
“Motherfucker,” he grates, looking at the hood. “This isn’t what I asked for. Thank fuck I took that off. Jesus.”
He shoves it in the bag, rolls me back over onto my stomach, and lifts the strap again.
“Let’s see how far we get with this.”
I have one brief moment of panic, before I scream, “No! No, Lyam. You can’t!”
“Can’t?” he says, lifting his arm with a look that tells me he absolutely can.
I squirm and try to get away, but he pins me down.
“So you’ll tell me?”
I clamp my lips together. No, I can’t tell him. If I do, it’ll change everything.
He shakes his head, a look of conviction on his face telling me he is absolutely willing and able to hurt me if he thinks he needs to.
No.
He lifts his arm.
On a sob, I break.
“I’ll tell you!” I scream.
Silence in the room.
I’m panting. He’s panting. He shuts off his toys and lays the strap down, then roughly flips me over so I’m on my back.
I had to do it.
I swallow hard when he grips my chin and makes me look at him.
“Look into my eyes and tell me the truth, Cosette.” His voice cracks a little. “Please.”
Tears flow freely down my cheeks. “Lyam, I’m pregnant.”