Page 142 of The Villain

Her expression is blank, a natural mask instead of my forced aloofness. She watches me instinctively test the ties and paces down the length of the bed to my feet. A yank has one ankle secured. It doesn’t even occur to me to struggle. My right leg slides across the sheets and becomes immobile as well. I’m spread eagle and helpless.

“Baby? What’s going on?” I test the waters to see if she’ll respond. She doesn’t answer but her brow goes up and her expression finally emerges. A dark smirk of satisfaction. Her eyes roam my tied up form as if she’s admiring a piece of art. It makes my heart beat faster. The simple sight of how much she wants me. It’s a balm exactly where I need it.

“What game are you playing?” I try to tease but I’m shaking. Already ready for whatever she wants to do to me.

I’ve never been tied up before. I’ve wondered what it would be like in a sexual sense. I thought I’d hate it. That I wouldn’t be able to stand being held down. Instead I feel free. It’s odd as fuck.

I don’t have to do anything. All the pressure is off of me for her to do whatever she wants. It doesn’t matter what it is, I know I’ll like it.

She takes her longing look off my body, her satisfaction is heady for me. And I didn’t have to do anything to get it.

“This isn’t a game statue. Not this time.” She lets out a soft sigh as her eyes meet mine. Her lips are curved into a tiny secretive smile but I can’t read anything else from her. Her breathing is even but her nipples are practically poking through her tank top. It’s confusing.

My brows lower as she walks out of the room.

“Evie,” her name comes out on a bark of rage. Is she leaving me in here? How long is she going to keep me like this?

I look at the ropes tying me and blink in surprise. It’s the rope I brought to the party. The ones I was going to use to kidnap her. Black bamboo and soft so I wouldn’t damage her skin. That was never a part of the equation for me. A glance at my ankles shows me the same thing. The knots are hidden behind the headboard so I can’t see what kind they are. I have a knife stashed behind the headboard but it’s just out of reach.

I stop moving around when South comes back in. My body sags with relief too soon. She lifts a dagger up and tests how sharp it is.

I’m so fucked up I start getting hard instead of fearing for my life.

I try to cover it by making my face go empty.

“What are you doing?” I force the words out through a dry throat. I sound like my usual dick self but inside I’m a riot of emotions. My body tenses in reaction as she paces to my side of the bed.

“I told you we would discuss punishment when you got home. I was distracted,” her hushed murmur washes over me, giving me chills. Instead of being cautious I sag into the bed, my body relaxing while my mind whirls.

What the fuck is she about to do to me? And why am I excited to find out?

But I thought we were good. We had our talk, hashed everything out. I found out that in her own way she loves me and I’m never going to be released from her obsession. Sadly having her obsessed with me is more powerful than having the three words I give her. She doesn’t have to speak to let me know that she cares. She’ll kill for me. Do anything to keep me safe. Not that I need the help but the idea of it has me weak in the knees like a fucking virgin on prom night.

She doesn’t say anything else as she slides the knife below my pant line at the hip and starts cutting the fabric off.

I’m starting to see a theme here. Does she not like this pair? Shit, is she going to cut them off me any time she doesn’t like them? I’m down for it. I can replace them.

I don’t feel the knife after the first cut along the cotton. She’s careful, taking her time. The soft rasp of the material being cut is somehow erotic. A sound just for us.

My pants are shredded and she stands on my other side, looking thoughtful. After a second she leans over and cuts my top off too. I can’t get enough air to ask her what the fuck she’s doing. I’m burning up and I want the covering gone so she can see me. See what she does to me.

I struggle to keep myself calm when she whispers, “Lift.”

I make it easy for her to drag the scraps of fabric away. She tosses them aside but stares at my restrained body with a gentle smile. I’m expecting her to touch me. I can see that she wants to. I want her to. But she backs away.

The retreat pisses me off.

“I thought you liked my pajamas,” my voice has gone flat. A natural reaction to cover up how pissed I’m getting. To lull her into what I want to keep me happy.

Her eyes meet mine, just like I wanted.

“I’ll replace anything I cut off you,” she sighs, a sound filled with pleasure I can’t resist. “And buy you more. Make a list of what you’d like or I’ll dress you how I want.”

My head spins in two different directions at that statement. One is still pissed at her egotistical bullshit. The other wonders what she’d dress me in.

I shouldn’t be like this. She shouldn’t accept me like this.

I start frowning as I glance down my nude body. My semi is trying to look back at me as if to say shut the fuck up and let her do what she wants. My mouth doesn’t agree.

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