Page 156 of Auctioned

“Well—”

“Be honest, Ophelia.” He lowered his mouth to my ear, talking in a hushed voice meant only for me. “How wet are you for this? I bet you’re soaked. You must be ruining your lace panties as we speak. You’re such a slut for being my property, aren’t you?”

I was. I bit the inside of my cheek, flexing my thighs so I wouldn’t clench them in front of him.

“I’m going to escape. I hope you realize that.” The lapel of his jacket crumpled in my fist. My face burned. The need to kill him and the need to fuck him were equally powerful. “I’ll pick this stupid lock and slip outside. Someone will leave one of the doors open, and I’ll be gone. Fuck you and fuck your training and fuck this.”

His hand clasped on my hip, and he yanked me closer. Our foreheads pressed. His icy-blue eyes were as cold as ever.

“Don’t underestimate my obsession with you. The things I’d do for you. The lengths I’d go to have you.” He stole my breath away with a few words. My throat locked. “Own you. Keep you. You can run from me. You might die trying. But know this: I’d shove my hand past the gates of heaven and drag you back here myself. Wherever you go, that’s where I’ll be.”

He straightened, slipping the button of his suit jacket into the loop. His face betrayed nothing. My insides were melting.

“Be a good girl and wait here.” His manly cologne made me even hotter for him, damn it. “Chained to the kitchen island. And no, don’t even try picking the lock. You don’t want to upset me.”

Waiting for him, accepting my situation, reminds me of the time in the cell, but in a good way.

I have more freedom here. The chain is long enough for me to reach the guest bathroom and the living room. The dining room. I can stroll around the kitchen.

The staff prepares the meals in the larger kitchen on the other side of the mansion, and despite their silent treatment, they serve me breakfast and lunch. Coffee and other drinks.

They placed three water bottles on the kitchen island, along with an assortment of fresh fruit for me. The fridge here isstocked. I have everything they do in the other, larger kitchen where the chef cooks.

Even being ignored isn’t as horrible as I thought it would be.

James was right.

I am turned on. Not by them. I’m a slut for waiting for him. Longing for him. Missing him.

While I’m chained and humiliated.

It’s a pressure on my ribs. A constant fluttering in my belly. An insistent humming, tugging, craving in the back of my head.

A need to please him. To be owned by him.

I…

I…

I love him.

Fuck. I love him.

His dark aura. His constant, undivided attention once he’s home.

The lessons he’s been giving me.

Some are spent in his den, where he goes through his old cases with me and reads me from other law textbooks.

The others are brutal. He teaches me how to fight, and the man doesn’t cut corners.

James chokes me, thrusts me against walls, pins me to the floor when I manage to escape.

He praises me whenever I find random objects around the house and use them as makeshift weapons. When I hit and cut through his clothes. His skin.

When we’re alone at night, after his lessons are done, I get my rewards. He fucks me. He bites me. Leaves marks on my breasts. His fingers are imprinted on my inner thighs.

The things he tells me only fuel my obsession with him. He wants to breed me. Tells me I’ll be swollen with his babies any day now.

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