Page 92 of Deviant

“Please…” I whisper, then bite my lip so hard, cursing my stupidity. Haven’t I already been vulnerable enough? Do I really need to carve my entire heart out for this man?

“What?”

“Don’t lock me back there.” I know I sound pathetic. I know that’s what I am now, what he’s made me, but then he’s also responsible for this, too. He’s made me dependent on him. Surely, he should face the consequences? “I’ll do anything. I’ll be good. I’ll be obedient, I won’t make a sound.”

His lips quirk. He grabs my jaw again, turning my face so that I’m forced to meet that unnerving glare.

“You hate that room that much?”

I nod as much as he will allow.

He narrows his eyes, scrutinising my face like he expects to see some lie written there, but to my surprise he doesn’t react with the usual fury.

“Fine,” he murmurs. “But you need to wash. My come is leaking out of you and I won’t have you ruin all my furniture.”

I drop my eyes, feeling the insult as though I was a dirty dog shaking mud everywhere.

I force myself off him, force my body to let his go, but as he slides back out of me I still feel myself deflate. And then I stand there, unsure of what to do. It seems silly to sink back to my knees, but I don’t want to be disobedient.

His come is smeared down my thighs, I can feel it wet against the cold air, but I force myself to stand, to not squirm, to be still.

Magnus takes my wrist, pulls me along, walks me from the ornate room through to a long corridor and past more servants who do their best not to stare.

When we get to a bathroom, he pushes me into the shower, but he strips off and follows right after and again, I’m rendered speechless.

It’s hard to believe this is the same defiant, stubborn bitch I stole away all those months ago.

She curls into me as I shower us both.

In truth, I could have just left her as she was, but I’ve realised I actually enjoy taking care of her. I enjoy the intimacy of it, and relishing how far we’ve both come. How much she has bent to my will.

She pushes her hips against me as if she wants another good fuck, but right now I have things to do and it’s amusing to keep her wanting, to watch her lips pout, to know that she’s so desperate for me now.

I dry us both off, then dress in a shirt and suit. My little pet, I keep asshe is; naked.

And as I take my seat behind my desk, I order her to kneel, and to be silent.

Her eyes drop, her body obeys and for a while I’m so lost in my work that I almost forget she’s there at all.

When I do remember, I glance down, and there’s a small pool of tears on the rug. I grab her face, pulling her roughly to look at me. From the way she squirms, I can tell her body is in pain, that keeping herself in such a position is making her muscles cramp.

A spark of hope lights in her eyes, as if I might give her a reprieve, but I’m not done yet, and so neither is she.

My thumb brushes the tear from her cheek and then I drop my hold, making it clear what I want, what I expect.

She sniffs just a little bit but beyond that she stays still, she stays obedient.

When Antonio arrives, I make no move to let her up. Nor do I send her away. It doesn’t matter what she hears now, anyway. She can hear all my secrets because she has no one to tell them to.

He looks weary, as though he’s also fought a battle, and he sinks into the chair, sighing the way an old man would, though he’s my age and far too young to be acting like that.

“Well?” I ask.

He reaches forward, swigs the whiskey I’ve readied for him and sighs again. “It is done.”

“What is?”

“The battle lines have been drawn.”

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