Page 55 of Colton
It’s what she deserves,the voice sings, sending fury to every nerve in my body.
“You’re not leaving here,” I tell her, striding into the kitchen. I know I shouldn’t turn my back on her for a second, but she’s exhausted. I pick up the rope and handcuffs I kept hidden there and turn back to her. I dangle both in front of her, watching as her eyes narrow. She knows what’s coming, but she still doesn’t back down. I’m giving her a choice, but we both know it’s just another form of control. “Rope or handcuffs?”
It doesn’t matter what she picks. Either way, she’s mine.
Chapter 26
Luella
Iglance between his hands, a laugh choking in my throat when he exhales impatiently. He wants me to choose what he’s going to tie me up with? He can get fucked. I refuse to choose.
Colton lifts one hand then the other, his expression solemn. “So the rope won’t be as comfortable, not when you’ve had it on for a while. Rope chafes.”
I continue to stare at him, my jaw clenched.
“The handcuffs can be uncomfortable if they’re too tight.” He makes a face like he’s not sure how tight he’ll make them. “But then handcuffs can be such fun.”
“Fun?” I echo, my voice dripping with sarcasm. “Like a rollercoaster that smashes into a wall at the end?”
Colton chuckles, and it grates on my nerves. He steps closer, his shadow swallowing me as he leans in, his breath warm against my ear. “You see, Luella, it’s not just about the bindings. It’s about the adventure that comes along with them. The thrill of surrendering control.”
I shiver despite myself, the weight of his words heavy in the charged air between us. “Is that what you think this is? An adventure?”
He pulls back slightly, those dark eyes piercing through the playful expression he now wears. “Everything is a game, Lu.”
I scowl at him, hating the nickname my mother gave me before she...I suck in a breath and try to think rationally. I can’t slip into the past now—I have to be present. I can’t even pretend to submit; Colton has seen the real me, he knows I’m going to try to rip his throat out at my first opportunity. I try to stand, but he pushes me down with a firm hand which moves to my throat.
What is it with his fixation on my throat?
“You’re fucking sick,” I rasp, his grip crushing the air from my lungs.
“Yes, darling, we’ve established that. I vote for the handcuffs.” Before I can blink, he’s got one around my wrist, pinching at the skin as he grabs my other hand, wrenching it behind my back painfully.
But I won’t cry. I bite down on the scream rising in my throat as he tightens the other cuff.
“Look at you,” Colton murmurs, triumph dancing in his eyes. His voice is a low hum, almost intimate, as he steps back to admire his handiwork.
I shoot him a death glare, but the fire in my eyes isn’t enough to wipe the smug expression off his face. “Does it make you feel like a big man?” I sneer, wrestling against the stiff metal to no avail. If anything, they just get tighter.
“A big man?” He tilts his head, curiosity painting his features. “No, Luella. This isn’t about me. It’s about you. Each tug of those cuffs is a reminder of choice—your choice to be here. Exciting, isn’t it?”
“It’s like Christmas morning,” I retort, the bitter taste of defiance flooding my mouth. Somewhere beneath the ice of my anger, I have the feeling of uncertainty, and it disgusts me.
His gaze narrows, and the smile dissolves into something more serious. “Luella, you need to stop fighting me. You’re only going to lose. I don’t want to hurt you.”
“You don’t?” I feign surprise, widening my eyes. “Could’ve fooled me,Rapey.”
“How many times do we need to go over this?” He steps closer again, too close, invading my space as if to test the boundaries I’ve drawn. “You belong to me: mind, body, and soul. You can argue all you want, fight me, try to kill me, but the fact remains—I’m never going to let you go.”
Before I can respond, his hand finds its way to my waist, pulling me to him with a force I hadn’t anticipated. The heat of his body ignites a familiar flame of rage within me, and I thrash against the cuffs trying to twist away.
“Easy now,” he coos, amusement weaving into his voice. “You might just find that the less you fight, the better it gets.”
I glare into his eyes, my own thrumming with defiance. “I’d rather fight a wall and lose.”
“If that’s what you’re into.” He lifts his eyebrow as if daring me to challenge his next move.
I say nothing, hating the way my body reacts to him. This man raped me—what thefuckis wrong with me? He chased me down not once, but twice, and he assaulted me. My lip stings like I need a reminder. But then he tips my chin slightly, his gaze sweeping over me as concern fills his eyes.
