Page 62 of Cruel Master
I’d never have pulled this shit with Saldar. Why did I think things would change just because he took off the mask? I give it one last, desperate try. “We need to talk things out, Hadrian. This isn’t you. I know I hurt you, but—”
He turns his back on me, heading to the wall. It’s such a dismissive thing to do that it stops me in my tracks. I stare as he touches his thumb to a spot and a whole section of the goddamn wall folds down into a ramp. What the…
“When I was playing Saldar, I liked to keep up the illusion of the cell, but that doesn’t matter anymore. It’s just you and me now, doll. No pretending.”
He glances back at me, and I catch a moment of sadness before he turns back to the contraption he just revealed. It’s a sort of chair but made up of lots of moveable parts and straps. He rolls it out of its hidden nook and the wheels squeak ominously.
There’s something unpleasantly medical about the thing, and my skin crawls as I examine it. It doesn’t fit in this room, but it doesn’t look modern either. I can imagine it in a Victorian insane asylum. Now that I can see it properly, a few elements leap out. A thick restraint—think Hannibal Lecter—dangles from the head part, but what looks like a dildo is attached to it.
Hands starting to tremble, I track down the chair. Two more rubber cocks protrude from the seat.
“I’m not getting on that thing!”
My voice squeaks. I’m not even sure why I’m freaking out as much as I am. It’s just a chair. They’re just dildos. But forsome reason, the thought of being strapped into it gives me the creeping horrors.
Or maybe it’s just the thought of Hadrian being the one to do it. If Saldar had pulled this out, would I have been this scared? Is it worse than the dildo stick? Logically, I know they’re the same person, but I still can’t quite believe it. How the hell did Hadrian come up with something this weird and creepy? Just what is he capable of now?
He raises a brow in his painfully familiar way. “I don’t recall giving you a choice.”
God, there’s that twist in my core again. Despite the fear, or maybe because of it. Those words in his voice? It ought to be illegal. But I’m still not getting on the dentist chair from hell. I clutch the altar cloth around me with white knuckles and back away, shaking my head. “Just stop this. It’s fucked up. It’s not you. We can just—”
He lunges for me.
I spin, racing away, but where, exactly, do I think I’m going? Not out of the door. That’s for sure. I dodge behind the altar, trying to keep it between me and Hadrian. My heart races, and a savage smile twists his lips.
“You’re just making this worse for yourself but please, keep going. This is fun.”
Fun? He thinks chasing me is fun? Blood pounds in my ears, and my skin tingles. He stalks around the table, and I keep my distance, but my skin heats. He’s chasing me down. He’s going to catch me. I might have fantasized about this a few times while we were together, and the reality is way more intense than I imagined. All my senses light up, ready for the chase,
The chair, though. Fuck the chair.
“You know, doll, you should really—”
He feints left, I move, but he doubles back and grabsmy arm.
I yelp, flailing against him but he’s gotten so, so, strong. He yanks my arm, pulls me into him and half drags, half carries me toward the chair. I struggle, but he shoves me into the seat, squashing the dildos flat, and locks first one wrist, then the other, into the waiting arm restraint.
“You fucking—”
He slaps his hand across my mouth, then presses into mine, trapping my legs so I can’t kick.
The bastard. He tricked me.
This close, I can smell his cologne. Saldar never wore any, and the smell takes me back to a different time. A time where I’d have sold my soul for Hadrian to tie me to a chair. His skin is hot against mine, and I close my eyes, breathing in the scent as the fight goes out of me.
I’m trapped. He won. He’s going to do whatever he wants to me.
In that moment, it doesn’t sound as bad as it should.
“Are you going to be good, doll?”
I nod as best as I can with his hand still covering my mouth. Doll. I don’t like that name. Hadrian hasn’t said “Juliet” once since he revealed himself. He never did as Saldar either, but it was different then. Saldar—no, Hadrian—damnit, it’s the same person—told me I need to earn my name back. Whatever the hell that means.
He pulls his hand away, and I lick my lips as I stare up at him. He waits, probably testing me to see if I’m going to freak out on him again, then pulls back once I keep quiet. “I don’t want to hear a word from you unless I ask you a direct question. Is that clear?”
“Yes.”
“Yes what?”
