Page 9 of The Price Of Possession

Clara scoots backward, away from the shitstorm. Her body sways. Her chunky heels scrape along the planked, wooden floor. I snatch her arm in a bruising hold and wrench her next to me. She doesn't react. She's used to being handled like a toy. I recognize the vacancy in her eyes. Just like that night.

Past.

I clutch the leather in my palm. I snap it against my wrist as a reminder of its bite. Her lips part. If she wants to say something, she doesn't. The fear is prevalent in her eyes. With her spread open before me, I let my darkest impulses unleash. I snap the whip making it crack against the air. She flinches.

“Are you a crier?” I ask. She doesn't reply.

Her pupils are blown out. It's a good chance she isn't even coherent enough to know what the hell is happening. Works for me. Passed out is ideal, but I can handle silent and comatose.

I raise the whip and lash her inner thigh. She sucks in a breath but otherwise keeps quiet. Goosebumps form on her skin.

Curiosity gets the best of me. I want to see how far I can push her until she wakes up from the drugged stupor. My dick strains in my jeans. I snap the soft leather against her thigh again. She chokes on a cry, swallowing it. A stray tear falls down her cheek. She moves her head to the side, hiding from me. This is open warfare, baby.

“Nah, eyes on me. Let me see those salty tears.”

Her hands tremble against the sheets. Slowly, she turns her head back to me. I wipe the sweat from my brow and strike her again, this time drawing blood. She swallows another cry. The tears bead faster down her cheek. This time it's definitely leaving lacerating welts.

Unable to stop myself, I use my free hand to wrestle my cock free from the confines of my jeans. It springs free from the zipper. It points straight to her, wanting to bury deep within her shattered soul. I fist it, stroking it, rubbing my thumb under the shaft and head. She still doesn't react. Her eyes never leave mine and Goddamn. What a tempting little siren.

I increase the pain level for her, striking her harder. Blood coats her inner thighs, splattering on her cunt and stomach. My cockhead weeps for her. I stroke the head. My body jerks forward and low rumbles leave my throat. I flog her repeatedly, over and over again waiting for the pleading cries. They never come. It doesn't take me long to find that sweet release.

“You're such a fractured beauty. I smell your fear in the air, baby. Let it overtake you,” I rasp.

I caress the shaft until come spills from the head. It falls to the carpet in front of me, drenching it.

I curse under my breath. That's been the best orgasm I've ever had. Addicting. I have an appetite for this one.

I lean in close enough to smell the alcohol on her breath. I cast her a threatening stare. “Take. Your. Ass. Upstairs,” I grit. My words are slow and measured. I'm not in the mood for her shit. I'm all for starting fights, just not usually over a bitch. She holds her imprisoning gaze on me, chaining me to her atrophic will just like that night.

“Don't fuck with me,” I warn. Her body flinches. Her nose tilts up in defiance. I keep telling myself one more fuck. One more night of owning her. Soon enough I will grow bored and move on to a new plaything. It's simple. Fuck her. Get her out of my system.

Have Mortensen pick another Offering. It's a win-win for everyone involved.

Her hollow eyes look void of any emotion at all. How fitting. It couldn't be more perfect. She's my destruction. It's Goddamn tempting to get lost in her jagged pieces. I want to watch her fall apart at my feet. Her life shattered into a million pieces by yours truly. I will take her to rock bottom.

“You're drunk and a fucking maniac,” she slurs. The room goes silent. My face turns deadly. A maniacal smile grows over my face. “And? That isn't news, sweetheart.”

I raise my arm, signaling for the party to continue. My other hand holds a death grip around her arm. I know that shit is going to bruise. I give zero fucks.

My gaze snaps back over to Val and Silas. “Fuck off,” I say, leaving zero room for argument. I know they're going to grill me about this shit later. Fucking with me isn’t in their best interest. All the Elites know she's the Offering. It's only a matter of time before she finds out, too. I won't let it go that far.

I drag her toward the stairs. She's unsteady on her heels. Being the impatient fucker I am, I toss her over my shoulder.

“Kieran, you big fucking asshole. Put me down. I'm not sleeping with you again!” she screeches. Her long, pink nails pierce my flesh. I'm unfazed by her bullshit. I take two steps at a time. Her screams are drowned out by the music. She's got fight in her now.

A castigating smirk falls over my lips. “But you fuck half of the school,” I droll. My boots connect against the bedroom door, kicking it open. Home sweet fucking home. I toss her onto the bed. Her skirt rides up her thigh, offering me a tantalizing view of her body. I don't even hide my ogling.

Her defiant little attitude sparks something within me. Her eyes narrow and she lets out a shrill scream as if anyone's coming to save her ass. Now she wants to be vocal. Her screams are music to my ears. Ordinarily I hate that shit, but not with her. Still, she's going

to cause a scene.

“Quiet your mouth before I quiet it for you,” I snap, my tone wry and mordant. Before she can give me a sassy retort I know she has queued up, the door across the hall cracks open. I don't even need to turn around to know who it is. Vesper and Zain. I flip them the bird, not even bothering to look in their direction.

I'm taking care of it just like they asked.

Clara's gaze snaps to the doorway. “Get me away from this psycho!” she pleads with Vesper and Zain, as if they'll save her. “Vesp!” She looks to her friend as if she can protect her. “So help me God, Kieran!” She crosses her arms over her chest in a pouty fashion.

Cute to think you can get away, Nightshade.