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“Accept it,” Jax commands. His thumb rubs over my tip. “Stop fighting. Tell me how good it feels.”

I shake my head. I gasp for air.

“Do you want to come?” Jax asks. “Do you need it?”

The pleasure builds to a blinding peak.

“Please,” I gasp.

“Admit what you are.” Jax stops his hand. He holds his fingers still inside me. The abrupt lack of movement is pure torture. “Tell me you want to be used. Tell me you want to be owned.”

“No.” My voice breaks.

Jax pulls his hand away from my cock.

“I want it!” The words rip out of me. Humiliation coats my tongue, but the desperation wins. “Please. I want this.”

Jax rewards me. He grips my cock and pumps his fist fast. His fingers curl hard against my prostate.

I scream. Release hits me like a freight train. I spill over his hand and soak the sheets. My entire body convulses. White-hot pleasure wrecks my senses. The orgasm rips through me, more intense and devastating than anything I have ever felt.

I collapse flat against the bed. My lungs heave. My muscles twitch in the aftermath.

Jax withdraws his fingers slowly enough to make me feel the hollow ache of the loss. He grabs a towel and wipes his hands. He reaches out and grips my chin, turning my face up to meet his gaze.

Dark hunger swirls in his eyes.

“This was just the first test. You did well.” Jax strokes my cheek. “Your body knows who it belongs to. Your mind will catch up soon enough.”

He leans down. His lips press against my forehead. A tender, terrifying seal of ownership.

“Rest. You will need your strength for tomorrow.”

He releases my chin. He walks out of the cell and pulls the door shut. The lock clicks.

I curl into a tight ball on the narrow mattress. The room is silent again. Wet tears track down my nose and soak into the fabric. The sticky mess on my stomach cools in the air.

The pleasure was real. My words were coerced, but the violent climax was genuine. I begged him. I wanted him to use me.

Liv told the truth. The physical walls do not matter. The real cage is built inside the mind. Jax just laid the foundation of mine, and I do not know how to stop him from finishing it.

10

LIV

The heavy brass deadbolt clanks. The sound pulls me from sleep. I sit up instantly. My body reacts before my brain fully wakes. Pulse quickening. Heat gathering low in my stomach. A thick blanket of safety settles over my shoulders.

Jax enters the suite. He pushes the silver breakfast cart over the threshold. He looks immaculate in crisp dark slacks and a white button-down shirt. The sleeves rest folded at his thick forearms. He rolls the cart to its usual spot by the bulletproof window.

I arrange myself against the pillows. I fold my hands in my lap and wait. I know exactly how he likes to find me.

He abandons the cart. He takes a seat in the velvet armchair and pins me with a dark, assessing gaze. A distinct intensity sharpens his eyes today. My stomach flutters with nervous anticipation.

“We are eating breakfast differently this morning, Liv.” His deep voice fills the quiet room. He taps the plush cream rug near his polished shoes. “Come down here. At my feet.”

A ghost of the old Olivia rises in my chest. A faint echo of dignity screams at the blatant degradation. Eight weeks ago, I would have thrown a lamp at his head. Now, the protest dissolves the second it forms. The stronger urge takes over. I need to please him. I slide off the mattress and cross the floor.

I drop to my knees. I settle back on my bare heels, resting my weight on the rug beside his chair. The position feels terrifyingly natural.