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My eyes widen. For a man that likes to live in virtual silence, he sure as fuck doesn’t seem averse to using psychological warfare as a means of torture.
“I’ll fucking kill you!” I scream as the speaker starts to list the ways to overcome the horrors someone has experienced.
Louder than ever, that same laughter echoes from the other room.
Chapter 25
Angel
I reconsider pain being the best way to hurt someone as I watch Lauren struggle against her restraints as the podcast plays in its entirety.
My skin is itchy, and I know it has everything to do with her being in my home. The noise she’s making along with the recording only acerbates it.
I didn’t stop to think about my own suffering, my own consequences for letting her invade my space.
It makes me want to go in there and find my equilibrium between her thighs.
My cock jerks at the thought, but that’s what she expects to happen. I have no doubt she’s already made her predictions about how this is going to go, and I need to keep her guessing, keep her off-kilter for as long as possible.
I’d take things too far if I went to her now. I want my toy to last as long as possible.
In addition to the meds to keep her sedated, I’ve also pumped her full of antibiotics, not only for whatever sexually transmitted infections she might have contracted while captured but also to help her body heal.
She was covered in bruises, cuts, and scrapes, and it disgusted me to see those marks on her skin. I want to be the one to hurt her, to make her bleed.
I want to hit the intercom button and remind her that she’s only hurting herself, making the wounds at her wrists worse by struggling against them, but I resist. I’ll allow injury to herself while she’s in my care.
My hatred for her has only grown since she got here, and it has nothing to do with being responsible for her bathroom needs or the four-day period she had right after I got her here.
I hated that I wanted so badly to paint her skin with that blood but couldn’t. My desires lean toward her pain, and doing shit while she’s unconscious serves no purpose to me.
I know it’s crazy to be mad that she’s passed out because I’m the one drugging her. That’s why her IV now only has saline. I decided no more drugs. I want her awake. I want her to know who she’s with. I want her worrying about what my plans are for her.
I want her to regret ever getting into my fucking truck outside the Cerberus clubhouse. Her need for adventure and putting herself in harm’s way ends in this house. I’ll put an end to that desire inside of her one way or another.
The thrilling part is that it may be the death of both of us.
She settles against the mattress—my fucking mattress—as the podcast ends.
I don’t believe in any of the shit I just played in the bedroom, and I know she doesn’t either. That’s the fun part of torturing her with it.
I’ve spent the last week and a half watching her sleep, and I’m tired of it.
I make my way back into the bedroom, watching her as I cross the room to the bathroom. Luckily, this house came with a bathtub or there wouldn’t be one. I’m not the type of man who’s going to sit in a pool of water. My showers are quick and economical. The only time I’ll spend any length of time in there is when I get hurt and need the water pressure and heat to ease the soreness in my muscles.
Honestly, I need it now because my couch is shit for sleeping, and I’ve been out there since she’s been in here.
Physically, I could easily fall asleep beside her. The IV drugs ensured she’d stay sedated all damn night, but mentally, I found it impossible the very first night I brought her back here. Nearness made me want things I had to wait for. The distance is the only thing that kept me from punishing her long before she woke up.
I turn on the taps, making sure that the water is warmer than what would be comfortable for her. Each action of mine has purpose, and the thought of her skin turning pink from the heat makes me hard.
“I need to piss, and before you tell me to just do it in the bed, keep your fucking mouth closed.”
“That’s a lot of spitfire coming from such a weak person,” I tell her as I untie her legs.
She proves my point by trying to kick out at me and is barely able to lift her leg. After removing her IV, her arms are next, but they fall to the bed. She does manage to wring her fingers around the sore spots she created on her skin.
“You’re a dick,” she spits when I help her sit up.
