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Sigh - Unloved
Lyra sits crumpled in velvet and blood. There’s no distinction between the two—the dark red splatters of blood blend perfectly against the lustrous velvet. If not for the meat cleaver sticking out of Grady’s head you’d never know he was bleeding out.
He died some seconds ago. His eyes remain open, vacant and witless. Though it’s hardly a change from when he was alive.
Lyra’s glossy brown eyes flick up at me. A slow track of tears make their way down her cheeks.
It’s perhaps an inappropriate time to recognize how beautiful she looks like this, heartbroken and tearful. I’d feel compelled to care if I weren’t so pleased with the scene that’s unfolded—one step closer to completing what I have planned.
In the atmospheric lighting, Lyra’s mahogany complexion matches the lush, decadent opera house surroundings. Her thick, rope-like braids hang down her back, and her blood-soaked, off-the-shoulder gown drapes her svelte body as though she’s some modern dark fairytale princess.
Her lips have never been more full and kissable, even though they’re wet with tears. The same tears shining on the soft curve of her cheeks. An urge to lick them off excites me enough that there’s an aggressive tug in my loins.
Who says I’m done punishing her?
I’m keeping her—I have all the time in the world to wreak pain, and occasional pleasure, on that addictive body of hers.
I still haven’t gotten it out of my head how she grunted and shook in her binds as I fucked her in the ass. The glazed pleasure that came over her face when I latched the nipple clamps on. The one on her clit made her cry out. First in agony, then in the most powerful orgasm of her life as I ripped it off and the circulation returned to her quivering, neglected nub.
Tonight is only the beginning. She has no clue what she’s in store for as she sits mourning the drug-addled loser ex of hers. Her heartbreak is my triumph.
“Stand up, little lamb. We have places to be and things to do.”
“What about Grady? You can’t just leave him here—”
“That’s exactly what I’ll do. My security will take care of him as instructed. Get up.” I make my command through gritted teeth.
It’s harsh enough that she obeys. She rises on less-than-steady knees, her long red velvet gown cascading to the floor.
My dark queen.
I smirk. “You played so beautifully tonight. So well under pressure. You will play for me every night from now on.”
“I would’ve done it if you’d asked.”
“You’ll have little else to do where we’re going.”
“And where will that be?”
“You’ll find out when we get there, little lamb.”
It’s drizzling on our walk to my Tesla. I escort Lyra to the passenger side and sit her down. She throws daggers at me with her gaze. My only reaction is to think about how I’ll have my cock shoved down her throat in the next few hours. Then she can glare all she wants.
We ride to my Primark Tower. My doorman asks no questions as usual as I parade Lyra through the revolving door.
“Have a great evening, Mr. Raskova.”
“Believe me, we will.”
In the elevator up to my floor, the heat rolls off Lyra. I push her up against the wall and shove down the bust of her gown, exposing her bare breasts for my fondling. She sucks in air as I twist and tweak her nipple and tell her all the ways she now belongs to me.
The elevator dings and I walk her out like this, my grip on her elbow. It’s still up in the air what I’ll do with Lyra while I clean up the mess in the dungeon. If I’ll leave her in one of my contraptions in the playroom as an extra cruel punishment, or if I’ll leave her locked in another room.
I could always bring her downstairs with me. Make her help get rid of the bodies.
A bolt of excitement ignites inside me at the thought. It would certainly be a different kind of punishment for Lyra—she’ll be my little accomplice dismembering them.
Once inside the penthouse, she wastes no time mouthing off.
