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“Get on your knees.”
There was a flicker, hardly more than a second where I thought that Kohl would disobey me. The dark, pulsing mass in my mind swelled with anger, and I dug my nails into their flesh, making them yelp.
“I gave you an order.”
They dropped to their knees on the hard concrete, their eyes on the floor.
I gripped Kohl’s shaggy blond hair roughly, jerking their head back. “Look at me when I’m fucking talking to you.”
Kohl’s dark eyes met mine, the irises lost to their blown pupils. As much as I needed this game, as much as I loved using and abusing them, they craved my wrath just as much. “Yes, my goddess.”
We really were a fucked-up pair.
I tucked a finger under their chin, my thumb brushing against their lower lip. “Looks like you can be trained after all, kitten.Good boy.”
Kohl shivered, turning their head to kiss my palm. “Thank you, my goddess.”
I stepped away, moving toward one of the unmoving swan boats. I climbed inside, settling on the wooden bench. There was hardly enough room to stand, much less kneel in the cramped space, but Kohl was just going to have to make do.
“Crawl to me,” I ordered, patting my thigh in a clear order.
Kohl jerked into motion, hand over knee, as they made their way to where I sat.
“Look at you,” I crooned softly, the tightness in my chest starting to ease as my hand rested on the butt of the gun sticking out of my waistband. “Big badKiller Kohl, reduced to a Ghost’s plaything.”
“I’m not—” they started to argue, their jaw flexing, and I stood, my boot slamming down on their fingers as they got to the lip separating us. Kohl yelped, and I leaned into their face, my breath fanning across their cheek.
“What was that, kitten?”
Kohl gasped as I ground my foot down on their hand, hard enough to hurt, but not to break any bones. This was a game. A tug-of-war between us—just like when we were in school. The picture-perfect cheerleader and the fucking quarterback.
I didn’t want to hurt them, at least not more than what would allow us to get the fuck out of here in one piece.
No, I wanted todestroythem.
I wanted to own them, mind, body, and whatever damaged, broken part of a soul they had left.
They were mine. And no one, not even the gamemakers, could change that.
Kohl pressed their lips together, their eyes dropping to the ground.
“I want to hear you say it.” I rasped, my breathing coming in eager pants. “Tell me that you’re my plaything. That Iownyou.”
“You—” Kohl wheezed as I applied more pressure onto their hand. “You own me. I am yours. Your plaything. Your worthless—”
“Kiss my boots.” I hissed, barely audible. “Prostrate yourself for your mistress, Kohl.”
Their eyes lifted to mine—that’s when I saw it. Kohl wasn’t just enjoying this. No, Kohl was having the time of their fucking life. Our games played into the same dark, twisted parts of them that they did with me.
The masochistic littlefreak.
Kohl kissed my boot where it rested on their fingers, whispering their praises to me as they cleaned the blood crusting on the toe away with their tongue. I watched, enraptured as this gorgeous, unattainable creature lowered themselves to this. Praising me and cursing me in the same breath.
Begging for the release that only I could offer. For the control that I could exert over them.
I wouldn’t just destroy Kohl. No, I would make them anew. Mold them like clay into something else entirely.
When I pulled my boot away, Kohl made a noise that could only be described as disappointment. But I was sick of watching and waiting. I needed to touch them.
