AllFreeNovel
Share Us
But just like trying to remember a fast-fading dream, the more I try to tighten my hold on the fantasy, the more it slips away. I clench my jaw in annoyance, working my cock harder, forcing my imagination to cooperate with my will.
It works for a while, and then the fantasy is snapped in half and instead, I’m on my knees in my fencing salle, and Willow stands over me in black boots. Her bare thighs are covered in nicks and welts from my foil, and I’m licking along the red lines and tasting copper in my mouth.
“Fuck,” I grind out between clenched teeth. “Not you.”
My cock, perverse in its way, grows harder even as I try to clear my thoughts of the half-memory, half-fantasy invading it. I try not to think of Willow’s poison eyes, of the crimson smudge of her mouth, of her hand flying across the air to slap me so hard my eyes water.
“No.”
I take my hand off my cock and lean both forearms on the shower wall, fists clenched. Tying Willow Lynch to a chair in mybedroom and cutting up her dress and fingering her to orgasm is one thing; I was in control the entire time.
Masturbating in the shower to thoughts of her slapping the fuck out of me is another thing altogether. I don’twantto think about her, and I’m not going to give up control over my own mind just for the sake of a quick wank.
Frustration washes through me. Despite my objective superiority over my fellow men, I’m still a being of flesh and blood. I would rather my cock work, and I would rather be able to come like any other man. But the humiliation of a broken dick doesn’t begin to touch the humiliation of allowing Willow to have any power over me, even—especially—in my own mind.
I emerge from my shower raw from scrubbing my skin clean, decidedly flaccid, and unbelievably irked. I dry myself and leave the bathroom with a towel wrapped around my waist. In my bedroom, Willow is right where I left her, exposed and handcuffed to her chair. She turns her head when I walk back in, and I notice the quick flick of her gaze up and down my body before she raises an eyebrow.
“Did you have a nice wank in there?”
I shrug. “You really think fingering some needy slut from Greenleigh is going to fix my dick?”
She laughs, and I can’t help but angrily admire her arrogance, given she’s practically naked, tied up and sitting in a pool of her own juices.
“Trust me,” she says. “If I can’t make you hard, Luca, nobody else will.”
Although it’s tempting toforce Willow to spend a humiliating and uncomfortable night on her throne of shame, I don’t want to give her any excuse to claim that the hunt was in any way unfair. So before I go to bed, I free her from the chair, help her out of her ruined dress (“You better buy me a new one,” she says when I toss the shreds of red fabric in the bin) and escort her into my bathroom.
I handcuff her hands in front of her and force her to shower with her hands bound, but that’s more to amuse myself than anything else. When she’s done with her shower and has finished drying herself, I lend her a pair of my pyjamas. She gives them a look of disdain but has no other choice but to wear them.
Back in my room, I handcuff her to the bedpost at the foot of my bed. She watches me as I walk away from her and climb into bed. I raise an eyebrow at her.
“We’ll be starting the hunt in the morning. And you’ve had quite the tiring evening. Better get some rest.”
She lifts her handcuffed wrist. “You’re going to remove these or not?”
“Not.”
She gives a long, slow blink. “How do you expect me to sleep, exactly?”
I gesture at the foot of the bed. “You’ve got more than enough space to get comfortable.”
“I’m not sleeping at the foot of your bed,” she says in a tone so glacial you would never have imagined this was the voice of a woman who just got fingerfucked to orgasm. “I’m not your fucking dog, mate.”
She spits the word out, her carefully neutral accent letting slip her humble origins. Willow can lie and pretend and act, but she’s as rough as anything, a trash human being lifted straight out of a trash environment.
“You’re welcome to sleep on the floor,” I tell her, too busy taking my nightly cocktail of meds and pills to pay her much attention. “I couldn’t possibly care less.”
“Just uncuff me, you insufferable bastard. What do you think I’m going to do, stab you in your sleep?”
“I wouldn’t put it past you.”
I drain my cup of water and flip the switch next to my bed, plunging the entire room into pitch-darkness—the only way I can sleep properly. I hear movement and muffled curses, then the room falls into silence. My bed is large enough that I can’t quite tell whether Willow settled at my feet or on the floor, but I wasn’t lying to her when I said I didn’t care.
I’m almost asleep when I hear her voice drift to me through the darkness.
“Hope your shitty heart collapses in your sleep.”
When I was achild, my mother used to say I was born wrong.
