Chapter Eight
Millie
Oh, god. How much did I have to drink last night?
Rolling away from the light filtering in through the hotel window, I groan as I pull the blanket over my head. It helps somewhat, though there’s still a pounding behind my eyes that tells me I’m going to be paying for my over-indulgence all morning.
I try to will myself back to sleep, but the longer I lie there, the more persistent the pressure in my bladder becomes. Until it finally becomes too insistent to ignore and I force myself to roll out of bed.
Except… I can’t. Something stops me. Forcing one eye open, I look around the hotel room, my vision blurry at first. And as the scene around me slowly comes into focus, panic wraps an invisible vice around my chest.
I’m not in my hotel room. I’m in a fucking nursery.
Grabbing hold of the bars of the crib, I pull myself up onto my knees, my heart pounding as I take in my surroundings. Walls painted a beautiful, calm shade of blue are decorated withpaintings of birds wearing clothes. Not just any birds in clothes. Prints I’ve had saved in my online shopping cart for months, debating on whether or not I wanted to actually waste money on something so frivolous.
In the far corner there’s an oversized glider, large enough for two grown adults. Opposite the chair stands a dollhouse and a rocking horse, again more than large enough for me to play with.
“What the fuck is going on?”
No sooner have the words left my mouth than the door to the nursery swings open. And the last man in the world I want to see steps inside.
Doctor D’s mouth is curved up in that cruel smile I’m so familiar with. “Naughty, naughty, little Camilla. You know Little girls aren’t allowed to use such foul language. EspeciallymyLittle girl.”
“I’m not your Little girl.”
But even as I speak the words, the truth settles heavy in my stomach. The only reason I would be in a nursery, especially one so tailor-made for my own tastes, would be if someone built it for me. And if Doctor D is here, then it only stands to reason he’s the one who built it.
Which means I haven’t escaped the island after all.
Fuck.
My suspicions are confirmed by the widening of his smile as he approaches the crib. “Oh, but you are, Camilla. You’ve been mine from the moment you stepped foot on this island. I was simply waiting for the right opportunity to make things official. And lucky for me, your resignation gave me just the opportunity I’ve been waiting for.”
“No.” The protest comes out as nothing more than a strangled whisper. “You can'tdothis. It’s not right. It’s not evenlegal.”
With a press of a button, he lowers the side of the crib and lifts me out. “Sweet, naïve little Camilla. You’ve lived on this island longer than anyone. You should know by now nobody here cares about pesky little things like laws. The only law you need concern yourself with from this point forward, is mine.”
As he speaks, he settles me on my back on top of a changing table, and I’m too shocked to fight back as he pulls a thick leather strap across my stomach. “Why are you doing this? You don’t evenlikeme.”
The corners of his mouth dip down in a frown, as if he can’t believe the words that have come out of my mouth. “Why on earth would you say a thing like that?”
Stunned, I can only stare up at him. “Because you treat me like crap, Donovan! You’re mean and cold and you–you–youhateme.”
“I certainly do not hate you, little girl. If I was cold, it was simply to keep the professional distance necessary for us to do our jobs properly.”
My brain seems to short-circuit as I try to process his explanation. “Are you saying you were an asshole to me because you liked me?”
Sighing heavily, he grips my ankles in one hand, lifting my legs in the air so he can pepper my thighs with sharp, stinging swats that have me crying out in pain. “You will watch your language, little girl, or Daddy will punish your mouth. Is that what you want?”
Daddy. Everything inside me recoils in horror at that word. “You’re not my Daddy.”
“I beg to differ. And unless you want to see exactly how creative I can be when it comes to punishing my Little girl, I suggest you address me properly and forget every naughty word you’ve ever known. Am I understood, Camilla?”
Rebellion sparks in my chest, and even though I’m strapped down to a table, completely at his mercy, I can’t give in. Iwon’t. “No. I will never be your Little girl, Donovan. So you might as well just cut your losses and let me go now.”
Bracing on hand on either side of the changing table, he leans down until we’re nearly nose to nose. “Listen here, little girl. I have waited far too long to make you mine for me to even consider letting you go. You belong tome, Camilla Joy. So whatever you have to do to wrap your mind around that, I suggest you do it sooner rather than later. Because the next time you call me anything other than ‘Daddy’, I will fuck that sweet little mouth until you choke on my cum and then I will gag you with your pacifier until I’m very sure you’ve learned your lesson. Am I making myself perfectly clear, little girl?”
The threat should terrify me. And it does, on some level. But on another, more primal level, it thrills me. Even as I have to swallow hard to be able to get the words out, my pussy spasms at the thought of what’s to come.
