Where’s the challenge? We don’t have assignments like other Lords. We run Carnage. Lords are brought in; we initiate them and then place them in a cell to play with later.
My life is missing something, and I’m not sure what it is. But I know it’s something that I’ve never had before. I’m itching to find it.
A door opening behind me has me shoving my hands in the pockets of my jeans when Jessie announces, “Miss Charlotte Hewett, sir.”
A soft, “Thank you,” follows as I’m guessing he holds the door open for her. Jessie is a gentleman above all. The only one who exists in this prison.
It closes, and I turn around to see a woman bent over the desk to my left. She rummages through a Louis Vuitton bag, oblivious that I’m standing right here.
And a smile tugs at my lips because I’ve seen her before. It’s been years, but I’d never forget her face. She was on the yacht. The girl in the white dress—little Miss Priss. This may be my lucky day, after all.
I clear my throat, and she spins around with a gasp. “Haidyn,” she breathes, and my cock instantly hardens. Women see it as a compliment. It’s not. My cock stays this way. Fucking is my therapy. Making others feel pain makes me feel better.
I know it’s not fair, but I also don’t give a fuck. If a woman is willing to crawl into bed with me, then she better be prepared to get fucked—in more ways than one.
She’s younger than the other therapists I’ve had. Chocolate-brown hair pulled tight and secured in a perfect bun at the nape of her delicate neck. I can tell by the blush on her cheeks that she’s embarrassed just to be in the room with me. It just furthers the point of my first impression of her—she’s too good for me. A woman who probably prefers missionary and doesn’t like tomess up her perfect hair or makeup. I bet she’d look even better crying with her face covered with my cum.
Straightening her already straight pencil skirt, she runs her hands down it nervously. “Good afternoon, Haidyn. I’m Charlotte.” She walks toward me in a pair of black—very short and professional—high heels, holding out her right hand. “It’s great to meet you.” Coming to a stop in front of me, she tilts her head up and takes a deep breath for courage when the most beautiful eyes I’ve ever seen finally meet my stare. They’re a deep, dark blue and remind me of two sparkling sapphires.
She can’t be over five three. A petite little thing. Like a doll. Or a toy. Either way, I’d chew her up and spit her out. I’m always up for a snack.
My eyes drop to her black button-up blouse, and I imagine ripping it open to see what her tits look like. They don’t look to be on the large side, but I know how deceiving a shirt can be.
I cross my arms over my chest, and she drops her hand along with her smile. “Uh…shall we get started?” She steps back and points at the couch like I’m going to lie down and spill all my secrets to this bitch.
“You may leave.” I turn and gesture toward the door.
Her dark brows pull together, and she shakes her head. “I’m sorry, but I can’t do that.” Turning her back to me, she returns to the desk, and I take the opportunity to look over at the pretty brunette.
Her modest heels only give her about an extra two inches, she has on a pair of pantyhose, and there’s a short slit up the center of her skirt. My hands itch to rip it all the way off, remove her underwear, and shove them into her mouth while I press her tits to the window and fuck her ass. I bet she’d never let a man near it. Women like her don’t like to be treated like a cheap whore. They want the boys who pretend to love them and tell them what they want to hear to get into their pants. I’ll tell hershe’s a pretty whore while I make her crawl to me with a butt plug in her ass and a vibrator shoved up her cunt.
She grabs a notepad and sits down in the high-back chair. She crosses her legs and looks up at me. “The sooner we get started, the sooner I’ll leave you alone, and you can get back to work.”
I want to laugh at her but decide to play with her instead. I prefer my toys to be dirty. “Tell me about yourself, Charlotte.” Did the Lords pick her because they know I’ve seen her before? I don’t believe in coincidences.
“This isn’t about me, Mr. Reeves,” she says in a tone that tells me she’s uncomfortable. The way she shifts in her seat also gives her away.
Mr. Reeves?Isn’t that cute. How long before she starts calling me sir? “Then what is it about?” I dig.
“You were ordered by the Lords to seek therapy,” she says matter-of-factly. “You’ve been through what? Four over the last two years?” she inquires, scanning some notes.
I look over her left hand and see no ring. She doesn’t have a Lord. Interesting. Women are married off very young in our world, which makes me question her age and ability to even be qualified for this job. “Five,” I lie, not bothering to tell her the term is wrong as well. She makes my sixth in three years. Did she not do her homework? Honestly, none of it matters.
“Are you taking any medications?”
I laugh at that, and she looks up, narrowing her blue eyes on mine. Then they drop back down to the notebook. “It says you’ve been prescribed zolpidem.” Her eyes meet mine once again. “Are they helping you sleep?”
“I get plenty of sleep,” Another lie.
I’m not one who requires a lot of it. Sleeping slows you down. I have to keep going because something always needs to be done.Plus, I’m not one who dreams. It’s always just the past, and I don’t like to live there.
“I brought you something…” She walks back over to her purse and pulls a small notebook out of it. “This is for you to keep a log of the hours you sleep. I’ll check it at each visit.” She smiles at me as she holds it out, but I make no move to take it from her. “Mr. Reeves?—”
“We’re done here, Charlotte.” I interrupt whatever she was about to say and hold the door open.
She lets out a huff and grabs her bag off the desk. Throwing it over her shoulder, she walks toward me. “I’ll see you at the same time, same day in two weeks.”
“Charlotte?” I call out when she walks out of the room, and she turns to face me. I lean against the doorframe, and my eyes drop to her heels and slowly run up over her legs, thin waist, and chest, letting them linger. When my gaze meets hers, she swallows nervously.
