Untouched.
My eye twitches. I’ve never had a virgin. Never preferred one either. They probably cry too easily and cling too much.
Doesn’t feel earned.
Yet the thought of corrupting something so pure, of dragging my mouth and my hands over innocence and turning it into rot makes my cock come alive.
“Traitor,” I scold.
That irritates me far more than the locked door.
I hear it, the way I always do when I am too close to something soft. Whispers, low and poisonous, curling near my ear like smoke.
Get too close, and she will betray you.
I ignore the dark warning the way I ignore people’s advice.
Women are a weakness for lesser men. Affection is a chain. Wanting anything is dangerous in my world. I do not want her. I will not allow it.
Instead, I’ll break her. I’ll turn softness into obedience. Tears into entertainment. Fear into the kind of loyalty only suffering can create. The rule stands that no man may harm her.
Except me.
I reach down and brush her hair away from her cheek, my knuckles sliding along her skin. She does not awaken. Her face is relaxed, almost peaceful. It makes my teeth clench. She should not sleep this comfortably in my house. She should not be allowed the luxury of peace.
I don’t have any.
I drag my thumb along her jaw. There are a thousand ways to shape her into what I need, and I intend to explore all of them.
But before I do, I need to make sure she cannot run, cannot hide, and cannot be touched by anyone else.
I remove a small black device from my pocket. The microchip glints faintly in the moonlight. Four guards enter the room without a sound. Their shadows glide across the floor, surrounding the bed.
“Hold her,” I say calmly.
Hands seize her wrists and ankles at once. She wakes in a violent panic, screaming and thrashing.
“No, stop, please! What are you doing?”
Her voice cracks with pure fear, and it rolls through me, a dark music.
I climb onto the bed, straddling her thigh, and press my fingers to her cheek in rushed, sloppy strokes. “This is necessary,” I say. “Be still.”
“What is?” she sobs.
“I need to know where you are. Always.”
She shakes her head hard, chest rising and falling in frantic bursts. The more she fights, the louder her cries become, the deeper her terror digs into the air.
Intoxicating.
I press the injector to her hip.
She sees it, understands it, and her panic splits into something primal. Her scream turns sharp enough to crack the windows.
I drive the needle into her skin.
Her back arches violently, body twisting as the chip embeds itself beneath her flesh. The guards struggle to hold her still. Her sobbing turns into broken little gasps.
