And I’ve just put Little Toy in his direct line of sight.
I may be the devil, but my creator is far worse.
Chapter Eighteen
Hevan
It’s been a few days since Azrael fucked my ass, then collapsed on top of me.
There was something serene in the way he stayed enthralled with me, a moment where I captured more of him than ever before.
Our hearts beat as one, and my body craved his, willing it never to leave.
I must have some form of Stockholm syndrome; I’m sure of it. There’s no way in hell I should have feelings for my captor. None, yet there’s a connection, a spark.
After, he pulled out of my ass and left the room like we didn’t just fuck. The embarrassment from being coated in his cum with no clothes to put on left me squeamish. I contemplated showering but opted for a bath, hoping it would help soothe my throbbing ass.
The bastard has no regard for my aftercare.
Does he always leave women like that?
The housekeeper has been bringing me three meals aday but refuses to speak to me, and I’ve not received any clothes at all, which is infuriating.
I spend my days either in bed daydreaming about the man who stole me or staring out the window into the wooded grounds, wondering if I’ve been reported missing and if the search is happening anywhere near here. Wherever I am.
Is anyone actively looking for me?
My heart skips a beat, and a knock at the door encourages me to raise my head from the pillow. Excitement bubbles in my chest at the prospect of seeing Azrael again, but it’s quickly diminished when I remember he wouldn’t knock, he’d just enter.
The housekeeper walks in, and, for the first time since I arrived, she lifts her head to face me, and I have the opportunity to fully take her in. She’s older than me, more Azrael’s age, and I make a mental note to ask him what age that is exactly. She has dark-brown hair and big brown eyes—she’s pretty. A ball of envy takes hold inside me, and it has no place. Though I can’t help wondering if she’s one of Azrael’s toys too. Does he still fuck her?
“Sir would like you to attend a dinner with him downstairs,” she states, and I already know she’s no intention of us being friends. “Now!” she tacks on, a scowl on her face.
Surely, I misheard. Dinner? Downstairs?
Slowly, I glance down at my naked form. “I’m not wearing any clothes. What does he expect me to do? Go down naked?” I snort.
“I was asked to inform you.” She uses the same direct tone Azrael does.Then she tilts her head toward the open door.Is she serious? Absolutely not!
“Told, more like.” I cross my arms over my chest. “Well, you can tell Azrael he needs to provide me with clothesbefore I’ll move out of this room.” I’m well aware I’m without clothes and standing before her bare and exposed, but frankly, I don’t give a fuck. The nerve of the man! He uses me for sex and leaves me dripping in his cum like a common whore, then has the nerve to think he can command a dinner date, yet not even provide me with the basics of aftercare and clothing.No. Fuck him.
Her eyes bulge, and she shuffles back toward the door before slipping through it, and I listen to the sound of her footsteps retreating down the stairs.
He might be dangerous and alluring, but he’s also a coldhearted bastard with no emotions, and I refuse to be his obedient plaything whenever he chooses to use it.
Azrael
Elizabeth opens the door to the dining room, and my eyes meet hers. Fear shimmers in hers, whereas fury burns in mine. My little toy is not with her, nor is she trailing behind her like I expected.
“I’m very sorry, sir. But she refuses to come downstairs without clothes on.” She wrings her hands in front of her. “There are none in the room.” Anger boils my blood, and my muscles quiver, pulling tightly, causing my shirt to stretch with the swell of my fury.
“That’s because I don’t like women to wear clothes when I fuck them,” I snipe back.
“They don’t normally join you for dinner, sir,” she says with a slight edge, and I eye her skeptically. Is she jealous? I shake the thought from my mind. Frankly, all I care about is Hevan complying.
It’s a stark reminder of how differently I think about my little toy compared to all others. All fucking week my mind has been overridden by images of me ruthlessly fucking her, and, better yet, her appearing to enjoy every minute of it.
I’m desperate to see her, and pissed after a shitty week.All I want is to eat dinner with what I own, and she’s creating unnecessary drama.But would you want your staff to see her naked?a small voice questions in my discombobulated mind.
