“Lie on the table.” He takes off his suit jacket and hangs it on a hook near the door. His voice is flat, emotionless. He didn’t even ask for my name or anything.
Because I’m not human to him. I’m a thing. Nobody has to tell me for it to be obvious.
When he turns back to me, he’s unbuttoning his shirt. He’s fit, not even bad-looking, with a nice haircut and polished shoes. But if he approached me on the street, I’d hurry up to get away from him. Everything about the guy screams bad news.
“Are you deaf? On the table.” He points at it before unbuttoning his cuffs. “Now. I don’t have all night.”
I look at the table, lit by that overhead lamp. My blood runs cold. “Do I have to?”
“What?” It’s like the sound of a gunshot, and it makes me jump a little. I fold my arms over myself, not to hide but to keep myself from shaking too hard.
“Do I have to get on the table? I mean, we have a whole room, right?” Even though the table’s the only thing in the room, really. But the thought of being tied down and defenseless by this man is maybe the worst thing imaginable.
He’s not here to have fun. He’s here to hurt me. Bad.
“Do I have to call in the bouncers to help me get you into place? I will.” He strips off his shirt but stops there, leaving the pants on for now.
I must not answer fast enough since he knocks on the door not a moment later. It opens and in walk two enormous men. He jerks his head toward me without looking my way. “Get her on the table.”
I’m going to throw up. They can’t. Not if they know what’s going to happen in here. They can’t be human if they’re willing to do what he says without asking questions.
And they are willing.
“No, please, don’t do this.” It doesn’t matter. They don’t care that my voice is so high it’s practically a squeak. Or that I try my best to fight them off once theirhuge, rough hands take hold of my arms and legs. Or that I’m close to tears as they force me onto the table, flat on my back.
I twist and turn from one side to the other, but that’s no use, either. They don’t look at me. They don’t say a word. They only hold me down before tying my wrists and ankles tight enough to hurt. I suck in air through my teeth when one of them cinches the last strap, cutting into my skin. Like he’s pissed at me for making him do it.
I’m spread-eagle on the table and completely exposed. It’s cold in here, making my nipples tight, making me shiver harder than ever. I tug at the restraints, but it’s no use. They’re too tight and fastened securely to the table.
I’m at his mercy. Oh, god, I’m completely at his mercy, and nobody cares.
The man waits until we’re alone again, then shakes his head slowly. “You’ve already wasted my time. You’re lucky you look so good when you’re struggling.” Holy shit, he’s hard, like to the point where his dick is jutting out in front of him as he walks slowly around the table.
He comes to a stop at my feet, and I raise my head slightly so I can see him. As much as I don’t want to look at him, I’m afraid to close my eyes. Afraid of what’ll happen without my knowing it’s coming.
So I’m treated to the sight of him rubbing his bulge, eyes now half-lidded as they travel over every inch of my body. “So perfect,” he breathes while his hand moves. “Where’s he been keeping you? I have half a mind to complain that we’re only making each other’s acquaintances now.”
Acquaintance. That word stirs something in my brain, and all the crime movies and shows I’ve ever watched come back to me at once. If he thinks of me as a person, he might be less ready to hurt me. I have to try.
“My name is Rowan. What’s your name?” God, it’s fucking impossible to keep my voice from shaking. I hate how weak and scared I sound, mostly because I know he’s getting off on it. His hand is moving faster, his breathing picking up.
“I don’t remember asking for your name. And I don’t care what it is.” He walks slowly up the length of the table, unzipping his pants. I don’t want to see what he pulls out, but I can’t help myself. I need to know what he’s going to put inside me.
Oh fuck, he’s going to be inside me. This sick, twisted piece of shit. He hasn’t laid a finger on me yet, but I know this isn’t where our night together will end. He’s not satisfied to look at me or know how completely terrified I am.
It’s like he can read my mind. “You think this is bad?” It’s almost a sigh, almost gentle. “You think this is the worst that’s going to happen to you tonight? Oh, no. We haven’t even gotten started.”
Suddenly, he reaches out, taking my right nipple between his thumb and forefinger. When he pinches brutally hard, I let out a yelp that only makes him tighten his grip. It’s like he wants to tear it off me.
“Please, stop! Stop!” I squeeze my eyes shut and beg myself not to cry, but I can feel the tears welling up, and oh, god, he’s laughing. I’m struggling not to cry as he’s practically tearing my nipple off, and he’s laughing.
Somebody’s got to be watching, right? They must have cameras around here.No way a guy like Lucian—in control, powerful, rich—would let anything happen without him knowing about it and being able to watch.
When I open my eyes, I look around, desperate, hoping to see a tiny red dot in a corner or something. Anything that will give away the presence of a camera. “Please, I can’t do this. Let me out of here. I’m begging you.”
“Who are you talking to?” He finally lets go of me, and the tears start flowing, more out of relief than anything else. They soak into my hair and leave trails down the sides of my face. “Nobody can hear you. Nobody can see you. Only me.”
In a swift move, he leans down, leaving maybe an inch between our faces. I twist my head away, but he grabs my jaw and squeezes, turning my face back to him.
