Where’s Kai?
I whip my head to the door, my hand sliding over my mouth. God, I have such a vivid memory of him coming through the door, covered in blood.
When I turn back to Bastian, he’s watching me with a bemused smile, like my confusion is the most entertaining thing he’s seen all night. “I don’t like this,” I whisper.
“What?” He strokes the edge of the collar, then slides a finger behind it, tightening it even more. “This?”
I grab his wrist. “The drugs. It’s making me see things.”
“What things?” He starts moving his finger from side to side.
“I thought.” I swallow, and he pauses like he’s feeling my throat move. “I thought someone was here.”
Bastian laughs. “Would I dothisif someone was here?” He tugs at the collar, drawing us together, his other hand cupping my tit through the soft hoodie. My body responds like it’s been waiting for this moment forever.
I gasp at the contact, and then arch into it, intohim.
“I like it when you wear my clothes,” he murmurs. “Such expensive things on such an underprivileged girl.”
His words are an insult. But the tone of his voice is as seductive as the heat of his body.
Until I realize what he’s probably insinuating.
My words are slurred, apologetic. “Fuck. The dress.” I blink hard, trying to surface from the pleasure pool of the drugs and his presence. “I’m so sorry. I…I lost it. It cost so much?—“
His dark chuckle cuts me off. “Sweet girl, I have more money than I could spend in ten lifetimes.” His voice is a low soothing drone. “Let me worry about things like that. You just worry about feeling good.” His fingers slip under the hoodie, skimming bare skin. “And looking this fucking perfect while you do.”
He pulls away, flicking my hardened nipple with his finger, sending a jolt through me. A promise. A threat.
“Now be a good girl, and put this on.”
My eyes flicker to the thing dangling from his hand.
A black, satin sleep mask.
I don’t know why, but the sight of it makes my skin crawl.
“I don’t want?—”
“Put it on, Haven.”
My hand shakes as I take the mask. As I slip it over my damp hair. Bastian adjusts the straps with a pull of his fingers, and then smooths down my hair.
Fuck. That one touch sends my body into overdrive.
The chain rattles, goes taut.
He clicks his tongue. “Come, girl.”
I have no choice but to follow him. Not just because of the collar…but because I want this.
I wanthim.
I don’t care how fucked up it is.
Even knowing this will destroy me. Even knowing I’ll never be the same after tonight.
And, yeah, maybe it’s the drugs in my system. But so what? My track record of good decisions is non-existent, anyway.
