"Don't mistake my kindness for weakness." His thumb traced the welt rising on my cheek. "Next time you pull a weapon on me, you'd better use it."
I should've been begging or crying or clawing at his grip. But I wasn't.
Something twisted hot and slow in my belly. My pulse kicked up.
He was less appealing soft. This version? Raw, vicious, brutal? I squeezed my thighs together, trying—and failing—to mute the ache blooming between them.
I couldn't help it. Something deep down in me liked the way he was manhandling me. Maybe I liked monsters more than I wanted to admit.
I ran my tongue over my teeth instead of tracing his mouth with it like I wanted to.
"Don't do that again," he warned, like he expected obedience to come as natural as breathing.
I didn't do obedience. But I could fake it if it got me what I needed.
I sucked in a trembling breath. Shifted tactics. Let my bottom lip tremble. Made my breathing go shallow, like a scared little bird. The tears came easy—I'd practiced them in mirrors for years. Played at being fragile—crying like I hadn't been trained for the same wars he had.
I knew now that playing up the resemblance to his dead wife wasn't enough. I needed to become like her. Soft. Breakable. A woman who needed protection. I needed him to think this was desperation, not survival.
His face changed for a second. A flicker of guilt. A crack in the armor.
Got him.
But it vanished just as fast. He saw through it. I could tell by the way his jaw tightened. But he didn't call me out. He just grabbed my wrist and dragged me toward the bedroom.
This was going to be harder than I thought.
His steps were heavy. He threw me onto the bed. The mattress bounced beneath my weight.
I let my legs fall open—just enough to show my pretty brown pussy. Just to tempt. If I could make him lose control, even for a second, I could turn this around.
His eyes didn't drop. Didn't linger. He kept them locked on mine as he grabbed the cuffs from the nightstand.
The metal clicked cold around my wrists before he chained me back to the bed like a fucking dog.
"I'll be back," he muttered, turning toward the door.
Panic clawed up my throat.
"Where are you going?" I jerked upright, chains rattling. "Don't leave me here!"
He didn't answer. Didn't look back.
The lock turned. The door shut.
And I was alone.
I stopped pulling at the cuffs. Took a breath. Closed my legs.
Alright, Jamie. Think.
You've gotten out of worse.
Probably.
Fuck.
If he told Virginia, I wasn't dead.
