Zephyr stares at me patiently.
I take a breath and ask the one question I promised myself I wouldn’t.
“When I’m finished with the girl… What’s next for her? What’s a purification ceremony?”
CHAPTER 17
LUNA
He makes me count my orgasms.
Every single one.
Every single day.
This one no exception.
Bent over a bowed bench in the training room—pink and plush as if someone built a rainbow for sin—the numberthreeshines behind my heavy eyes, the single syllable repeating in my mind in case I forget how many came before it. The consequence of being wrong, being hesitant, beinghumanis a night spent in agony. Tied up an ungodly number of ways while Sawyer does an ungodly number of things to my body. My mind. My soul.
Twice, I’ve forgotten the correct number. Twice I’ve begged for mercy.
Sawyer never forgets. And he is merciless.
My arms strain, cuffs stretching my arms to the floor while Sawyer presses the wand firmly to my exposed backside, one leglifted over his shoulder. It spins over my clit with pressure that’s at once deliriously pleasurable and unpleasant.
I barely make a sound—only the occasional groan slips through my mouth, vibrating the string of drool that dangles from my bottom lip. Red light on the camera watching me, judging me, mocking me while I bare myself to a man who revealsnothing. Ever.
Two weeks I’ve tried to penetrate his mind, find his weaknesses, understand his goals, his methods, his train of thought.
Every day is the same failure.
Wake up in an empty bed.
Clean up whatever mess Sawyer has inevitably left.
Bathe, pull on a clean version of an identical white dress.
Dread training. Wait for training. Then, in the early evening when hunger gnaws and stagnation aches…Wishfor training.
When he returns, he never smells like the forest he scouts—always soap. His face is cleanly shaven, his hair neatly groomed. All he keeps here is his clothes.
Sometimes—
Oh god.
My stomach caves in as my eyes clench shut. I moan out as a fourth wave wracks my body, dizzying my head already too full of blood from hanging forward. Sawyer pulls the wand away until I grunt out the final release.
“F-four.”
A moment’s pause. Then it’s back.
“Sawyer,no,” I whine, struggling against his hold on my leg. “Please.”
He’s even more ruthless today. Not once has he called me a pet name, stroked my hair, or shushed my cries.
“We have to train,”he said just a half hour ago after he returned from his morning activities. His face was pale, his eyeshollow. I asked him what was wrong, and he wouldn’t say. I begged him to slow down, but he carried me to the training room while I kicked and screamed.
He said nothing as he secured me to this … contraption. He said nothing as the wand in his hand started to buzz.
