Twisted - Esme Devlin Page 0,73

room. It’s dark over there, the light from the fire not stretching far enough, and I can’t see what he’s doing. It can’t be anything good, of that I’m quite sure.

He returns with something in his hand that sends my heart hammering even harder.

“W-w-what is that?” I stutter.

“This?” He laughs. “Your very own one bar prison. I had it made especially for you. I really dislike virgins, did you know that? Surprising, isn’t it? Everyone loves a virgin. Not me, though. It’s not the lack of experience—I like that. I love that about you. It’s not that no man has ever been there—that’s something I will cherish until the grave. It’s the fucking restraint it takes. I spend every waking moment with you restraining myself.”

I’m barely even taking his words in. I’m staring at what he has in his hands.

“You’re crossing the line,” I tell him, my voice shaking.

He laughs at that. “What line? I fucking created the line when I made love to you. Oh, how badly I wanted to ruin you. I told myself, no. Not you. Never you. But how could a man like me make love to a little thing like you? I couldn’t. Too difficult. But I could get you ready, so I wouldn’t have to restrain myself.” He laughs with glee and glances down to the pole in his hands.

“Don’t,” I beg him.

He takes a step toward me and cups my cheek in his hand, his thumb rubbing over the wet tears. “Twisted, perhaps, but a kindness. At least that’s what I told myself when I had it made. But it was unnecessary, wasn’t it? I did it! I did it for you, sweet girl. Did I hurt you? Only a little. You’ll never comprehend how hard that was for me. I drew a line and I didn’t cross it, even though I wanted to. But you? You destroyed the line.”

I shake my head, and it makes him drop his hand. He catches my breast on the way down and strokes it, rubbing over my nipple with his thumb. I don’t know whether to flinch away from him or respond.

If I respond, maybe he won’t do this?

But I don’t get the chance to make a rational decision about it. A sigh escapes my lips as he rubs my nipple between his fingers.

“There she is,” he says, and I hate him for it. I hate myself. “So beautiful. So perfect!”

His hand trails lower down to my stomach and he rubs over it again and again, his breath hot and heavy. “So empty,” he says, his tone laced with pity. But I’m not hungry. If anything, I’m well fed here. “We’ll fix that, don’t fret.”

My mouth drops open as I realize he’s talking about the lack of a child, not the lack of food, and he laughs again while his hand continues lower.

I know what comes next.

His fingers slide between my closed legs easily. “So…”

Wet. So wet. I hang my head. “That’s you, not me.”

He laughs, pushing his body even harder against mine. The carved post digs into the skin on my back and it hurts. “Does it matter? I think not. Not for my purposes.”

He shifts his position, standing directly in front of me now. “Stand on my feet. Tips of your toes, please. That’ll make it easier for you.”

I exhale a breath, exasperated with him. “What?”

But just as the word comes out, my mind is fitting the pieces together, and I begin frantically shaking my head.

Baron huffs, clearly growing impatient with me. “Do it, or I’ll bend you over my knee and stuff it in your tight little asshole. Trust me when I tell you, you are not even close to being ready for that.”

I’m in shock.

I think.

He’s said much worse to me before now. He’s threatened me with all sorts of things. But he’s never done any of them. He’s always restrained himself.

Until now.

The leash is well and truly off now.

I burst into tears as I step up onto his boots. It gives me an extra inch at least, and when I stand up on my toes it only adds to it. I can bend my elbows now, rather than being stretched out like the string of a bow.

My nose is running and my cheeks are just getting wetter and wetter. I can’t even control it. I’m well beyond trying to control it. I try to breathe and it comes out as heavy sobs.

“Oh, such dramatics!” he says, laughing.

He just makes it worse.