Though I wouldn’t call his lashes experimental. He knew exactly what he was doing. Despite the pain from his handprints, they’re not meant to leave a permanent mark.
Which means he’s done this countless times before.
To a dozen other girls. Maybe more.
Nope, no. I’m simply not going there.
Creighton: Not experimenting, engaging.
Annika: With girlfriends?
Creighton: With sex partners.
Annika: As in, whores?
Annika: Sorry, I mean sex workers?
Creighton: No. Willing submissives.
My fist tightens at the thought of how many submissives have gotten on their knees, taken his beatings, and thanked him for it later.
Hell, if the fangirls at the shelter knew he was this kinky, they’d be like ‘Choke me, Daddy.’
Annika: And are you still seeing these willing submissives?
Creighton: Why are you asking?
Annika: I don’t want to compete with girls who are already into your stuff.
Creighton: Stuff?
Annika: You know. At any rate, they need to go.
Creighton: Will you take their place as my plaything?
Annika: Aren’t I already?
Creighton: What happened today was a mere demonstration, a little taste of what I’m capable of. It’s by no means the entirety of my ‘singular tastes.’ You think you can handle me? Think again.
Well, shit.
If that was only a taste, then what else does he plan to do to me?
This is probably that moment where I should backpedal and abort whatever twisted feelings I have for the sadist.
One small problem, though.
No matter how much it hurt, no matter how painful it will be to sit at all, there’s something else. I’ve never felt as empowered and free as in the moment when he held me down and ‘punished’ me.
When he threw me against those shelves and dominated me, I never thought to fight or escape his savage hold.
For some reason, it felt…right.
And my toxic trait is definitely curiosity because I type.
Annika: I’ll never know until I try. And don’t be a hypocrite. You don’t get to tell me not to take Bran as a fake boyfriend, then go and have other people. If you’re going to unleash your inner sadist, unleash it on me.
His next text steals my air and leaves me gasping.
Creighton: You’ve fucked up again. I’ve given you an opening to try and run away, but you went ahead and refused to take it. Don’t blame me for what’ll happen next. You’re now mine to punish and discipline, little purple.
10
CREIGHTON
A red hand tugs on my small fingers and I’m sent flying into a pool of blood.
My vision reddens, then gradually blackens as my limbs soak in the hot crimson liquid.
A low, haunting moan of pain saturates my ears and clashes against my bones.
I’m frozen, bound, helpless, and trapped in the middle of an intricate web.
Her web. The spider.
Soft hands grab hold of my face, but she’s only a blurry shadow due to all the red.
She squeezes my fingers with brute force and I scream, but the only sound that echoes in the air is an unintelligible muffle.
“Shh, Creigh. It’ll all end soon.”
I jerk awake, my heartbeat hammering in my ears.
My hands are still metaphorically bound and I can’t move.
For a moment, I think I’m back in that dark room, dripping with blood, while a giant black spider hovers over me like a looming Grim Reaper.
I snatch my hand away, only to find that it’s in a fist and someone has grabbed it.
My brother.
Eli stands by the side of my bed, looking as regal as usual in his casual black trousers and white button-down. His hair is styled, his demeanor is sharp, and his face is caught in eternal boredom.
Soft light illuminates the room and casts a gloomy edge on his angular features.
He’s five years older than me. At twenty-five, he’s the oldest of all of us. The first child of godlike parents, and the first grandchild of even godlier grandparents.
Grandpa Jonathan—from Dad’s side—is constantly warring with Grandpa Ethan and Grandpa Agnus—from Mum’s side—about whose fortune Eli is going to manage once he finishes his PhD.
Eli slowly releases his grip on my fist that I nearly pummeled him with, casually drops it, and sits beside me. And just like that, his true nature dissipates with a bright smile.
After pulling his phone up to face him, he unmutes it. “Sorry about that, Mum. I think there’s a problem with the Wi-Fi. Remi’s probably downloading his stash of porn.”
From my view of the screen, I can see Mum holding a hand to her chest. “Stop it, Eli. You’re so bad.”