Page 11 of Vicious

Chase laughs. “Didn’t you just answer your own question? I don’t want a gold digger. I don’t want somebody who will pretend to enjoy the pain just to win my favor. I want a real masochist, one whose reactions are pure.”

I shudder, revulsion and desire warring inside of me. I’ve never dared think of myself as a masochist before. If anything, I refer to the shameful way I want to hurt as self-harm at best. It doesn’t feel healthy.

It definitely doesn’t feel pure.

“I’m not what you think I am,” I manage to squeak out.

But all I can think about is the way he’d cornered me that very first time so long ago, the way my heart had nearly pounded out of my chest and my body had reacted to him as he’d given me just the slightest hints of pain.

“Oh, you are. I’ve seen you, Ah-May.” Chase closes the distance between us and takes one strap of the bikini between his fingers. “Where should we start? Would you like me to flog you? Paddle you? Perhaps a more classic spanking?” He laughs and pulls the strap, then lets go so it snaps against my skin and makes me hiss in pain. “Or should I simply fuck you tonight?”

I bite my bottom lip, not wanting that, not wanting any of this. “Don’t you have a conscience?” I burst out. “I don’t want this, I don’t want you, and none of this… None of this is something I’ve agreed to. You know what that means. You’re a lawyer!”

“Yep. I’m a lawyer at one of the most prestigious firms in New Bristol, with friends in all areas of the judicial branch. I have more money than you could possibly earn in your lifetime, and… well, let’s just say, I know what some of my colleagues have done with all their wealth and power. Nobody would bat an eye.” Chase pinches one of my nipples through the flimsy top, and I bite back a sound. “But go ahead, fight me. I’ll have a lot of fun forcing you to submit.”

I stare at him in disbelief for a moment. I know all of those things are true, that the world really is that corrupt—especially here in New Bristol—but to hear it laid out like that so matter-of-factly makes my heart seize. “So what do you expect me to do?” I whisper raggedly. “Lie back and think of England, or you’ll punish my father?”

“Who said anything about your father?” Chase places a hand on my stomach, and my muscles contract instinctively. “I’d much rather you think about how much you hate me, sweet May. Since you made it clear that you’d never want me.”

I jerk back, trying to put distance between us, but I’m running out of room. “Well, you have that,” I choke out. “I do hate you, and I don’t want you.”

Chase laughs. I expect him to corner me, but he turns to a nearby cabinet and opens a drawer. I watch warily, and my eyes widen when I see what he pulls out.

Scissors.

Chase holds the scissors up and gives me a calculating look. “If I were you, I’d hold very, very still.”

“I’ll just take it off,” I say quickly. “You don’t need scissors.”

“And spoil the fun?” Chase comes closer and lays the scissors against the nape of my neck. The cold metal slides against my skin, making me shiver. “Of course, you’re welcome to flinch on purpose, if you want me to cut you.”

I almost do.

There’s a part of me that wants to, that craves the feeling of those scissors biting into flesh and giving me some sort of distraction, but it’s what he wants. I can’t give him that, not when he’s determined to destroy me this way, a little bit at a time.

So I stay still instead, my hands slowly going back to my sides as I look helplessly at him.

He drags the scissors across my neck, prolonging the sensation, the thrill, before he cuts the strap of the bikini top with a shockingly loud snip. The flimsy fabric falls down, exposing my breasts to him.

Chase leans in to bite the juncture between my neck and collar, and I take advantage of his brief distraction to grab the scissors by the closed blades. I think he’s too surprised to react—though he’s not half as surprised as I am—as I bring them down in an attempt to stab him in the shoulder.

I don’t know what I hope to accomplish. He’s bigger than I am, stronger, and it’s not like it’s going to do anything more than catch him off guard.

He catches my wrist, stopping me cold before I can break skin. “Naughty, naughty, May. I’m not the one who enjoys getting hurt.”

I struggle to keep hold of the scissors, but he wrestles them out of my hand with far too much ease. “Stop touch?—”

Chase slaps me across the face before I can even get the words out. Pain blossoms where he struck me, and I stare at him in shock, my hand lifting to touch my cheek.

“You hit me,” I say dumbly. No one’s ever hit me before. Pinched me, grabbed my ass, crowded my personal space, sure. But hit me?

No.

“And I’ll do it again,” Chase says with a dark smile. “I’ll watch you writhe and moan, and you can either enjoy it or I can make it so terrible for you that even your masochistic little heart will suffer. Because if it wasn’t clear to you before, sweet May, I’m a sadist. I don’t give a fuck about your enjoyment, as long as I get to see you hurt.”

“There’s a difference between sadism and abuse,” I say, but I don’t sound half as strong as I want to. No, my voice is little more than a squeak, and it’s all I can do not to simply crumple to the floor.

“Of course there is.” Chase lowers the scissors. “The question is, which one do you want?” He laughs, a sound that fills me with pure dread. “That’s your choice for the evening. Do you want gentle pain, May? Or do you want me to take you with so much force that you’ll be left broken and bleeding?”

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