Page 43 of Vicious

But that doesn’t stop my cunt from clenching tight, or the sudden burst of pleasure from washing over me. I sob hard, wishing I wasn’t orgasming from this.

Chase groans in response, and he speeds up his thrusts before he bottoms out completely with a deeper cry of his own. I feel his heat flooding into me, filling me.

He really does own me in every possible way.

It’s a thought that makes me collapse down onto the bed in tears, the immediacy, the primal nature of what he’s just done hitting me all at once. I try to curl up on my side when he pulls out of me, but even though he unfastens the cuffs around my wrists, he doesn’t let me pull away.

Instead, he puts his arms around me and keeps me close, kissing the back of my neck.

“Good, sweet, beautiful May,” he whispers in Chinese.

He pulls the covers over us and turns off the lights.

Chase doesn’t let go of me for the rest of the night.

CHAPTER 11

Chase

I sigh happily, the exhaustion from the rest of the week finally gone. Sleeping with May—and a good fuck—are apparently a great cure.

I reach out to draw May back into my arms, only to find nothing but empty air.

I open my eyes and look around blearily. The room is dark, and I have to fumble for the lights in order to see exactly what I’d already suspected:

May is gone.

I hadn’t locked the door, and I hadn’t chained her to the bed again. Despite everything I’ve done for her this past week, despite how much fun we’ve been having, she chose to run.

Fuck.

I scramble out of the bed, adjust my clothes, and run out of the room. She isn’t watching TV in the rec room, either. I rush up the stairs, my heart thudding hard with panic.

How long has she been gone? How much of a head start did she have? If she’s chosen to flee the city, the entire state, do I have a chance of finding her?

No, I need to calm down. People can’t just disappear so easily these days, and I have resources. I can track her down and drag her back. If nothing else, she’s probably gone to see her father, right? She wouldn’t abandon him, regardless of how much of a sad sack he is.

These thoughts all race through my head as I exit the basement.

I stop. There are voices coming from the kitchen.

I recognize both of them: May, and Mrs. Hong, my cook. I sigh in relief, before I realize how badly things could still be going.

More cautiously, I approach the kitchen.

“This is harder than it looks,” May is saying in her heavily accented Chinese. She sounds amused, though, and there aren’t police sirens coming from a distance.

Mrs. Hong chuckles. “It takes a lot of practice.”

I enter the kitchen and stand in the entryway. May and Mrs. Hong are both chopping vegetables. There’s already a large bowl filled with chopped onions. They’re doing all the prep work for the upcoming set of meals.

“Good morning,” I say, trying to sound as natural as I can. “I see you’ve met May, Mrs. Hong.”

“Good morning,” May says, all of her amusement dropping. She eyes me warily, much like a feral cat who realizes that a few good pets might’ve trapped her into a permanent life inside.

She’s not entirely wrong.

“Why did you take so long to bring a girl home?” Mrs. Hong asks me with an accusing look. “Or a boy. I wasn’t particular.”

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