Page 50 of Wicked Games

It was all Richard.

His primal energy that sucked the life force and will to resist right out of me.

Those eyes that commanded my obedience without having to utter a word.

Tracing a finger down my spine, his voice was menacingly low. “You were a very bad girl tonight.”

Blood rushed in my ears. I had to lock my knees to keep myself from falling to the floor in a faint from sheer, unadulterated fear.

His finger reached the base of my spine and continued down to slip along the crack of my ass.

Oh, God.

His hand then pushed between my squeezed shut thighs from behind. I closed my eyes tight as I bit my lip so hard, I tasted blood.

A high-pitched whimper of humiliation started in the back of my throat as I knew what he would feel. The slick heat of my own sick arousal.

“My poor little harlot, practically begging for her own punishment,” he whispered against my ear as he easily pushed two fingers deep into my cunt.

I cried out. Without any pride, I pushed my hips back to grind against his hand like a bitch in heat.

Keeping his hand in place, he reached his free arm around and cupped my breast. After painfully kneading it, he ruthlessly pinched my nipple till the pain became so intense I begged him to stop.

“Oh, my poor sweet girl, this is only the beginning of the pain you are about to feel at my hands.”

CHAPTER 19

RICHARD

It was my fault. My own hubris. After meticulously planning out every detail of my new world right down to the fabrics used in everyone’s attire to the type of fork to be displayed at dinner, I had forgotten one important detail.

I had overlooked the impact of my obsession for Elizabeth.

It seemed strange to think I would have missed any detail of what had become an all-consuming passion for me, but that was what I had done. Somehow, she shifted from a possible easy target for capture, to an ideal candidate, to a worthy adversary, to now… my love.

At first, I was just using it as a casual endearment, with no more meaning to me than baby or sweetheart. I recognized now the truth of the words.

And therein lay the fault of my own damn pride.

One of the follies of having billions at your disposal was not many people told you no. There was nothing—or no one—outside my grasp. With everyone from heads of state to owners of multinational companies bowing and scraping for my attention and approval, I could be forgiven for being out of practice in actually persuading someone to do my bidding.

I had hoped Elizabeth, with her love of the Victorian era and history, as well as fashion design and acting, would embrace the opportunity to completely immerse herself in the era as I desired. The life she was living in London was restrictive and unimaginative.

School, rehearsal, take-away meal. Repeat.

There was no spark of pleasure, no luxury, no decadence to her life.

My Elizabeth deserved decadence.

In my world she was a lady who would be treated like a queen. No desire would go unanswered. She would have only the best to eat, to wear, and to experience. In time, when she could be trusted, we would emerge into the real world upon occasion, perhaps for me to launch a fashion line of her designs, but always, we would have this world… our world… to retreat back into, to lose ourselves in.

I had thought, given I was fully aware of her added attraction to me, that this would be an easy transition for her. In fact, I flattered myself to assume she would be grateful to have been chosen for such an honor.

I miscalculated.

A rare occasion on my part.

I compounded this mistake by failing to recognize how much I had fallen for my little captured bird. It was because of this newfound love that I allowed myself the indulgence of treating her with a more delicate hand. While she may have felt differently, taking the perspective that I had in fact been extremely harsh with her, she would soon learn the truth.

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