Page 12 of Vicious King

He hesitated for a few seconds too long. “Right. If you say so. Anyhow, see you later.”

After he was gone, I strode into my bathroom, stripped off and got in the shower, setting the water to a frigid temperature in the hopes it would dampen my desires. The mere mention of Tatum had made my dick hard as steel, but I couldn’t be fucked jerking off. I’d already done that five times since I got back to New Marwick, all to the thought of her, and I was tired of it.

I shouldn’t even have to jerk off. Over the last few weeks, I’d had the pleasure of Tatum’s company on the island almost every single day, so I’d been able to fuck her, not my hand. That was what she was there for. To serve me. But now, even though the winter break wasn’t over yet—grad school stuff didn’t start up at Roden for another couple of weeks—I’d returned early, growing frustrated with Tatum’s recent behavior and attitude.

Something inside her seemed to have broken not long after she found out she was on an island. That was exactly what I wanted to happen, but the results hadn’t exactly been what I anticipated. I thought it would make her even angrier at what I’d done to her, thought it would make her fight and claw at me like mad, screaming and more desperate than ever to get away from me. That would be hot as fuck, and when I made her submit to me again and again, it would taste that much sweeter.

But it wasn’t like that at all.

Instead of fighting, Tatum was quiet and passive, her face almost always blank. Brittle, glazed, stupefied. Colorless. She barely said a word, barely even cowered when I went to see her. Never cried. Everything I said or commanded, she instantly agreed with and submitted to. She never defied me or questioned me, at least not purposefully.

It wasn’t the screaming and begging I wanted. It wasn’t even the hysterical sobbing she came out with last time I thought she was falling to pieces. It was just… acceptance. Silent, dead-behind-the-eyes acceptance. The last time I saw her, she seemed more vacant and lifeless than ever. She had the appearance of something discarded, just a crumple of gray cloth tossed away in the garbage.

I hated it. I used to think her complete and utter submission to my will was exactly what I wanted, especially after the things she’d done to my family, but I actually missed the wild spark she used to have. I missed the way she used to frantically argue with me and curse at me, the way she’d try to fight her way out. That spark had vanished along with the rest of the personality, just like the light in her eyes.

She was basically a robot.

The worst part was what it had done to the sex. She didn’t seem to enjoy it, which I initially didn’t think I’d care about, but I did. More than anything. I didn’t want some limp woman lying there taking my dick in silence, her mind elsewhere. I wanted her present and in the moment, wanted her to crave my body, crave my cock inside her, even if she hated me for making her want it.

Tatum had gone the opposite way. She loved feeling me inside her, I knew that, but she’d seemingly morphed into some sort of guilt-ridden automaton, saying that all she deserved was pain and punishment, and that she ‘wasn’t allowed’ any pleasure after the things she’d done.

Well, supposedly done. That was another issue with her.

So many of the things she’d said in recent weeks didn’t make sense. At first, I was elated when she finally ‘admitted’ all her lies to me, because I’d wanted that all along, but then I realized half her stories didn’t add up.

For instance, the other week she’d told me that she sold herself to Crown and Dagger because she wanted to let me have my revenge on her for pushing Ben off a cliff. Except… she didn’t even know I was related to Ben until I told her weeks after her arrival, and when she allegedly signed the contract, she had no idea who she would be given to. So it was impossible that her reason for selling herself to the society was that in particular.

So what was the real reason behind her desire to sell herself here? Something must’ve made her sign that contract, but she didn’t seem to want to tell me what it was.

I could put it all down to exhaustion and confusion, I suppose, but the issue kept plaguing my mind, arousing sneaking suspicions deep within. I couldn’t quite put my finger on any of it, but I knew there was something I was missing. Something major. There was something deeply broken and messed up inside Tatum, and I had no idea how the fuck to deal with it anymore.

The whole thing stopped me from even wanting to touch her. Fucking her now was like fucking a zombie, so what was the point?

If I wanted to get off, I could just screw another woman back here in the city, but I couldn’t even look at anyone else without thinking of her. Every woman I passed on the street, every porn star on the videos on my phone, every girl I dreamed of at night, was Tatum in my head.

Sometimes I worried it meant she was weakening me. The girl had killed my best friend and very nearly killed my father, and yet I still wanted her around. Craved only her. I told myself it was because I wanted to punish her for her heinous actions, but if that were true, then why the fuck did I care so much about whether or not she wanted me to fuck her? Or whether she enjoyed it or not?

If I truly despised her, I wouldn’t give a shit. I would feel nothing toward her but cold fury. I wouldn’t care if I squashed her like a bug, crushed all the defiance out of her. Wouldn’t care if she was nothing but a mindless, broken toy.

And yet, I did.

It didn’t mean I cared for her, though. All it really meant was that my desires had changed, and the things I cared about getting from her had evolved. I suppose that didn’t exactly make me weak. It just made me a typical human, always seeking out new ways in which to obtain that heady endorphin rush my brain craved.

I just needed to remind myself that I owned her for as long as I wanted. That meant she had to do as I said. If I told her I wanted her to try to fight me, she would damn well do it, whether she liked it or not. No more of this blank, passive bullshit. No more letting her get away with it.

My train of thought was derailed by the sound of my cell phone vibrating across the tiles. I turned the shower off, grabbed a towel, and answered the call. It was Brett, the security guard from the island. “Yeah?”

His voice was distant and warbled. It sounded like a tap was gushing with water somewhere nearby. “Sorry to call you like this, but you’re needed on the island. Your father’s request. He said he tried calling you, but you didn’t answer.”

I sighed. Dad had actually tried calling four times in the last half hour or so, but I’d been avoiding the calls out of annoyance, given his reluctance to discuss the egg donor issue with me. “Not today. I have way too much shit to do here. But I’ll be there in a couple of days.”

“It’s an emergency, Elias. We need your help.”

“Emergency?”

“Yeah. Oh, shit, I gotta go,” he said hurriedly.

“Is Tatum okay?”

He didn’t respond for a second, and I heard him shout something at someone in the background before returning his attention to me. “Sorry, really gotta go deal with this. Just get here as soon as you can,” he shouted over another loud gushing sound. “Call your father back if you want the whole story!”

“No need,” I said, my pulse racing. “I’m on my way.”

---