Page 22 of Violent Cravings

Chapter 12

Ryan

“Why not just call me by my name?” she asks, furrowing her eyebrows. “Laura.”

“That won’t work,” I tell her.

She rolls her eyes. Again. A habit that must stop.

“Is this part of the rules? Detaching my name, my identity?”

This time, I’m the one frowning at her. “Don’t be so judgmental.”

It’s distressing how close she is to the truth. Not using their name is a way for me to maintain distance between me and my temporary submissives. This one night is nothing but a brief retreat, an escape from the obligations consuming my everyday life – and a purge. I can only maintain control if I stick to these self-imposed rules. I have to.

I can’t get attached to the girls, and I never have – and I cannot become attached to her either, as much as she may mesmerize me. With her it might be even more important than ever to keep my distance. She’s not just a regular high-class whore, and I’m totally aware of that.

“Yes, it is part of the rules,” I say, catching her curious gaze. “You said you oppose my usual go-to title.”

“Title,” she repeats, huffing with disgust. “I’d hardly call it a title. It’s an offensive slur, nothing else.”

She’s sitting up unnaturally straight, preparing herself for my comeback.

“I bet I could get you to a state of mind where you’d love to be called a slut,” I say, lowering my voice as my hand carefully travels along her thigh. Her breathing hitches instantly. She’s so determined, so strong, but so responsive to my every move. Breaking her might be the most satisfying conquest yet.

“A space where you’re nothing but a drooling bitch in heat, dizzy with lust, on your knees, begging for me to give you another release, to fuck you silly. A place where you not only endure pain, you welcome it, you crave it, you need it, because it gets you off,” I whisper, observing every breath she takes, every flickering of her painted eyelashes, as feeble as her response may be. She’s barely moving, but telling me everything I need to know. “Some people call it sub space – have you ever heard of it?”

She takes in a deep breath, trying to maintain her composure as her body overpowers her mind.

“No,” she whispers, turning her blushed face to look at me. “But I’d like to see what it’s like.”

I smile at her, squeezing the flesh on her thigh so hard that she flinches. I bet she’d drool all over my fingers if I decided to explore the area below her skirt right now. Sweet Laura is so unraveled, she’d open her legs for me willingly, granting me access to her throbbing core without the slightest protest. I wish I could test my theory, but I can’t. Withstanding those urges is what this is all about. She’ll be all the more delicious once I can finally have her.

She’s wearing her brown wavy hair in an up-do tonight, delicate strands trailing out and framing her oval face. A wisp of hair is falling across her eyes when she lowers her gaze away from mine. I have yet to decide whether I prefer her hair up or down.

“Good girl,” I praise her. “I’ll be honored to take you there. But don’t think it will be easy.”

She chuckles.

“Mr. Hawkins, I don’t know you very well, and I probably never will, but I think it’s safe to say that I understand one thing,” she says, her eyes locking back onto mine. “Nothing is ever easy with you.”

I don’t know how to feel about the way she’s looking at me. There’s an eerie degree of understanding behind the green of her eyes. It feels as if she can see right through me, as if she can read everything I’m hiding from her. She knows I’m fucked up. There’s no possible way for her to know anything, but she looks at me as if she does. She can’t know about the disastrous turn my life took years ago, when the cravings took over and my life was almost shattered into as many pieces as my heart was.

I shake my head. Fuck that. I’m imagining things. She’s a beautiful girl who’s perfect to serve as this year’s fuck doll. That’s it. That and nothing more.

There we go. Doll.

“Doll,” I say. “That will be your name.”

“Doll,” she repeats, surprised at the sudden detour of our conversation.

She cocks her head to the side and moves her lips as if she’s tasting the word. “That could work…”

“It will have to,” I say.

She raises her eyebrows. “Fine.”

I have so much to teach her. She’s enjoying the privilege of a fool’s license for today, but once we’re under contract, I’ll no longer tolerate her ways of speaking to me.

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