Page 10 of Soul Of A Villain

Oliver’s right hand moved to her throat, encircling the slender column. What he saw sent a dark thrill shooting through his body.

MINE,the letters tattooed on his fingers declared as he gently squeezed. Her pulse thumped rhythmically beneath his fingertips, echoing the pounding in his own veins.

MINE,everything inside him screamed. It didn’t make sense to feel so intensely for a girl he knew nothing about, but it didn’t matter.

Holding her in his grasp felt right. Claiming her with just a hand wrapped around her throat felt right. Everything about her wasright, and although he did not understand it, he was ready to be swallowed by what might become a new obsession.

“You’re already obsessed,” Oliver muttered. He’d paid a fortune for her. Cheated to win her. And killed to protect her.

Sinking his hand into her thick dark hair, he cradled her skull and tilted her head with the force of his thumb to the underside of her chin. Her lips parted on a soft sigh, but her brow remained smooth as he handled her. She remained lost to the world, and Oliver took advantage of it.

He liked his women submissive, silent, and in servitude. It was in his nature to expect complete obedience in all things. His upbringing in a dark and dangerous world where women existed to serve a man’s pleasure set that in stone a long time ago. But this girl was proving herself different from his usual appetite. Her feistiness was adorable, but the ferocity he witnessed earlier thoroughly entranced him.

A sprinkling of freckles danced across the bridge of her small nose, and it was impossible to resist brushing his lips over her silken skin. Tasting her. Inhaling her. Learning the sweetness of her breath and how it affected him. He owned this girl.Reallyowned her. Her very breath was his to take or give, and the power that came with that was some heady shit.

Letting go of her head so it fell back against the bed, Oliver let his gaze drift over her body. Removing a switchblade from his back pocket, he quickly cut off the meager lingerie she wore. But he hesitated when it came to the collar that encircled her pale throat. He could not deny he liked the idea, but he’d rather she wore one of his choosing. Making the split-second decision, he sliced through the leather and tossed it aside.

He repositioned her arms so her cuffed wrists were stretched high over her head. Every bruise and every scrape was mentally cataloged as he drank in her beauty.

Deliciously round breasts crowned with nipples of dusky pink had Oliver’s mouth watering. The supple mounds of flesh fit perfectly into his hands as he tested their weight. Except for a few scratches from the hunt, her skin was amazingly soft and velvety in texture. He pinched her nipples in turn, loving how they puckered in response. Sucking one tip into his mouth, he rolled the pebbled flesh between his teeth.

“Fuck, you are delicious,” he murmured reverently. Delicious and goddamn addictive. He couldn’t seem to stop smoothing his hands over her; first, her breasts which he continued to suck and nibble, then her flat stomach and the curved flare of her hips. Maybe he should have her nipples pierced before killing her. Seeing her pretty breasts adorned in jewelry would be something quite memorable. She’d probably object but he could always strap her to a chair for the procedure.

Oliver’s lips tilted in a self-indulgent smirk. Everything about this situation was illegal, depraved, and immoral, but he did not care. He was too far removed from normality to feel even a sliver of shame. Whether she was conscious or not, he had every right to examine and play with his new possession. And he would, regardless of the morality of it. He would do what he wanted, when he wanted, and that’s just how it was going to be. He didn’t need permission, and he didn’t need her consent. Not after he spent nearly three million dollars for the pleasure of fucking her.

With an index finger, he traced a line from her belly button to the top of her pussy. Item Number Fifteen was waxed bare of any hint of hair because the Russians liked it and foolishly believed every man who visited the ranch did, too. Oliver preferred a woman to be neatly groomed with a narrow strip of curls to tease his nose when he licked her pussy.

Oliver frowned, thinking of the procedures she endured to be readied for the auction. Jealousy, sharp and almost painful, stabbed at him. He wanted to scoop out the eyeballs of every person who had seen her naked and vulnerable.

Moving her long legs wider, Oliver settled between them, his mouth lined up with the junction of her thighs. Fucking hell, her cunt was gorgeous. So plump and pink. Sheer perfection. Gently, he spread her flesh, allowing him complete access.

A quick check of her face revealed she was still unconscious. Emboldened by her lack of response, Oliver bent his head, lapping at her clit before raking the sweet bud with the edge of his teeth.

The girl’s hips shifted slightly, bucking upward at the sensation. Oliver grinned, flattening his tongue against her clit and pressing harder until her body twitched.

There was no mistaking that involuntary, automatic response. It would be easy to make her come like this. Even in this oblivious state, he could drive her body to a shuddering, helpless orgasm. She was his, even if she would inevitably hate that fact. She could fight until her body was bloody and bruised, but it would not matter.

Oliver savored this first taste, swirled his tongue around her softness, and administered tiny bites here and there. As his cock throbbed painfully, demanding to sink into her, he slid a finger into the warmth of her cunt and fucked her with slow, shallow thrusts while devouring her with his mouth. She was delightfully wet. Wet and warm, and soon, he would take every sweet piece of her.

After a few more minutes feasting on her, he reluctantly gave her pussy one last swipe of his tongue then rolled off the bed. Rubbing his aching cock through his pants, he knew if he did not stop, he’d end up fucking her.

That’s not what he wanted right now. Not like this. He wanted her awake. Awake and aware the first time he fucked her. He wanted her tears. Her screams. He wanted to hear her cries, begging him to stop then pleading for more.

Glancing at the cage occupying the corner of the room, Oliver made a decision. The rational thing to do was to lock her up in the contraption. With the possibility she might murder him in his sleep and escape the cabin, he needed to secure his little killer. It was also very likely his willpower would evaporate, and he’d wind up fucking her unconscious body six ways from Sunday. Not to mention, the nightmares he occasionally suffered made it hazardous for a bed partner. For her own safety and his sanity, she’d sleep in that cage this first night.

ChapterSeven

Londyn

The first thingLondyn saw when her eyes fluttered open were vertical bars like those found in a prison cell. And her first thought was a simple one.

The police have me. They found out about the man I murdered.

She sat up, grimacing as pain shot through her body. Every part of her ached and throbbed, including her head, which pounded like the devil was trying to beat his way inside.

The room was dimly lit but as she became more aware, she realized she was indeed inside a cage, only it wasn’t a jail cell. The bottom of the round metal cage was cold and hard, but soft, fluffy pillows covered its floor, cushioning it from being too uncomfortable.

A blanket of dark fur rested over her shoulders. Londyn clutched it closer when she abruptly realized she was nude beneath the blanket. And she certainly was not safely incarcerated in police custody.

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