Page 33 of Soul Of A Villain

Relief mixed with disappointment when she continued creeping along the dark space. Punishing her for an escape would have been an enjoyable way to pass the hours. It didn’t mean he wouldn’t take his pound of flesh from her luscious hide for this particular transgression, but she had not compounded the error by making him chase her.

He was moving down the hallway, following her footsteps as she turned toward the kitchen. Clicking on that camera revealed her opening the fridge. She rummaged through the drawers, grabbing various items. Her movements were stilted, as if turning a certain way caused pain. No doubt she suffered some discomfort after being restrained and used for hours earlier. He’d tied her up in a variety of positions, and being forced toalmostclimax over and over would certainly cause a few strained muscles and soreness.

A twinge of guilt assailed Oliver when Londyn plucked an apple and a banana from the crystal bowl on the counter, adding it to the impromptu feast. It wasn’t that he had forgotten to feed her; it was that he’d been so caught up in his own desires and the need to punish her that it became an afterthought. After she passed out in the playroom, he decided it was best to let her, ignoring his body’s demands that he continue using her regardless of her unconscious state. Fuck. He should have at least made sure she was staying hydrated beyond the few sips of water he allowed her while learning every inch of her body. She was already too thin for his liking. Starving her wasn’t his intent.

Standing outside the open archway, Oliver waited in the shadows as Londyn ate. Her gaze roamed around the kitchen, and his hands tightened into fists when her attention landed on the expensive block of gourmet-styled knives.

If she made a move toward those… if she so much as twitched with the intent of filching a fucking butter knife, he would lock her in that cage in his playroom and keep her there for weeks.

But she did not move from her perch on the barstool. She drank the rest of the water and tugged at the hem of a ratty, white sweatshirt with the word “Vanderbilt” emblazoned across her chest in gold. Then, she started to cry, and for reasons he could not quite explain, Oliver couldn’t bear it. Leaning against the doorway’s thick molding, he crossed his arms.

“If you are weeping over the current state of your clothing, I can’t say I blame you. What thefuckare you wearing, dove?”

Londyn screamed, jumping off the barstool and holding the empty water bottle over her head as if it were a wooden club before blindly chunking it in his direction. Oliver easily dodged the lightweight missile as he stepped fully into the kitchen.

“Good thing that wasn’t sharp,” he chuckled while moving around the island until he stood before her.

Londyn glared at him, a mixture of distrust and fear illuminating her gaze. She was breathing heavily. “What are you doing sneaking up on me?”

“Why are you roaming around my house after midnight?” Oliver countered calmly. “It’s against the rules.”

She swiped at her cheeks again and sniffed. “You never really told me the rules. I know wherenotto go, but everything else is as clear as mud.” Her gaze skittered away from his, dropping to study the grape stems on the marble countertop. Picking one up, she twirled it between her fingertips, eyes remaining downcast as though it would prove her rebellion was a simple misunderstanding. He might have been fooled had it not been for the dislike roiling around her like a tsunami.

Oliver’s lips twitched. “Maybe you’re right about that. I’m still easing into the role of your owner. I should be clearer about my expectations.”

Londyn did not reply, but her gaze flitted to the bandage he still wore from where she’d cut him back at the cabin in Diamond Lake Ranch.

“Look at me, Londyn.” Once he had her attention, he brushed the hair out of her face to easily see her features. “You may go anywhere within the house apart from the playroom, my personal suite, and my study. This does not, however, mean you may venture outside. I forbid it unless I’m with you.”

Her breathing hitched as he trailed a forefinger along her jawline, but she remained silent.

Oliver’s smile was cold and hard. “Say ‘thank you,’ Londyn.”

Her eyes flashed, her lips pressing flat into a line of disapproval. “Thank you.”

“Thank you, what?” he murmured, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her against his body. His bare chest grazed the tips of her breasts, and she flushed with shame when they immediately hardened into tight little buds beneath the thin material of her shirt. “Thank me in a proper manner.”

The look she gave him was quizzical. She had no idea what he was talking about, which almost made him laugh. This new rule was bound to piss her off. Did he care? No. Did he want to hear the word falling from her perfect, pouty lips? Absofuckinlutley.

“I don’t...” She squirmed in the circle of his arms, but he squeezed tighter, a blatant warning that he wasn’t ready to let her go.

“Sir,” he supplied helpfully. “Thank you, Sir. That’s what I want to hear from you. That’s my new rule, Londyn. I expect to see your gratitude when I grant you mercy or show you kindness.” He could almost hear her teeth grinding with frustration. “Come on, dove. Is it really that unreasonable?” Pulling her closer, he nuzzled the space below her ear, pressing a kiss there and smirking in triumph when he felt her body subtly melt in response.

“You don’t really mean I?—”

“Yes. I mean precisely that,” Oliver interrupted, enjoying this power play between them. The push and pull. The cat and mouse. It was the most entertainment he’d had in months. Playing with her was so much fun, and although he knew it wouldn’t last forever, he would relish every moment spent teasing and tormenting her. “You don’t want to disappoint me, do you?”

“No,” she breathed, slumping in defeat at the unspoken threat in his tone. “Thank you, Sir,” she added a few seconds later, her voice small and submissive.

Oliver suspected she simply played along for her own ulterior motives. Maybe it was even a weak attempt at manipulating him, but that was okay. She would not emerge a winner in these little mind games. He was a fucking master at such things and had been taught from an early age how to crush an opponent before they even realized what was happening.

“Good girl.” Keeping one arm snug around her waist, he lightly rested his free hand against her throat and stared into her wide eyes. She smelled like fresh apples. If he kissed her right then, he’d taste the tartness of the fruit on her lips. But while losing himself in a kiss with his little prisoner was tempting, he had a different agenda in mind. “Tell me why you were crying.”

Londyn blinked, her brow furrowing in confusion over his concern. Her chin trembled as he waited expectantly for an answer until, finally, she gave in with a tiny sob.

“I’m worried about my sister. I’m the only person she has, and when I’m gone, there will be no one left to care for her like I do.”

Oliver frowned. “I’ve arranged the most expert care available, dove.”

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