Page 35 of Soul Of A Villain

“Calm down,” Oliver murmured, pushing the shirt higher between her shoulder blades so it was out of his way. “I won’t cut it, but these panties? Well, that’s another story. I don’t want you wearing any unless I give you permission.” He quickly sliced through the cotton underwear, ignoring her intake of breath when he wadded up the pieces and tossed them aside. “There… that’s better.” He admired the thin line just above the dimples of her ass before swiping the blood away with the edge of his thumb. “I just marked you, Londyn, and youwillkeep count. Let me hear you say it. What number is this?”

“O-one,” she whispered in a shaky voice. Tears fell from her thick, dark lashes. “One.”

“That’s right,” he crooned, smoothing her hair back from her wet face. The high from the climax was waning, leaving her skin sensitive and reactive to the slightest stimulation. She was quivering all over. “And what do you say when I give you something?”

“T-thank you, Sir.”

“Good girl. Now, let’s get you ready for the next one. And since I’m in a generous mood, I’ll let you choose if you come on my cock or my tongue.”

ChapterTwenty-One

Londyn

Londyn’s headlolled against Oliver’s chest as he carried her up the stairs. To her surprise, he did not turn down the hallway toward the room he’d given her but continued striding down the corridor and around the corner until he reached a set of double doors, one of which was slightly ajar.

After pushing it open with a nudge of his foot, Oliver entered the dimly lit room. Londyn barely had the strength to lift her head to peek at the room’s interior as he strode through it. She caught a quick glimpse of an enormous bed crafted of what looked to be twisted, blackened branches and sleek chrome and glass furniture. Several pieces of framed artwork decorated the walls, echoing the modernistic style she’d glimpsed in the great room before. Abstract landscapes in tones of white, black, and gray. Metal etchings of wolves and horses. It was all cold, scary, yet visually striking.

She screwed her eyes shut as Oliver shouldered through another door. He flicked a switch. The room instantly flooded with light that stabbed Londyn behind her closed eyelids.

“Stand up.”

Londyn obeyed as Oliver set her on her feet. Slowly opening her eyes, she gazed around the room. It was so bright that it was nearly blinding. It was decorated with glass and mountain stone, a mix of rugged surfaces, gray-veined marble, and fixtures so high-end they probably cost more than the shitty trailer she’d grown up in. A freestanding, curved tub, big enough for three or four people, sat in front of a floor-to-ceiling window. A huge, ornate crystal chandelier hung over it. Londyn swallowed hard, fighting a wave of dizziness that threatened to buckle her knees.

“Let’s get you out of this.”

Before she grasped his meaning, Oliver tugged the sweatshirt over her head, tossing it onto the vanity counter along with the knife he used to cut off her panties. Londyn caught a quick glimpse of herself reflected in the mirrors above the double sinks. She might have been a waif he’d found in the forest. Naked and trembling, her hair wild, and her skin pebbling with goosebumps. Crossing her arms over her chest, she quickly averted her gaze from the mirror.

Bad idea. Because Oliver had stripped off the pajama bottoms and was now as naked as her.

She couldn’t look away from him. She wanted to. God, how she wanted to. But there was a silken string of fascinated horror tethering her eyes to the broadness of his chest. And his trim hips. His well-formed, muscled legs and bulging arms wereencircled with barbwire. He had the physique of a Greek god. A perfectly sculpted man inked with tattoos bound to haunt for the remainder of her short life. When her eyes drifted toward his midsection, she swayed.

Tattooed above his groin, the word SWALLOW stretched from one side of the V to the other. His cock was so hard it was nearly upright against his lower stomach, its thick length blocking out the A and both L’s.

All.

He’d made her swallow all of him.

She’d blocked out the reality of what he’d done to her just a few hours ago.

The piercings...those barbells. Sliding against my pussy. Cold steel hitting my teeth. Oh, God. Down… down my throat.

Why did I let him do that? Why didn’t I fight harder in the playroom? Or down in the kitchen just now?

“Stop thinking, Londyn.” Oliver stepped closer, sliding his hands alongside her cheeks. He cradled her face, peering down into her wide eyes. “Stop thinking and take a deep breath for me.”

Why she followed his calm instructions made no sense, but Londyn did as he commanded. The moment she exhaled, Oliver kissed her, his mouth gentle and searching on hers. When she whimpered in pain, stiffening in his arms, he kissed her with increasing pressure until she sagged against him, her hands fisting against the corded muscles of his broad chest. She was no match for his strength, much less his size and insistence. He wouldn’t release her. Her body agreed with that scenario, even if she was screaming inside.

One of his hands sank into her hair, holding her still for the onslaught while his free arm slid around her waist. He kept her anchored against his tall, hard body while Londyn sank into the kiss despite the fact her mouth hurt from being used earlier in the day. Oliver groaned at her surrender, kissing her with such ferocity she wondered if he was trying to steal her soul through the crush of his lips on hers.

When he finally let her go, Londyn gasped in relief. Her eyes watered with his grip on her hair, and her skin tingled with awareness. She wanted him to kiss her harder. It scared her… this need to have his hands and mouth on her, taking whatever he wanted. She did not know why she craved it, but she did. Her hands fisted tighter with the desire to strike him. To make him pay for showing her what it meant to want with madness ruling you.

“That’s enough, dove,” he breathed against her mouth as she panted. “If I don’t stop, I’ll end up fucking you here on my bathroom floor. While I would enjoy that, I doubt you would.”

He stepped away from her and approached what another open door cut into a wall of mountain stone. The skull tattooed emblazoned across his back watched her with fathomless, soulless eyes as he punched a small panel set into the stone; adjusting a few things with a stab of his finger. A moment later, she heard water running. Like rain pouring through a hole in the ceiling.

“Come on.” Oliver reached for her. He tugged her through the wall’s open doorway into a vast shower designed to look like a rock grotto. There was one large rain-shower head and multiple wall jets, but the true focal point was the waterfall. The water tumbled from a wall expertly constructed to mimic the side of a mountain. It fell in a rushing curtain, splashing on the rocky outcroppings and the stone floor. It was breathtaking.

Oliver immediately pulled her into the waterfall, using his hands to slick her hair and the warm water away from her face. When he turned her to face the wall, she instinctively braced herself with hands flat against the stone. She hissed as the water washed away the blood from the tally mark, but the pounding of the waterfall was already easing much of the tension in her overused muscles. She was relaxing into the sensations, lulled by how good it felt, when he suddenly tugged her away from the feature, moving her to stand beneath the gentler rainfall of the overhead shower.

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