Page 37 of Soul Of A Villain

She heard him remove the shower from its holder, and her heart pounded so hard that she thought it might explode. Oliver did not expect an answer, so she did not bother forming a response. Oliver would do whatever he pleased. If he wanted to tie her up, he would. If he wanted her hands free, he’d do that, too.

When the warm water spray hit her butt cheeks, she jolted, but Oliver gripped her hands on the small part of her back, holding her in place. “Maybe I should grab some restraints.”

“I’m sorry. I-I didn’t mean to move. I’ll be still. I promise.”

Oliver’s response was to slide the shower wand between her legs from behind. The steady stream of water aimed directly at her clit, the intensity sending a moan from her chest and into her throat. It felt so good, but it was too much. Within seconds, her body tensed with another looming orgasm.

“Hold this against your cunt. Don’t you dare fucking drop it or move until I say.” Releasing her hands, he waited until she shoved them down the front of her body and between her legs. With her arms now trapped between the weight of her upper body and the bench, he thrust the shower nozzle head into her palms, then reached over to twist a lever on the wall-mounted holder.

The stream of water slowed to an intermittent pulse, but Londyn had no time to appreciate the slight reprieve. Oliver began slapping her ass cheeks with leisurely purpose, first one and then the other. The combination of sharp pain and pulsating heaven quickly drove her back to the edge, and she sobbed. How many more of these intense orgasms could her body take?

“You’re going to come again for me, but before you do, tell me—how many does this make so far?”

Londyn’s body shook. She could not think, not with the water beating against her clit and his large hand cracking against her ass.

“Th-three,” she stuttered, her legs trembling uncontrollably.

“Wrong.” One hand slapped her ass harder, while two long, hard fingers on his other hand slammed into her pussy, stretching her as he spanked her. “It’s four, counting the one in the kitchen. And you’re about to give me number five,” he chuckled as she gasped, her body bowing up tight. “Look at you, little dove. Fucking my fingers like a good little whore. I don’t know which is prettier: My hand wrapped around your throat or your pussy sucking my fingers in deeper. I should fuck you right now since you won’t fight back. Maybe I will. Would you like that? My cock ripping you into pieces while you’re coming all over it?”

She exploded before he finished talking, her pussy clenched on his fingers as the pulsing of the shower nozzle pushed her into a world of darkness. The climax seemed to come from everywhere, sending her flying into a hazy subspace where she simply floated. The roaring in her ears faded, leaving everything quiet and still. All that remained was the pleasurable waves undulating through her and pinpoint lights drifting across the darkness in a waterfall of sparks.

She was no longer in the shower with her tormentor. She was soaring somewhere in the clouds and hurtling into blackness, far above heartache, pain, and pleasure. She might have screamed, or maybe she was sobbing. She didn’t know. She didn’t care.

She was slipping away, and it didn’t matter.

ChapterTwenty-Two

Oliver

Oliver turnedthe water off and scooped Londyn up from the shower bench.

He carried her out of the shower enclosure, grabbing a couple of towels off the nearby rack as he entered the bedroom. When he’d placed her on the bed, he dried her off, then snatched up a blanket from the bench at the foot of the bed.

As he wrapped it around her shaking body, Londyn stared ahead as if in a daze, her eyes unfocused. Her entire body quivered from an overload of sensations, the tremors rippling through her like invisible shock waves.

Oliver swore under his breath, tucking the extra towel around his waist. He’d pushed her too far. It was too much—the orgasms too quick in succession and too intense.Fuck. He loved seeing her this way, but he should have considered her lack of experience. Should have weighed it against the intensity of everything he’d previously done to her in the playroom. She wasn’t ready for this, and he was a fucking, selfish bastard for forcing it upon her. His next step should be providing true aftercare for her.

The housekeeper had fully stocked the kitchen before his arrival, which meant his favorite chocolate was in the fridge. A few pieces would ensure Londyn did not crash after she emerged from the subspace he’d driven her to. She needed to be kept warm as well. Oliver tucked the blanket tighter around her shoulders, then passed a hand over her tousled, wet hair.

He was still aroused, having focused all his attention on Londyn while they were in the shower. His plan had been to make her come several times while he jacked himself off, but when she slumped forward in a boneless heap, something inside him snapped.

But why?

Why did he care? This was what he wanted, right? Londyn at his mercy. A toy to play with. An object existing solely for his amusement and to endure anything he wanted. Her feelings, her pain, or even pleasure… none of it mattered. She was there because he paid good money for her. Any inclination to show sympathy or administer care other than the absolute minimum must be squashed.

Oliver ducked into the bathroom, retrieving the knife from the countertop. When he stalked back to the bedroom, he saw Londyn had not moved from where he placed her. She was still in a fog. Good. She probably wouldn’t feel a thing.

Oliver carefully pulled the blanket away from her body before pushing her back against the bedcovers. From there, he rolled her onto her stomach.

Londyn did not resist his arranging her like an inanimate doll. Even when he sliced her skin with a series of superficial tally marks, she didn’t flinch.

Wiping the blood away with the towel used to dry her, Oliver stared at the smooth, creamy skin of Londyn’s lower back. The five straight lines did something unexpected to his insides. Something that felt suspiciously like shame even while his cock thumped so hard it was painful.

God, how he wanted to fuck her. It was a raging need inside him, vying with the urge to take care of her, too. A strange contradiction. One that left him desperate to grant her the sharp bite of pain while also soothing it with overwhelming pleasure.

The warring principles pissed Oliver off. He contemplated fulfilling his base urges when she mumbled something and tried rolling onto her back.

“Don’t.”

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