Page 54 of Soul Of A Villain

Oliver turned her until she faced him. His fingers hooked the necklace, although there was barely enough room to fit between it and her skin. Leaning forward, he brushed her mouth with his, kissing her softly and licking the tears she did not realize were trickling down her cheeks—tears that spoke eloquently to how lost she was to this man. He had managed to break her. She wondered if he even realized it.

“Don’t cry,” he murmured. “At least, not yet.”

He stripped the dress from her body, tossing the designer gown to the floor as if it were no more than a used dishrag. She was bare beneath the garment, just as he liked her, and Londyn immediately wondered if her obedience pleased him.

Allowing her to keep the high heels on, Oliver clipped a black leather and jewel-encrusted leash to the small ring at the top of the pendant. Londyn’s heart pounded like a war drum as he commanded her.

“Hands and knees, Londyn. I want you to crawl for me like a good girl.”

Humiliation stung Londyn with the force of a thousand bees, but, God help her, she obeyed. Willingly. Obediently. Sinking to her knees, she placed her palms flat on the floor, choking back tears and hating the flood of arousal that dampened her thighs. She was his now. Completely and utterly his. And she would have crawled a thousand miles for this man to simply pat her on the head and give her a smile of approval.

Oliver led her to the table, pulling out a chair at the opposite end so that he could sit. With legs spread wide, he might have been a dissolute king sitting on a throne. A tyrant to be pleased. A god to be worshipped.

He tugged the leash, dragging Londyn forward until his muscular thighs bracketed her slender form. When she tried rising on her knees, bracing her hands on the top of his legs to steady herself, Oliver shook his head.

“No. Stay as you are,” he breathed, passing a hand over the top of her head and shoving her back into her previous position. Before she could think to protest what he was doing, Oliver pulled her hair free of the updo, spreading it with his fingers until the dark waves cascaded over her shoulders and across her bare breasts. “Lay your head on my knee, Londyn.” He spoke softly, his hand slipping to tweak her hard nipples until a moan escaped her, and she did as she was told.

“I do understand you, dove,” he continued in a soothing manner. “I know the darkest corners of your heart, and you know mine. Youwantthis. You want the praise. The degradation. The domination and the punishments. You need the security of my hand around your throat as I command you. You are hardwired to obey me. You might not understand it all yet; this is all so new to you, but you crave the peace that submission gives you. The way it quiets your mind. I’ve given you the freedom to let go of everything and worry about nothing. You can let go, Londyn. Let go and let me take care of you.”

Londyn struggled, her independence fighting the truth in Oliver’s words. She wanted to scream. To kick and bite and shake her head because that was not her.

I’m not like that!

So easily led and manipulated. She was strong and smart. Proud and stubborn.

But she was also a woman with a horrible weakness. For Oliver. For those insidious words of praise. For his brutal, unyielding strength. For the way he handled her so carefully. So tenderly. Even when he fucked her mouth like he hated her, he took care of her afterward. He treated her like a prize possession. Like the woman he adored and cherished. And she craved that. Not from just any man. But from this man. This tortured, dark, twisted, soulless man had ripped her heart from her chest and wrapped glittery chains around it. She belonged to him. She was his.

The realization toppled her resistance. Oliver had given her more over the past few weeks than any other man. And if it ended up being the death of her, she could not deny her feelings toward him. When she sank into the promise of his words, she let them drown and pull her under the current.

She was tired of fighting. Tired of the struggle to survive. To breathe. To live.

She did not resist when he rose from the chair and dragged her to stand. She did not fight when he handed her a glass of wine that she had not seen him fill and made her drink until it was empty. And she did not fight when he bent her over his expensive dining-room table, unfastened his trousers, kicked her feet apart, and plunged his pierced cock deep into her pussy.

“You’re fucking drenched for me, dove. Is it the weight of the collar that makes you so wet? Or was it crawling for me that got you so hot?”

Londyn let out a muffled scream at the burning, stretching sensation, but how could she fight him when her body sang out in ecstasy with his savagery? Even when he looped the leash around her neck, gripping it with a handful of her hair and pulling so tightly that stars flashed before her eyes, she did not fight. It felt too good. Too overwhelming and too right. It was everything she never knew she wanted or needed. It felt like she finally belonged somewhere in a cruel world, and she was safe in the arms of the monster.

She surrendered with a cry, melting, loving every minute of his brutal, half-crazed possession. Craving his every thrust into her fragile flesh. Wanting more even after she came so hard that she must have stopped breathing. Everything faded to a soft black until the only sounds were her quiet sobs of bliss and Oliver’s harsh groans as he fucked her without mercy.

When he jerked her head up until her body bowed, she was already flying into oblivion, soaring among the stars and clouds and adrift on the wind. Her body rocked with his thrusts, the edge of the table digging into her hips and bruising her. Her legs shook as he used his thighs to spread hers more, and she bit back a depraved plea to fuck her harder.

“You’re mine, Londyn,” he growled, plunging so hard and deep that Londyn dazedly wondered if he was trying to rip her apart. “Now and forever. Life or death. Pain and pleasure. Good or bad. You aremine.”

ChapterThirty-One

Oliver

After Londyn passed out,Oliver carried her through the house and to his room. There, while his cum leaked from her swollen, pink pussy, he laid her on his bed and gathered the items he needed to place the tracker in the nape of her neck. When that was done, he unhooked the leash, coiling it and putting it next to his cell phone so he wouldn’t forget to pack it in the morning.

The GHB had worked faster than he anticipated. That could be attributed to the fact Londyn had not been eating very much lately. He’d also allowed her to drink wine at lunch and dinner, which certainly left her more susceptible to the drug’s effect.

Before he changed his mind, he rolled her onto her stomach, wincing when he caught sight of the bruises on her hips. Some were the shape of his fingers, while a few were caused by the edge of his dining-room table.

After setting up the tattoo gun and necessary inks, he yanked on a pair of surgical gloves and went through the procedures of prepping her skin. Rather than leaving her with something so transient as superficial cuts, he intended to give her something permanent. Something he would see every time he fucked her. A branding that declared to anyone who saw it that Londyn Juliette Skye was his until she took her last breath.

He worked quickly and efficiently, paying attention to the letters so they were precise and perfect. When it was done, he swiped the blood from the soft skin of her lower back and leaned back to admire his handiwork.

He and Kingston both learned how to tattoo as a lark when they began getting their own flesh inked. But until this moment, the only person Oliver had ever tattooed was Kingston himself. He was responsible for the motto, “Crush, Conquer, Protect,”emblazoned on his brother’s flank. And while he wasn’t a professional by any stretch of the imagination, he was proficient enough to undertake something this simple.

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