Page 39 of Soul Of A Villain

“How old were you when that happened?” Londyn prodded gently.

“Old enough,” Oliver replied cryptically. He wasn’t sure why he was spewing this out to her, but what she said was true. Whatever bullshit he got off his chest in this moment would go no further than this room. Londyn was right about one thing. She would carry this pathetic confession straight to her grave. “I was ten when Kingston started sleeping with her and twelve when she killed our father and herself at the dinner table.”

“You saw that?” A sound of distress escaped her. “That must have been so traumatic to see at such a young age.”

Oliver stared at the vaulted wood-beamed ceiling overhead. No matter how long he lived, he’d never be able to unsee the gaping hole in his father’s head, nor the pieces of tissue that discolored the dining-room wall behind his mother’s chair. “That’s an understatement. And overshadowed by the fact my brother was the one who gave her the gun. I hated Kingston so much for that. Hated him because he promised to protect me, and he failed. Hated him because he loved my mother. Hated him because his adoration wasn’t enough for her. She used us both in different ways to escape our father. I was the one left behind with the pieces.” He sighed heavily. “But I think I hated my father more because he made me just like him. Hard. Cruel. Sadistic.”

“Would you say your nightmares,” Londyn swallowed hard, “are a result of your mother murdering your father and committing suicide in front of you?”

“I’d say they are a direct result of being tutored on torturing and raping women, murdering and disposing of his enemies while my father directed me on the most efficient methods to serve him.” Oliver’s jaw tightened at how easy it was to share these painful memories with Londyn. Somehow, he felt lighter. Less burdened. Which was almost comical, considering how fucked-up he truly was. Telling her his secrets shouldn’t leave him feeling cleansed. He was his father’s son in all ways, and confessing these sins to an innocent and naive girl would not bring absolution.

“Did you… did you love your mother?” Londyn asked softly.

Oliver was silent for a moment, then gruffly replied, “I’m sure at some point I did, but I’d say the answer to that is no. Did you love yours?”

“Sometimes, I did. I felt sorry for her more than anything. She had an abusive childhood and never learned to trust anyone. She didn’t know how to love. How to be caring. It would have been better if she’d never had children, although sometimes, it seemed like she was truly trying to do what she thought was best. I think our mothers were likely very much the same. Scared. Overwhelmed. And betrayed by others. I dream about her sometimes.” Londyn’s voice was growing faint, exhaustion catching up to her. “She kisses my forehead like I’m a little girl and tells me she’s sorry. And I hug her back… then the dream goes black and I’m alone again. Do you ever dream about your mom?”

“I don’t want to talk about this anymore.” He knew his tone was cruel. He meant it to be because she was bringing feelings and memories to the surface that he had suffocated a long time ago. “Go to sleep, Londyn. Get some rest before we start again. I plan on fucking you until I don’t remember my nightmares. For one night, at least. Maybe you’ll find a reprieve from yours.”

Londyn stiffened, but her body was succumbing to everything he had already done. Slumping against him, her voice was drowsy and full of regret as she said, “Some may be scarier than others, but everyone has nightmares, Oliver. Now, you are one of mine and will be for a long time after this.”

ChapterTwenty-Three

Londyn

Londyn came awake in stages.

When her eyes fluttered open, the room was dimly lit, the early-morning sunlight filtered by automatic blinds tilted just enough to provide illumination. Stretching her legs, she moaned softly as the muscles protested.

Turning her head on the pillow, she rolled to her side, her breath catching as she came face to face with the sleeping visage of her captor.

Thick, dark eyelashes cast shadows on his upper cheeks; his lips parted slightly as he murmured something in his sleep. With his brow unfurrowed and mouth not twisted into his customary cynical grin, Londyn could appreciate his masculine beauty. He might have been a male model in another life with his diamond-sharp jawline and high cheekbones. She was breathless just staring at his face, and when her gaze drifted down, skimming over the broad shoulders and chest, she wondered how something so outwardly gorgeous could conceal such wickedness.

The sheets twisted about his waist so low on his trim hips that the letters tattooed above his groin were almost completely visible. Londyn swallowed against the lump in her throat, remembering how she’d stared at those letters as he thrust repeatedly into her mouth.

It wasn’t fair that he should look like this and still possess the soul of a heartless monster. It wasn’t fair that after everything he’d done, her pussy was wet for him even now.

In his own way, he took care of me last night. Why? And why did he open up to me like he did? Why tell me about his parents and his brother? Why tell me about his nightmares unless there is something inside him searching for forgiveness?

Oliver had purchased her nearly two weeks ago and had yet to fully possess what he paid millions for. Why was he waiting? What did he hope to accomplish by drawing it out? They both knew he could force her to do whatever he wanted, and he would, eventually. There seemed to be no logic for dragging out the torture. Did he think she would be more easily controlled once he proved how much her body craved being used and dominated?

A whimper escaped her. The truth left her stomach in knots. If this man was a monster, what did that make her?

“You’re thinking too hard, dove. I can hear your thoughts without you saying them.”

Londyn gasped, her gaze flying back up to scan his face. With his eyes closed, the corners of his mouth were tilted in a smirk. Before she could scurry away, Oliver settled deeper into the pillows, one arm tucked beneath his head while the other curved around her waist. He hauled her closer, snuggling his face into the hollow between her neck and shoulder. She suddenly realized she was as naked as he was. Every inch of his body was branding hers, burning her skin and leaving every nerve ending she had raw and tingling with hyper-awareness.

Breathing deep, Oliver rumbled his contentment while lightly nipping her tender skin.

“Fuck, you taste good.” Tilting his head back just enough to gaze at her, his eyes gleamed like rare, blue topazes in the morning’s golden light. “And congratulations are in order, I suppose.”

“For what?” Londyn choked out. Oliver held her so close, so tight, there was no mistaking his erection prodding her belly. The way her insides melted was infuriating and terrifying. If her mouth and throat were sore from the size of his cock and all those piercings, she could only imagine what he would do to more vulnerable areas.

“You survived the night in my bed,” he laughed softly. “Guess that’s a sign we’re meant to be.” Taunting further, he pressed a tender kiss to her open mouth, his lips brushing over hers, teasing.

Londyn said nothing as he kissed her gently but with increasing pressure and intensity. When his tongue delved into her mouth, stroking hers, a helpless moan fluttered in her chest. She could not stop her thighs from clenching, her pussy aching with immediate lust for him. She was becoming a creature she did not recognize. A woman desperate for physical contact. Hungry for affection and attention. And even if it came with strings attached, such as her eventual extermination she could not deny how alive she felt with his hands on her.

“So, what were you thinking about just now? You looked… distressed… is the best way to describe it,” Oliver murmured between long, deep kisses Londyn was sure were designed to scramble her mind.

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