Page 31 of Deadly Rival

He gives my breast a squeeze. “Answer the question.”

“No! No. I don’t want that.”

“Hmmmm. I’ll think about it.” He drops his hands away and kisses my head again. This time, I don’t even react. “Relax and enjoy your treatments, pet.”

Thirteen

Sebastian

I need to jumpin an ice bath. Or go for a fifteen-mile run. Or do basically anything except watch Ophelia being altered just for me. I wish to God I hadn’t grabbed Ophelia’s tit, because now all I can think about is doing it again.

Watching the ladies work on her is beyond fascinating. Anya covers her with a gown and applies shiny dye while Ella puts numbing cream on her lips, then goes to work on her nails. I smile at the glittery fake tips. She’ll hate them.

I don’t, though.

I love trashy little touches on a beautiful girl. Fake nails and eyelashes. Pouty lips. It shouldn’t turn me on as much as it does, and I’m sure it makes me a misogynistic prick, but hey, I have a sex slave now. Misogynistic doesn’t begin to cover that one.

Ophelia tries to get information out of the ladies, but they avoid all risky topics, as I instructed. She learns nothing more about the Compound, the Brotherhood, or me. Instead, she gets to hear all the gossip from the last big social night and a long-winded story about a Ward who got drunk and dared everyone to skinny-dip in the swimming pool. Come to think of it, that might have been Quinn.

The new Ophelia takes shape before my eyes. Once her nails are done, Ella injects the filler into her lips, and I have to force myself not to flinch. It looks painful, and Ophelia’s eyes shine with tears, but it’s over fast. Her lips swell, puffed up and bruised from the treatment, and my cock swells right along with them. She looks good. Better than good. Much, much better.

Eyelashes next, then Anya rinses the dye off her hair and gets to work styling. I feign disinterest, staring at my phone. Stacks of messages from Gabriel and Jacob, questioning where I am and just what exactly I’m doing. Eve and Quinn are demanding to meet Ophelia. They will soon, but not yet. She’s all mine for the rest of the day.

God, this takes a long time. No wonder women are always complaining about it. I’m picky for a guy, but even so, my hair takes twenty-five minutes max. Unable to sit any more, I pace the salon and peer at all the products until finally, finally, Ella says, “Excuse me, sir. She’s all ready.”

I turn, and I swear my soul leaves my fucking body.

Her hair isn’t the sort of tacky, bright color teenagers dye their hair. It’s shiny, curled into loose waves that hang over her shoulders like a sea goddess, and the deep shade of a mountain lake on a clear day. A perfect match to my eyes, but the color makes hers stand out. They’re wide gray pools as she scans herself in the mirror.

The long, dramatic eyelashes frame them, and the effect tightens my chest. And the lips… Christ. This might not have been the best idea I’ve ever had. The blood that was lingering in my brain plummets south, and all I want is to be alone with this beautiful girl.

My girl. My property.

Fuck.

Anya grins and speaks to Ophelia. “See? I told you it’d look stunning. It’s like you were made for that color. You and your man together, my goodness…” She shakes her head. “It’s such a shame they don’t allow babies here. Yours would be something really special.”

It shocks me out of my haze. She wasn’t supposed to drop that information and realizes as soon as it’s out of her mouth. Her hand flies to her lips, and her eyes meet mine. “Oh! I didn’t mean—”

I force my trademark smile to my lips, and she relaxes instantly. “It’s not a problem. I’m sure she’ll be relieved to hear I’ve had a vasectomy. Isn’t that right, pet?”

Ophelia’s mouth drops open, and I’m distracted again, pulled into staring at those lips. I have to be gentle with them for at least a day. Right now, it feels like a life sentence.

I force my mind back to the present. “When we join the Brotherhood, we sacrifice a wife and a family. We get a Ward in return. I’m sure you’ll make it worth my while.”

Ophelia doesn’t answer, and I don’t blame her. Today has been hammer blow after hammer blow. Shock after shock. In her position, I wouldn’t even be hearing words anymore, just buzzing. It often happens when I’m tired. Or when Jacob tries to explain the plot of one of the awful movies he likes.

She heard, though. I don’t know how she feels about having children. I’m sure her family expected her to get married young and start popping out kids to ensure the family line. All families in my dad’s world are the same. Harrison already has a wife. Hopefully she’ll be grateful when I kill the bastard.

“Good,” she finally spits, and it sounds genuine. Is she against pregnancy in general or just against getting knocked up by the man holding her captive? Something else I’ll need to find out about her.

I stand a few feet away, close enough to smell the lingering scent of dye in her hair, and make a show of examining her. “Let me see your hands.”

She huffs but holds one out for my inspection. The nails are fabulously trashy, glittery blue to match her hair. Another savage pulse of desire hits my cock, and the walls of the salon start to close in. We need to go.

“You look incredible.” I mean it, and Ophelia gives me a sharp look.

“I don’t look like me.”

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