Page 69 of Puck'N Enemy
Reaching for it, I slowly open the golden zipper.
I expect the bag to contain clean clothes but the first thing I notice is a rope. Its thick length is wrapped into a neat coil and is silky-smooth to the touch.
Rummaging through the bag, I find bottles of lubricant, a set of silk blindfolds, and a pair of leather cuffs polished to a shine. There’s even a small riding crop, wrapped carefully in plastic like a prized toy.
A cold shiver runs through me as I stare at the contents of the bag. Horror, like I’ve never felt before, settles deep into my bones as I realize Pete’s intentions for me.
He doesn’t just want to scare me or hold me prisoner.
Pete wants to tie me up, strip away my dignity, and snatch away every shred of freedom from me. He’s going to stealevery ounce of pleasure from my body until I’m left broken and useless.
My stomach churns with cold dread. Snapping the bag shut, I squeeze my eyes shut.
I can already feel the phantom sensation of the rope cutting into my wrists, the weight of Pete’s hands holding me down. I wish Pete would just kill me. It’d be so much better than letting him ruin my body and my soul.
Leaning back against the couch, I stare blankly at the ceiling, fighting another wave of nausea.
As the seconds tick by in this beautiful, hollow cage of a penthouse, I realize one thing with crushing certainty.
There’s no escape for me.
The hours creep by in silence.
The afternoon light dims into a dusky orange glow, stretching long shadows across the pristine marble floor. I sit stiffly on the couch, my muscles wound tight and every nerve on edge.
The door finally opens, the soft click of it sounding louder than a gunshot.
Pete steps in casually, acting like he owns the world. He carries a faint trace of cologne, sharp and clean, masking the filth beneath. His quiet confidence makes my stomach twist.
Pete’s lips curl into a slow smile as he gazes at me. “You’re such a good boy, Dylan,” he murmurs. “You didn’t try anything stupid.”
I stay quiet, hating the way he’s talking to me.
Pete drops his jacket on the back of the couch and walks toward me at a slow, unhurried pace. “Do you know how long I’ve been waiting for this?” he says softly, his voice smooth but with an undercurrent of steel. “Years, Dylan.Years. Even when I was in prison, I spent the nights thinking about what I’d do to you when I finally had you again. And here you are.”
My hands ball into tight fists.
Moving closer, Pete tilts my chin up with two fingers. “Don’t look so scared,” he whispers. “I’m not going to kill you. Not yet, anyway. I just want to remind you who owns you.”
I jerk my chin away, glaring. But it only makes Pete smirk wider.
“You think Logan’s going to save you?” he asks, chuckling coldly. “He won’t. He can’t. If you behave, maybe I’ll let his sweet little family live. If you don’t…” He leans in, lips brushing my ear. “I’ll make sure you hear their screams before I’m done with you.”
Bile rises to my throat, making me want to hurl. Pete knows exactly what to threaten me with.
Straightening up, he strips his suit jacket and tosses it aside. “Take off your clothes, Dylan. I want to see every inch of you that I own.”
When I don’t move, he roughly grabs me by the front of my shirt. He yanks hard, tearing the buttons off.
“Stop—don’t—”
“Shh,” Pete whispers almost soothingly. “Don’t make this harder than it needs to be.”
Piece by piece, he takes my clothes off, leaving me bare and exposed in the soft evening light. Humiliation burns my skin, making me want to run and hide somewhere.
Pete’s fingers run down my arm before grasping my wrist in a hard grip. Pulling me roughly, he guides me to the bedroom.
It’s darker here. The heavy curtains are drawn, making me feel claustrophobic. The scent of leather lingers in the air, telling me this isn’t the first time Pete’s brought someone in here.
