“I’m going to enjoy watching you suffer a bit, baby. I kind of like seeing you on the floor, writhing in agony. Then again, maybe I’ll just walk away and leave you here while you’re completely vulnerable.”
His words were cold and cruel, but she saw the barely contained hurt underneath and knew she had read him correctly earlier. He was angry at her perceived betrayal and anguished that she had left him while he was injured.
Guilt ripped through her and she couldn’t ignore it, though it was a preposterous reaction. She had acted sensibly and fled her kidnapper. She hadn’t betrayed her lover. Right? God, even she didn’t know, and she couldn’t focus on it as sensations returned to her battered body that left her rolling on the floor in agony, as he’d predicted.
Gradually, the terrible pain faded, and she was finally able to take a deep breath and sit up, drawing her knees to her chest. Her muscles still trembled slightly, making her body quiver, and the chill in the air had permeated deep into her flesh, but she was going to survive—this, anyway. She still didn’t know what revenge Shane had planned for her.
“Can you walk now?” He didn’t offer assistance.
Gingerly, she got to her feet, swaying slightly before putting a hand against the wall to brace herself. He just watched her struggle until she nodded. “I think so.”
Without another word, he grabbed hold of her upper arm and started hustling her toward the door leading from this section of the basement. Mia stopped moving when she realized he meant to take her through the house in her current state. “Please let me have my clothes first.”
With a muttered sigh, clearly impatient, Shane dragged her behind him to a table where Wallace had left her clothes. He dug out the hoodie and tossed it to her. “Hurry up.”
Mia slid the garment over her aching arms, wincing as she overextended the strained muscles before zipping the fleece up to her neck. Thank goodness it was old and oversized, meaning it fell to mid-thigh and would provide enough coverage to mostly maintain her modesty in front of the household staff and Shane’s goons.
Determined not to look weak or victimized—or betray her fear—Mia squared her shoulders and walked beside Shane. She didn’t meet the gazes of the few people they encountered, nor did she drop her head with shame. None of them knew for sure that she was being punished, and it mattered to her not to appear weak to them, though she didn’t know why.
She let the cool mask lapse a bit when Shane escorted her into his room. She’d half-expected to end up back in the bedroom where he’d kept her confined initially, so it was surprising to be in his suite.
A loud meow greeted her, and she bent down carefully, conscious of the stiffness permeating her body, to greet her cat. Clovis wound around her ankles and purred as she rubbed his head. She had to bite back the urge to apologize for leaving him without a thought the night she had run from the ballet.
“He’s glad you’re back.”
There was no emotion in Shane’s tone, but Mia hoped he wasn’t talking only about her cat. She nodded a bit. “I missed him.” Refusing to say more because she didn’t want to reveal her own vulnerability and uncertainties, she stood up carefully. “Now what?”
“A reminder.”
She watched his hand flex and release, her tension rising. “Of what?”
“Ownership.” Shane’s expression went from neutral to cold, with a hint of cruelty and a strong note of anger. “Strip.”
She thought about resisting for half a second but discarded the notion. For one thing, she wasn’t in top physical form to fight him and would quickly lose. Also—and she chastised herself for being a moron—she didn’t want him to further injure himself. And the dark part of her that she couldn’t comfortably embrace didn’t want to fight her reminder and was actually looking forward to his unique form of discipline with sick glee.
Her hands trembled a bit when she unzipped the hoodie and let it fall to the floor. His room was a lot warmer than the basement, but her nipples still beaded at the first touch of cold air. Or perhaps it was just the hungry visual touch of his gaze on her breasts that spurred the reaction.
“Sit down.” He waved to the chaise lounge.
Meekly, Mia backed toward it, letting herself sink onto the sumptuous brocade when her calves touched the side of the piece. She stared up at him, licked her lips, and winced when she again encountered the cut on her lower lip.
“Have you forgotten who owns you, Mia?” he asked in a chillingly soft voice as he stalked toward her.
She glared at him, refusing to give him the answer he wanted. As conflicted as she was about her feelings for him, she wasn’t going to allow him to claim he owned her. His rough hand grabbing her hair made her wince, but she remained silent as he wound the strands around his fist.
“Every strand of hair on your head belongs to me.” He tugged forcefully, pulling her head backward as his hips jutted forward. “Take out my dick.”
She clamped her lips closed, maintaining an angry scowl as she lifted her hands to his elastic-waist pants. He’d never worn something so casual before in her presence, and she supposed it had been a convenient option for dressing one-handed. It was also likely his primary motivator for making her remove his erection from the soft linen. That, and he wanted to humiliate her and enforce his supremacy over her.
She hated the way that thought sent a tingle of arousal through her core. Mia pushed down the waistband and his cock sprang free. He hadn’t bothered with underwear.
Still gripping her hair, wrapped several times around his hand, he took his length in that hand, rubbing her hair up and down his erection and pulling her forward in the same motion. “If I want to do this with your hair, it’s my right.” With a sharp tug, he pulled her head back again. “If I want to drag you across the room by your hair, that’s also my right.”
Tears blurred her vision from the pain in her scalp, but she refused to let them fall. “You’re a bastard.”
He sneered as he untangled himself from her hair. A second later, he cupped her chin in a punishing grip. “Who owns that smart mouth, Mia?”
“Fuck you.” She whimpered when he squeezed a bit more, rubbing his thumb roughly across the sore spot on her lower lip.
