My rage and hatred snuffed out like a candle in a storm. I’d never been so out of control. My emotions had held me hostage and I’d snapped—for the first time since my mother left—I’d succumbed to the intense freedom of bitterness.
Jethro dragged me backward, his dress shoes crunching against gravel. He didn’t wait for me to back-peddle, just clutched me hard, dragging me like an already dead corpse. “You’ve surprised me twice tonight, and I haven’t liked either of them. You’ve pissed me off. So much so that—”
Slamming to a halt, he shoved my shoulder blades. “Get on your knees.”
I wheeled forward, crashing from standing to landing on all fours.
No!
I winced as the driveway bit into my palms; my knees throbbed as sharp pebbles cut into my skin. I looked up, my face swollen and achy from unpermitted tears welling as deep as a bottomless lake.
This was the truth. This humiliation and admittance of power, not the farce he’d painted.
Jethro towered above, his legs planted wide, face etched in livid anger. “I’m a firm advocator of rewarding good behaviour but after tonight you’ve proven there is nothing to reward. You’re wild, unwilling, and a spoiled brat who will learn her place.”
Leaning down, he grabbed my long hair, jerking it hard. “Did you honestly think, after an outburst like that, that you’d deserve the comfort of a bed? Why do it, Ms. Weaver, when you knew what was on the line?”
I couldn’t speak. My throat was pulled back, the pressure stopping all sounds and swallows.
“I have a good mind to fuck you right here. To smash whatever sense of entitlement or hope you’re holding onto.” He shook me.
My eyes watered at the pain.
“You’re not hearing me. This is your life now. I am your only friend. Stop. Pissing. Me. Off.”
You’re not my friend. I have one, and his name isn’t Jethro.
Kite.
I didn’t think I’d want to message him so soon, but I needed someone from the outside world. I needed reminding that the universe hadn’t entered an alternate dimension and there was still hope.
When I remained silent, Jethro snarled, “You’re sleeping with the dogs. They have better obedience than you, perhaps you can learn from them on what we expect.”
I sniffed, fighting so hard against the tears.
I didn’t even care that I wouldn’t sleep in a bed. I was past worrying about sanitary conditions or nutritious food. All I wanted was freedom. All I needed was some time alone to gather my scattered self-worth and remember who I was.
“Move,” Jethro breathed, his beloved silence smoothing his outburst from before. “Don’t make me show you how a good dog moves.”
He wants you to crawl.
It had begun.
This was the beginning. And I’d brought it upon myself.
He wants to destroy you.
Using my hair as the leash, Jethro paced beside me as I went from stationary to crawling. I crawled like an animal. I crawled like a pet. I crawled through manicured gardens, past ponds, and statues, all the way from manor to kennel.
I STRETCHED, LOOKING up at my ceiling. The plasterwork around the huge chandelier never failed to let me know who I was.
A Hawk.
The intricate rosettes and architraving was a testament to my namesake. Birds of prey swooped, hunted, and devoured small animals from above.
My hard cock lay heavily against my stomach. My hands clenched beneath my head. I was so fucking close to breaking the rules and taking Nila last night. She’d pushed me too far. I’d wanted to see how smart her mouth could be with my dick jammed down her throat.
I should’ve taken her.
Removing my hand from beneath my pillow, I grasped my morning wood and stroked. My eyes snapped closed as I imagined a different outcome to last night.
Nila’s pink plump lips opening. Me sliding inside her mouth. My balls tightening as her timid tongue welcomed my cock. She’d lick me just like she’d done my thumb. Eager, inexperienced—a novice with so much to give.
I’d rock forward, holding her head, giving her no choice but to take more of my length.
I’d thrust harder, driving her from accepting to choking.
Fuck.
My hand worked tight and fast. The large bed creaked as I arched my back, giving into the fantasy of blowing down Nila Weaver’s throat.
Fuck, yes. Take it. Yes.
My quads tightened, and I groaned as the first spasm of release shot from my balls, creating a sticky mess on my stomach.
Choke on it. Love it.
Fantasy Nila kept sucking me, drawing another wave of pleasure. I liked her a lot more with my cock in her mouth. She was silent. Incapacitated.
I shivered as the last spurt of my orgasm joined the mess. I opened my eyes.
“Goddammit.” I hadn’t meant to do that. I should’ve summoned a club whore to come and suck me off. Masturbating wasn’t necessary when there were countless willing women ready to service me at the snap of my fingers.
Fuck it. It was a long night. I deserved a little…unwinding.
It’s going to be an even longer day.