This night is the definition of chaos.
It started with me being a little mad.
Well, not mad—upset. A little bit sad, too.
So I went to the club because I was trying my hardest to stop being so upset.
Did it work?
Partially. Okay, no, it didn’t. Not really.
My mood became gloomier after the text exchange, but I danced and drank to forget about it. The icing on the cake was Creighton actually showing up to a club—shocker, I know—to stake a claim on me in public. Again.
My lips still tingle from his punishing kiss, from the way he devoured me whole and left me no room to breathe.
Or think straight.
Or remember that I’m actually slightly wounded by him.
After he gave me coffee to sober up, the car ride has been spent in utter silence. Every time I’ve tried to speak, he casts me a glare, and if I insist, he adds to the ‘punishments’ count.
He reached four before I gave up, crossed my arms, and stared out the window.
Because screw him.
He’s the reason I’ve been in this mood and even needed a venting outlet. I’m simply not going to feel bad about that.
This isn’t the first time I’ve been in Creigh’s Range Rover. He used to drive a Porsche, but a week ago, I complained that it was too small when he told me to sit on his lap, so he changed it two days later.
When I asked him if he had anything to tell me, like maybe he did it for me, the heartless idiot only said, “It’s nothing. This is an old gift from my favorite grandfather, Agnus.”
On good days, Creighton is cold, but on bad days, like today, he’s no different than the ice of the Arctic Ocean.
The car slows to a halt in front of a giant mansion’s gate that resembles my brother’s.
This is the first time I’ve been here, but I can already tell it’s the Elites’ compound.
The black metal gates open and Creighton drives inside, passing a well-manicured lawn until we reach the circular driveway.
The building is nothing short of a regal castle, definitely less gothic than the Heathens’, and reeks of the powerful old money the entire REU is made of.
“Get out.” Creighton’s voice is deadpan, almost lifeless, and that causes my skin to crawl.
I’m probably sober if I can be assaulted by feelings this way.
As soon as he steps out of his car, I unbuckle my seatbelt and stumble outside. I only had like two drinks and I’m obviously a lightweight, because that was enough to get me tipsy.
But I’m not anymore and something else has been keeping me on edge.
Or, more specifically, someone.
“Follow me.” Creighton starts in the direction of the huge front door.
“Can you stop dishing out orders?”
“Five, and no.”
I clamp my lips shut and fall in step beside him, arms crossed, body rigid, and with frustration bubbling in my veins instead of blood.
Rather than focusing on the asshole, I choose to study my surroundings. The interior is as elegant as the exterior, considering the marble flooring, baroque wallpaper, gold-trimmed railings, and classical furniture.
They could definitely invite the queen for tea if they felt like it.
Creighton leads me up the stairs, where we pass a few closed doors before he pushes one open and motions me inside.
I step in carefully, expecting to find some torture devices that suit his character.
My feet come to a stop right past the entryway. It’s just a bedroom.
All gray like England’s sky and could use a splash of color, but it’s still a normal guy’s bedroom.
A breath whooshes out of my lungs, but it catches when the distinctive click of a lock echoes in the air.
I spin around, but I’m not even fully facing him when his fingers wrap around my nape and he flings me against the wall.
My front slams on the hard surface and his collides with my back. Tall, muscular, imposing.
Threatening.
His hot breaths meet my ear and he whispers in dark words, “Mind telling me what you were thinking?”
I attempt to look behind me, meet his eyes, but his merciless grip forbids any movement.
“About?” I try to sound calm, even as my insides quiver and explode in a thousand colors all at the same time.
“Don’t fuck with me, Annika. Did you go to that club with Remi and Bran to prove a point? Maybe to pick up your fake boyfriend plan where you left off?”
“It’s not like that…”
“Then what is it like? What made you go out with them without asking me to come along?”
“You don’t even like clubs.”
“And I don’t like dates or dancing, or the fucking cinema, but I’ve obviously been doing all of those. So why don’t you tell me the reason behind tonight’s little rebellion? Were you trying to be a brat?”
My lips press in a line and I stare at the wall, summoning patience that’s nowhere to be found.
Creighton tightens his hold on my nape. “I’ll take that as a yes.”
“No,” I murmur.
“Then what is it?”
I remain silent for a beat and his hand comes down on my ass, hard. I yelp as the sting spreads across my whole body and settles between my legs.
“For every second you stay silent, your arse is mine to punish.”
Slap.
I get on my tiptoes, my heart hammering in an unnatural rhythm. I can feel the stiffness of his chest against my back, I can sense how much he’s repressing and how far he wants to go with this particular punishment.
If it were up to him, he’d probably crush my limits and leave me with nothing.
Hell, maybe he’ll leave me and I’ll have nothing.
I’ve been trying so hard to understand him that I didn’t stop and think to help him understand me, too. Mum said relationships can only be formed when there’s a middle ground, and in order to find that, I have to communicate what I feel.
“I was upset,” I admit in a low tone, hating how vulnerable I sound.
His hand squeezes my ass, but he doesn’t spank me, even as his voice remains clipped. “About?”
“It’s my birthday tomorrow and I was looking forward to this one in particular because I’m turning eighteen. So this morning, when I asked if you had plans tomorrow and you said yes, I was upset that you have other plans on my birthday. But it’s not fair to be upset when you probably don’t remember my birthday since I told you about it a few weeks ago. I realized I was being immature and I chose to vent that energy at the club.”
I can feel the in-and-out of his breaths against my back. How it’s slowed after quickening, matching the rhythm of his strokes against my ass.
Silence stretches between us, but I don’t try to fill it. I wait for him to mull over his words before he speaks them.
“You should’ve told me that.”
“Have you missed the part where I said I thought I was being immature? I’m embarrassed to even talk about it now, so can we drop it?”
“No.”
“Creighton—”
“The plans I had were with you.”
I pause the self-shaming display at the low tenor of his words. I heard that correctly, right? He had plans for me?
Every single one of our dates has been in one way or another planned by me and he’s just come along for the ride. This is the first time he’s planned something.
I attempt to look at him, but he still won’t allow it, so I stare at the wall, relishing his authoritative touch. “What…what did you plan?”
“You have no right to know when you pissed me off.”
“But I didn’t mean to.”
“Yes, you did. You were being a brat on purpose because you missed your punishments. You’ve been a bad girl, Annika, and do you know what happens to bad girls?”
My body presses back against his as that familiar tension builds in my core. He has a way of waking my most demented desires with a mere change of his inflection.
The moment his voice lowers, I know I’m in deep trouble.
“They get eaten out.”
Slap.
I flinch at the hit, but his grip still forbids me from moving.
“Creigh…please.”
“No amount of begging will save you tonight.” His hand slides from my ass to my hip and to the curve of my waist before stroking the skin of my back. “You should’ve never been in that club dressed like a present waiting to be unwrapped. You should’ve never defied me.”
He fists the fabric of my dress, then rips it in one savage go, and I gasp. It’s not only due to his aggressiveness, but it’s also because of the stimulations invading me all at once.
My breast slips from the built-in bra and the dress pools on the floor and I remain in nothing more than my panties.
Absolutely soaked panties.
How could a few spanks and the change of his tone be enough to turn me into this mess?
Creighton pushes off me, and my skin tingles where his hands touched me.
“Lie down on the bed.”
His authoritative tone leaves no room for negotiation, and I stumble in the direction of the bed and then lie on the messy sheets.
They smell like him, all male and addictive. It takes everything in me not to hug his pillow to my chest or something.
Creighton reaches into his closet and I strain to see what he’s up to.
He reappears again with a black leather bag. Usually, I would comment on its fashion and quality, but I don’t get the chance to before he starts to retrieve ropes from it.
His low, rich, and absolutely collected voice rings through the room, then strikes my skin. “I planned to get you more immersed in pain, to train and discipline you better before bringing you to this point, but you had to go and provoke me, little purple.”
Ropes.
Ropes.
More ropes.
I swallow the lump that’s gathered in my throat, but it only grows in size.
Creighton drops the bag on the bed and climbs up. The mattress dips with his weight as he straddles my middle with his knees on either side and grabs both my wrists with one hand and shoves them above my head.
His jeans create a heated friction against my naked flesh, causing goosebumps to erupt and multiply at a scary speed.
“Creigh…”
“Shh.” He wraps the rope around one wrist and secures it to the metal headboard and then does the same to the other.
I try to pull my hands, but the knots he’s made get tighter with every attempt. Shit. He’s an expert at this, isn’t he?
Creighton pushes off me, appearing way bigger than I remember him as he stands opposite me.
I lift my head, watching him grab an ankle and tie it to the foot of the bed. Then he repeats the move with my other foot so that I’m completely stretched out on the mattress and only my panties offer any sort of barrier.
And I need that right now.
While he was tying me up, I was kind of hyperventilating. And although I enjoyed the foreplay of punishment and pleasure, this situation is different.
I’m completely at his mercy, where I wouldn’t be able to escape even if I wanted to.
I’m trapped by a cold-blooded, ruthless monster who wants a pound of my flesh.
Literally.
Figuratively.
Creighton rummages in his bag that’s on the floor and reemerges with a blindfold.
I shake my head frantically.
Yes, I’m agitated, but I would rather see what he has in store for me, even if it’s too much to handle.
He lifts my jaw with two fingers, then skims his thumb over my parted lips. “You’ll be my pretty little doll tonight, Annika. I’ll use your pale flesh as my canvas and mold you into my plaything until you’re all stuffed with my cock, sobbing and screaming my name. The only thing you’ll have to stop me is that one word.”
And then he straps the blindfold over my eyes, turning my world black.
My mind races the moment my vision is confiscated.
He’s right. I have that word and I can stop this.
I can.
But for some reason, I don’t want to. At least, not now.
So I breathe slowly, like whenever he had me on his lap or on a table. In a way, this isn’t any different. I’m just tied to the bed.
Besides, it’s not like he allowed me to move before, even if I wasn’t bound.
This is exactly the same situation in a different setting.
Or I’m just deluding myself.
My senses heighten due to my loss of sight. My ears home in on the slightest sound, my nose gets permeated with Creighton’s scent, and my skin becomes so sensitive that I can barely handle the soft sheets.
A sound comes from off to the side and I figure out he’s rummaging through his bag of terror again.
Anticipation and thrill mix together, warring inside me until I think I’ll throw up.
My breath catches when the noise stops and I feel him hovering over me, watching me silently, expectantly.
Then something cold touches my stomach and slides down to the waist of my panties.
“C-Creighton?”
“I love it when you call my name in that scared little voice. It turns me on.”
A whole-body shiver slashes through me because I have no doubt that my fear is his catalyst and that he gets off on it and my pain.
Still sliding the cold—now warmer—thing over my stomach, he bunches my panties with his fist, pulling them against my clit.
My body arches off the bed as inexplicable pleasure washes through me. How could the helplessness and the darkness turn me on this much?
I’m so sensitive that a mere rub of my clothes is enough to send me into overstimulation.
A slitting sound brings me out of my reverie.
Air hits my core as my panties are removed. And then something plastic is placed at my mouth.
“Suck.”
I part my lips at his command and wrap them around what feels like a ball.
“Good girl.”
My movements become more enthusiastic at his praise, and I suck and lick as if it were his cock.
Too soon, Creighton pulls out whatever he put in my mouth and runs it down my clit, between my folds. He teases, rubbing and sliding it through my wetness until I’m writhing.
Then he thrusts it inside me. I jerk as the object—a sex toy, I assume—fills me. And then a slow humming starts in my core and against my clit.
A shiver goes through me at the tame stimulation, almost like a tender touch, which Creighton is too cold to ever offer.
“We’ll play a game.” He glides the tip of the object he first touched me with over the hard tips of my nipples. “If you don’t come by the end of your five punishment strokes, I’ll let you go. If you do come, however…you’re mine to devour.”
I gulp, but it turns to a full-on shriek when his first slap lands on my tender breasts.
Fire spreads across my skin and eats me up from the inside out. The place where he struck me burns and tingles in a chaotic mayhem.
It’s a crop, I think. He’s punishing me with a crop.
Holy shit. I didn’t sign up for this.
Or did I?
Creighton has always been transparent about who he is and what his tendencies are. He’s never once said he’d offer me normal or vanilla.
Hell, he even bluntly announced that he doesn’t date, doesn’t believe in the whole relationship charade, and has deviant tastes.
Singular cravings.
Violent tendencies.
With time, I’ve figured out he’s a natural Dom and an unabashed sadist who’s brought out the masochist in me.
In a way, I’ve been falling into that rhythm, into his abnormality. I like the freedom that loss of control offers.
I relish the feeling of not having to count my every step, be a perfect mafia princess and everyone’s favorite person.
I crave the depravity and freedom he offers in a ‘take it or leave it’ deal.
But maybe I overestimated my pain tolerance abilities.
When the second slap comes, tears soak the blindfold and stream down my cheeks. The safe word is at the tip of my tongue.
I can end this.
If I choose to, I’ll end this.
The third strike hits me with something completely different than excruciating pain. The vibration in my core and clit heightens until it’s everything I feel.
By the fourth stroke, a moan and a sob tear from the back of my throat.
Pleasure pools between my legs and I try to clench them together, but that only tightens the binds around my ankles.
A foreign itch starts in my core, burning, waiting, throbbing for release.
I want to come.
I want to come.
I want to come.
I’ve never experienced this type of stimulation before and I think it’ll be the death of me. That, somehow, I’ll faint right here, right now with the need to just come.
“Creigh…p-please…please…” I don’t recognize my voice or the lust in it.
I don’t recognize the need rippling, aching, contracting in my core.
He runs his crop over my hard nipples and I shudder.
“This is supposed to be a punishment, little purple, remember? And yet your cunt is dripping a pool on the mattress. So messy.”
“Please…please…”
“Please what?” He teases the tips of my excruciatingly painful and stimulated breasts. “Let you come?”
Unable to find words, I nod frantically.
“But that’s a privilege exclusive to good girls, and you haven’t been one tonight, Annika. Do not come.”
The crop swishes in the air before it slaps my nipples again.
I’m a goner.
The wave that slashes through me is so different from any other orgasm I’ve experienced before. The power of it nearly blinds me.
It’s a mixture of pain, pleasure, sobs, moans, and an unending throbbing ache.
It’s a symphony of contracting muscles and a flooding arousal.
My nails dig into the rope for dear life as I fall on and on with no landing in sight.
A low, dark tutting sound surrounds me.
“I told you not to come, didn’t I?” The rich darkness of his tone freezes me in place.
The mattress dips and soon after, he removes the blindfold.
I blink away the tears as light blinds my now sensitive eyes. That’s when I see Creighton between my legs, his pants half down and his hard cock cradled in his hand.
He does a long jerk, handling himself with assertive roughness that dries my mouth. “I’m going to rip through your cunt and own you, Annika. I’ll mark you so no one dares to come near you again.”
Before I can say anything, he wrenches the sex toy away and thrusts inside me in one go.
His groan and my gasp mix and echo in the air. If I thought the toy filled me, then he’s tearing me apart.
My whole body jolts and I hold on to the ropes for dear life.
Creighton stops, and his ocean eyes turn from dark lust to bewildered lust. “You’re…a virgin?”
“It’s okay,” I breathe out, nails digging into the rope. “It’s okay if it’s you.”
“Fuck,” he curses low, so low that I hardly hear him.
Then he reaches to the side and retrieves a knife. Please don’t tell me that’s what he used to remove my panties earlier.
With expert moves, he cuts the rope around my wrists, pulls me against him, then reaches back to undo my ankles.
All while his cock fills me to the brim and the welts on my breasts throb, eliciting both pleasure and pain.
Creighton lies me back on the bed, his hands on either side of my face. His ocean eyes get lost in mine, dark and unyielding, as he slowly rocks his hips. “A fucking virgin. Why didn’t you tell me you were a virgin, Annika, hmm?”
“I didn’t think it mattered,” I say between moans, falling into the rhythm of his cock.
“It matters if I was planning to fuck you like an animal.”
I reach out both hands, ignoring the red marks on my wrists, and place my palms on his cheeks. “I like it when you’re an animal.”
“Fuck.”
He says it in a voice that’s barely audible before he crashes his lips to mine and thrusts into me. I can tell he’s suppressing his true self in his attempts not to hurt me.
But when I dig my nails into his back and rock my hips, he ups his rhythm on and on until he’s wrecking me from the inside out.
The ache from the welts adds to the friction and he pushes back to whisper, “Do you feel how your cunt strangles my cock, demanding more? It’s my cunt, isn’t it?”
I nod, letting the pleasure wash all over me.
“Say it.”
“It’s yours…”
“Tell me to fuck my pussy as I want.”
“Fuck your pussy whichever and whatever way you want.” I shudder.
“Fuck.” Thrust. “Your cunt was made for me.” Thrust. “You are made for me.”
He slides all the way out, then slams back in. My vision whitens as the orgasm hits me with a strength I didn’t think was possible after the pleasure from earlier.
This time, I call his name as he pounds and pounds until I’m driven to the edge, literally and figuratively.
“Creighton… Creigh…”
“I love it when you call my name with that erotic little voice of yours.” He strokes my lips, my cheek, my nose, peppering hard kisses everywhere. “I love your face when you’re being ripped apart by my cock.” His rhythm goes up and up until the headboard bangs against the wall from the power behind his brutal fucking. “But most of all, I love how you take me like a good fucking girl.”
I’m not sure if it’s a continuation of the first orgasm or a new one, but his words coupled with his intense touch make me come again.
And again.
Creighton’s lips meet the hollow of my throat before he bites down hard as he empties inside me with a grunt.
Pleasure with pain.
No pleasure without pain.
The stronger the pain, the greater the pleasure.
I think I start to understand that concept as I fall slack in his arms with a smile on my lips.
I’m not sure if it’s a dream, but I can feel him cocooning me, touching my throat, then kissing my cheek and whispering, “Happy birthday, little purple.”
