Total pages in book: 137
Estimated words: 127201 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 636(@200wpm)___ 509(@250wpm)___ 424(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 127201 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 636(@200wpm)___ 509(@250wpm)___ 424(@300wpm)
Stepping over the threshold, I stride into the private room, crossing to the wall of toys and slowly scanning over them. There’s no sign of Caesar here, but I’m sure it won’t take him long to figure out where I’ve gone. He seems to have a radar for me at all times.
My gaze shifts over the toys, figuring out what intrigues me and what firmly belongs on my hard-pass list. I cross the room, making my way over to the big X frame, and I sweep my fingertips across the small hooks. Then, as if on cue, the overhead lights slowly begin to dim until all I see is faint shadows.
It’s not complete darkness, just some very serious mood lighting, and when I hear the soft thud of the door closing, a thrill sweeps through me.
It’s showtime.
I remain over by the X frame and slowly turn as I hear Caesar moving through the room, passing the wall of toys. “About time you showed up,” I purr, heat pulsing through my body and reminding me just how desperate I’ve been for this over the past twelve days. “I was starting to think you’d bailed on me.”
No response comes, and as the sound of his movement fades away, my back stiffens, trying to figure out where the hell he is. The music out on the main floor is too loud, and it’s impossible to keep tracking him, but it only adds to the thrill.
My gaze sweeps through the room, peering through the darkness as I try to figure out his game plan, but when I feel his breath on the back of my neck and his fingers sweeping down the inside of my arm, a wide smile stretches across my face.
I suck in a breath and lean into his soft touch as he fixes a padded cuff around my wrist, sending a wave of excitement crashing through me. I don’t know exactly what I was expecting tonight, but being cuffed certainly wasn’t it. I don’t hate it, though. I suppose it all comes down to what he intends to do with me once he’s got me where he wants me.
Caesar lifts my cuffed wrist to the X frame, attaching the cuff to the small restraint, keeping me bound to the frame. I glance back at him over my shoulder, watching his movement when he cuts behind the frame and takes my other wrist. I settle into the center of the frame and voluntarily hold out my other wrist, only as he fixes the cuff around it and restrains it to the other side of the massive X, he steps around me.
I follow the movements, my stomach instantly sinking as I quickly realize this person isn’t nearly tall enough to be Caesar. He’s only a little taller than me with a slim build, petite like . . . like a woman.
My heart races, and as she moves in even closer, I can make out her features perfectly.
Annie.
A smug expression crosses her face, looking at me as though she’s somehow won, but what could she have possibly won here? Her son died today, and she has me restrained to an X frame in a BDSM room. What does she think is going to happen? Is she going to whip me until I cry? Spank me until I stutter out some half-assed apology?
She moves right into me, gripping my chin in a tight hold. “Well, this looks familiar, doesn’t it?”
I spit at her, knowing she’s referring to the storm cellar and how they had me chained by my wrists. “Whatever you think is going to happen here, you’re wrong. Caesar is already looking for me.”
Annie scoffs and reaches for my strapless dress, gripping the small zip and dragging it right down my body until the fabric falls to the ground, leaving me in nothing but the black lace underwear I’d carefully picked out for Caesar.
“You murdered my son,” she tells me, looking over my body as though it disgusts her. “And today, you will pay for what you did.”
I laugh, kicking out at her. “Your son was a psychopath,” I tell her. “He signed his own death certificate the second he decided to fuck with me.”
Her eyes flare with rage, a crazed wildness flashing within them and showing me just how similar to her son she really is. They’re both psychotic. “Say what you want,” she says, dipping her hand into her pocket and pulling out a long piece of black material. “But either way, you get what’s coming for you.”
“What the fuck are you—” she cuts me off as she reaches up, grips my chin, and forces the black material into my mouth. I try to fight her off, yanking against my cuffed wrists as I whip my head back and forth, but she holds me tighter, and despite biting at her fingers and spitting back, she forces it in until there’s not a damn thing I can do about it. The remainder of the fabric is wrapped around my head and knotted at the nape of my neck, leaving me unable to scream.