20. CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Leighton

A week has come and gone since my hypnosis therapy session.

A week of freedom in my body and soul.

Seven days where Marcus has fucked me on every available surface in the house. Where he's made me eat, drink and sleep with varying butt plugs stretching my ass. Each one of them has Marcus's property engraved onto them, I discovered.

Everything he's done serves to tell me he owns me.

And I love that.

I love his patience even more. While he's been training me. Stretching me. Coaxing another part of me to accept him.

Through routine.

Each day in his glass house has started the same. Morning exercise, food, then therapy, where he asked me about my life. About the parts that he hadn't been privy to, that I hadn't talked about with anyone. Not even Ry.

Each day, we had hypnosis sessions scheduled right after.

In each of them, I made progress as well. Just not enough.

According to Marcus, my consciousness had been censoring my subconscious. Marcus has been asking why I resented him for kidnapping me. My answers have been a repetitive string of blabbering. Pink sequin bikini and blue eyes .

As in, Rylan.

The friend I haven't heard from or about from Marcus.

Neither of us has brought her up other than in our therapy sessions. In fact, he hasn't brought up our sessions outside his study. Other than to reassure me I've been doing great, he's said nothing.

He's been hugging and loving harder when the tears of frustration started to flow.

No matter how much I cried, the door in my head didn't budge. My mind shut me out, keeping this secret to itself.

Marcus leaves it at that, doesn't push too hard. He explained once that under hypnosis, he's searched, not drilling. A forced intrusion could break me, and he'd die before he'd do that.

Which left us at a dead-end for the time being.

It was the reason I've been sleeping alone at night, as well. So his presence wouldn't derail the process. So I had time to get used to our lives together without him being there twenty-four-seven.

So my soul would learn to love him .

Because my mind couldn't get over the fact that what we had was wrong. While in a trance, my mind told me Marcus was dangerous. In my waking hours, I couldn't stop thinking he was a psycho. That I'm a psycho for loving him. But I loved him regardless.

I. Loved. Him.

That's why I let him creep outside our bedroom and spend the night in the study, on the therapy couch. It crushed my soul, and yet he convinced me it's for the best.

He's a psycho. He's a soft and cruel and tenacious madman. His insanity bleeds into everything he does. Into every second of our every day.

It's infectious. My job ceases to matter while I'm here with him. He emails my parents every day, reassuring them I'm doing great on my vacation. And I'm okay with it.

I hate that I do.

Doesn't matter, though. I trust him.

"Where'd your mind just go?" Marcus strokes my hair.

We're lying on the bed, tucked under the covers. He's on his back, and I curl into his chest, my leg sprawled over his large ones.

I'm comfy in a white jersey dress that reaches down to my ankles and nothing else. He's in his therapist attire. The expensive material of his gray slacks is smooth beneath me. When my hand runs over his white button-down, I feel the ridges of his abs. All eight of them.

We're not lazing around, despite what it looks like. Per our morning routine schedule, ten in the morning is cuddling time .

Before that, he brought me coffee and breakfast at eight, then followed me to the bathroom. A quarter to nine is the time to walk around and stretch my limbs. Nine-fifteen is when we shower together—his second for the day—and my branded butt plug goes in next.

And now is his time to pacify me. Marcus's soft side makes an appearance at ten. It's the side that's responsible for soothing me, for lowering my guard before our sessions.

He's preparing me for the coming mind invasion.

"I was thinking about our sessions." My bottom lip juts out, a sign of my disappointment in myself.

"Okay." Marcus leans in to nip the pouty lip. Another sweet gesture that has me smiling. "Talk to me, plaything. What's bothering you?"

My chest deflates. Marcus's supportive gaze encourages me to open up, regardless. It always does.

"I'm…" Since he forbids me to use the word failing , I opt for others. "I'm not making progress. What if I'm broken?"

"Don't ever say that." His expression darkens. A storm brews behind his black eyes. "Call me a psycho all you want. Hate yourself for our shared depravity. But don't ever say your soul is broken. It's not. Your mind isn't, either. You're a beautiful enigma. Our happy ending—"

A cloud of self-hatred hovers over me in an instant. "Our sick one."

Marcus grinds his teeth. His jaw tics. He's done being nice; I can read the signs by now. I can read them very, very well .

"I see the softer approach isn't working for us." He's out of the bed, gripping my waist and pulling me to him without a shred of effort. "Want to know what's sick, Leigh?"

The part of me that's still refusing to embrace our situation rebels against him. My fingers clutch onto the sheets, my heels digging into the bed.

"Look at you, begging for punishment." Marcus shakes his head. "And I haven't even started yet."

"I don't want to know what's sick," I shriek as he throws me over his shoulder. I kick and punch him. My voice cracks, when I admit, "I'm scared I'll hate you if I do."

"You might. Temporarily. Then you'll love me." The conviction in his voice does an annoyingly good job. He's draining my fight out of me. "You don't need me to tell you that."

I clutch at his dress shirt, rumpling it. "Tell me."

He doesn't.

Marcus strides through the vast room toward the closet he keeps locked at all times. He's the one who chooses my daily outfits, picking out the garments that please him. I don't go in there.

Today, I will.

"Here we are. You need me to shock you again, little doll. To do something abrupt." He maintains a firm hold on the back of my legs while fishing a key from his pocket. "I'm the one who's been failing. You're my responsibility. You're mine to look after. I've been too lenient. Trying hard to hide what I am so you'd get comfortable around me. "

The lock on the door clicks. I hear the doorknob twist and the whoosh of the door as he pushes it open.

My tummy swoops. I dread what's hiding in there.

He'd already shown me the pictures. Already told me he tampered with my pills. Jerked off on my face while I slept.

What else could possibly shock me? What could be worse than this?

More toys? An X-cross to hang me on for days while he drinks my blood slowly?

The dead body of the man-child who tried to rape me in my freshman year in college? I mean, I made Ry swear not to tell, but if Marcus has been stalking me—

"No." A shiver runs up my spine, and I whimper. "No. Tell me he's not…tell me h-h-he…"

Marcus's low growl sends a wave of tremors through me. "I fucking wish it was Anthony's mutilated corpse I'm hiding here."

What?

"How do you know about Anthony?"

Marcus doesn't spin me to the room yet.

"Rylan and I share a cloud," he explains in a low, determined voice.

"You read all her messages?"

"Only your conversations with her." His fingers dig into my thighs. The rage he hides in his voice is ever-present in his violence. "You're lucky to have had Rylan there. So is he. If she wouldn't have kicked his ass and fractured his miserable dick, I would've. I wouldn't have stopped there. "

I am lucky for my best friend. Rylan's been going to self-defense classes for as long as I can remember. She'd been diligent, making sure she could fight against anyone who tried to attack her.

That night, it paid off. She saved my life. Anthony dragged me to a dark corner in a frat house party. No one heard me screaming over the music. Rylan looked for me when I disappeared.

She found me bent over with my skirt up and my underwear down, screaming. Anthony was there too, holding his cock, about to rape me.

She did what she had to. She protected me. Her quick and furious actions sent Anthony crying like the bitch he was to the hospital.

My bestie is a badass.

Eventually, I'm sure I'd have been able to open up to Marcus. There's no use anymore. Apparently, he discovered my secret long ago. Through the texts Rylan and I exchanged to document the whole story. Just in case Anthony filed a complaint against us, which, lucky for him, he hasn't.

"She saved me." A sudden wave of longing deflates me. "And I'm pretending like she doesn't exist."

Marcus bites my ass, jolting me. Reminding me of what we're doing in this doorway. He puts me down on the floor, hands on my shoulders.

Preparing to twist me to face the closet.

"Stop." As a last-ditch attempt to convince him, I grip his shirt, glancing up. "Whatever's in there, I don't want it. I don't want to be afraid of you. Let's try hypnosis again. "

"No." Cold eyes and a colder voice. "This is for your own good."

"Please."

"Begging won't work, little doll." He fists my hair, tugging on the strands. "The soft approach hasn't gotten us anywhere. You've grown too comfortable."

"Isn't that the point of what we're doing?"

He shakes his head, eyes narrowing.

"Then?"

"You have something locked up inside you. Yes, it's been easier for you to accept that I've taken you. It's easier because I'm sweet around you." The vein on his temple throbs. "You barely blinked when you heard that I read your texts just now. Too fucking comfortable."

"I'm…" His cocked eyebrow reminds me not to lie. "I got used to your crazy."

"Telling the truth. Good girl."

"I don't understand. You want me to hate you?"

"No. You need to believe in us even when I'm not being sweet. You need to believe in us with your very breath." His free hand grips my chin as he lowers his face to mine. "And you don't. You'll jump on the first excuse to do what your subconscious screams at you. To leave me. I can't allow for that to happen."

My fingers rumple his shirt with frustration. I have no answers to give him.

"Thought so." Marcus steps closer, mashing my hands between us. "I'm done treading carefully around you. Your mind is about to be rattled. I'll force it to stop focusing on shielding your secret. When it loses its focus, then we'll have the answers. Then we'll start the healing. I'm done being patient."

The other man in him has kicked my tender Marcus out. And he's right. The urge to punch this man's throat and escape him is overwhelming.

His actions match my mind's demand.

Run. Run. Run. One Marcus is responsible. He could help. This one is all over the place. How could he help?

Help with what?

"That's why I'm doing this." From my chin, his hand slithers up. His fingers clench on one of my temples, hurting me. "Snapping us out of our routine. I tried. I failed. Moving on." He frowns. " I , not you. Remember that."

I don't have any other choice. He won't let me run. I'm better off agreeing to this.

"Okay," I breathe. "Will it be like the pool?"

"Wouldn't you like to find out?" The tiny hint of his smirk spikes up the terror in me. "There won't be a smooth landing for you this time, Leighton."

Two firm hands pry mine off Marcus's pristine white shirt. They grip my waist. Flipping me without another warning. Pushing me inside the closet.

At first, I see a regular walk-in closet. Much like the bathroom, the walls are made of cement instead of glass. The room smells of Marcus's cologne and fresh detergent.

Ironed shirts, suit jackets, and slacks hang on one wall.

On the wall in front of me, there are shelves and more hangers. Women's clothes fill them. Clothes meant for me. Sure, stocking the place with more clothes than I'll ever need is a touch psychotic.

I'm not dumb. I get that it means to keep me here indefinitely until I accept him.

When he said he was obsessed with me, I believed him. I was ready for more evidence like this to pop up around the place.

As I said to him, I've gotten used to his crazy ways.

Compared to kidnapping me, throwing me in a pool, the butt plugs, and hypnotizing me, this is lowkey…normal.

It's clothes. Nothing more, nothing—

My eyes drift farther into the room, where the real horror lies.

Oh, shit.

Oh, fuck.

Marcus's fingers bite into my waist, his hot breath tickling my ear. "You see it now?"

How can I not?

Two pink-haired lifelike dolls stand in a row against the wall to our right. They're my height. Their blue eyes have the same dark rims as mine do. The rest of their features look like mine too.

Their curves are identical to mine as well, but from two different stages of my life. The slimmer, pre-college version of me, and me now. Wider hips, fuller breasts, my stomach beautiful and soft.

And they're naked. They have holes in them. Real holes. Their mouths are gaped, and their vaginas…

They can fit a man's cock in them .

"Explain this," I demand, holding back a tremor.

"You don't get an explanation." His cold voice curls around my lungs, snuffing the air out of them. "All you get is this. All you get is the worst of me."

"No!" Panic settles in, and I scream, shutting my eyes.

"Yes." Marcus pushes me farther inside this chamber of horrors. Forces me in there. "What did you see?"

"No!" I'm locked in his vicious grip, unable to wriggle an inch. "Let me go!"

"This isn't a request." His hand is in my hair, pulling on it. "Tell. Me."

I saw a psycho. I saw a madman who'd been fucking these dolls when he couldn't fuck me.

But I don't tell him that. Can't tell him. I won't give him the satisfaction.

This is worse than him coming on my lips in my sleep. I feel violated and used. If my suspicions are correct, the man I love is far sicker than I could've ever imagined.

"You need help." I squeeze my eyes tighter. Push against him, doing my best to get away. It gets me nowhere. He's strong. Sick and determined and strong . "You're a freaking psycho. I hate you. I hate that I love you. Make it stop. Make me stop loving you."

"I bet you'd like that."

His response freaks me out just as much as my replicas do. Where before he's been scolding me for calling him a psycho, he's suddenly okay with it.

He agrees with me. He…he's finally snapped .

"Let go of me." I try to elbow him. His large body blocks my efforts. Caging me in. "This isn't funny anymore. I want to go. I want to go! Let. Me. Go."

One of his strong arms curls around my middle, pinning me harder to his front. I'm still fighting when he plasters his free hand on my forehead, fingers facing down. Pulling on my eyelids until my eyes are forced open.

"Never." His lips are on my cheek as he forces me to stare at the naked dolls. "What if I told you you're not wrong? That the depravity you're imagining is the truth? That I took turns on each doll, repeatedly?"

Marcus slithers his hand from my navel to the area between my legs.

"No," I cry out, panic clutching at my chest. "Stop."

"I have, you know." He hikes the skirt of my dress up, his fingers teasing my entrance. "Fucked the hole I've designed for their pussy."

"Please." I squeeze my thighs, keeping him from touching me. Keeping him from seeing how wet I am. "No more."

"Had my fingers down their plastic throats." Marcus's hard cock pokes my back, his fingers nudging inside of me. They feel so much bigger with the butt plug in my ass. Like he's everywhere. "Choked them while I took the cunt I couldn't have in real life."

One of my arms isn't bound in Marcus's punishing grip. I use it, reaching to scratch his hand, breaking his skin. It doesn't deter him. He doesn't stop, sliding his hand lower between my legs and twisting my butt plug .

I'm not stupid to believe he's doing it from the kindness of his heart. He's not relieving me.

He has plans for my ass.

The plug falls with a clank on the floor. Marcus's fingers resume their ministrations, rubbing my clit and making me shiver.

"Not like this," I beg, tears of distress streaming down my eyes. "I don't want to come like this."

"You'll do whatever I tell you to." His lips open on my cheek, tracing a wet trail down to my neck. "They sure have."

This is intense. Insanely intense. It's way more than just his fingers on me. More than how he presses his cock on my back.

The things he says and the images they conjure in my head are sick. And I'm sick of being turned on by them.

For orgasming on his fingers because of them.

Shame swarms me, hot and suffocating. I cry harder when Marcus drives three fingers inside me. I moan despite myself. I curse him even though I still think he's the most perfect man in the world.

"Stop it, Marcus." The humiliation, anger, and fear of him blend into a poisonous concoction. "Stop it."

"I buried myself in their pussies. Their mouths. Their asses. Each one of their holes." Marcus sucks on my neck roughly, marking me. "It was your name on my lips when I came inside them."

This is worse than disturbing. This is exactly what this psycho predicted. That I'd freak out. That I'd lose it when I see his cruel side out to play. That I'll loathe him for what he truly is .

For how unsafe it is around him.

I'm hyperventilating. Flailing into an endless pit. Questioning my sanity and if any of it is even left.

"Or…" he growls, his voice husky. Deep and entrancing. Sinful and lacking any sort of remorse. "I haven't done any of these things."

I snap my head back, as much as Marcus allows. "What?"

His hand moves from my head lower between us. He's undoing his belt, unbuttoning and unzipping himself.

"No, stop."

Not before I have answers.

Ignoring me, has my face in his grasp again, twisting me to him. Crushing his lips to mine, he kisses me like the starved psycho he is. Rough, unapologetic. His tongue finds mine, and he coaxes me to fight him.

I can't stop.

I can't stop my second orgasm, either. He rides my climax with me, ramming his fingers harder, deeper, ruthlessly into me.

"Fuck you," I gasp through the tears. "Fuck you for doing this to me."

"I'm doing what I promised, plaything."

"Fuck you."

"You're adorable when you're mad," he groans, pushing me into the only bare wall next to the door. "Did you hear me? I haven't touched these dolls. Ever. Haven't jacked off to them. Never wanted to."

"W-what?"

He's honest. I hear it this time, louder than before .

"I had them specially made so I could try on the clothes I bought for you." The jerk of his chin indicates to the dolls. "The house was finished when you turned nineteen. That's when I started stocking up on clothes for you. Then your body changed, and I stocked on some more."

"No, no fucking way," I accuse him. "You didn't sound like you were lying before."

"I sounded honest because everything I said"—Marcus pulls my hips to him—"is everything I want to do to you."

My eyebrows knit as I gauge what's real and what's not.

He's silent, and I believe him. This last version, that's the truth.

I'm not any less horrified by it. By him. And he sees it when his eyes burrow into my soul. When a sinful, knowing smirk stretches on his lips.

The truth isn't some magic button that would fix me. The terrifying images he planted in my head—or the fact that I liked them—can't be erased just like that.

He expected the lingering damage to my psyche. The bastard banked on it happening.

Now, this sick fuck has access to my fragile mind because it's a mess. It's a goddamn madhouse inside there.

"I hate you," I growl again, resisting him through my words.

My body has other plans. My weakened limbs obey Marcus as he rearranges me.

Hands flat on the wall. Legs spread apart. Ass in the air.

"You don't. "

Marcus pulls my ass cheeks apart, and I don't try to run. He spits on my asshole, and I don't flinch.

"Seems we'll finally have our breakthrough today." He pushes into my pussy, lubing his cock with my slickness. "You should be thanking me."

"One of these days, you'll destroy me," I huff, but push my ass back to him, regardless. "There'll be no returning from it. I'll be broken and you'll regret what you've done to me."

"Won't happen."

He nudges the thick crown of his cock to my tight entrance. He's far bigger than any butt plug he's trained me with. The stretching, searing feeling hurts.

And I. Like. It.

"I'll never force your mind to go where it doesn't want to." Marcus pulls my hips toward him as he thrusts forward. I look back to see my scream has his lips curving up. "Years of experience prepared me for this. My love for you too. You'll always be safe with me."

"You're not even sorry," I whisper.

"I'm not going to lie. I get off on it." He pulls me up by my hair, making sure I look him in the eye. "I am sorry this is where we've come to. You think I don't want to give you flowers? Have walks down the beach? Take you out shopping? Lie by the pool and fuck you until you're a boneless little thing? I do."

"Then why don't you?" I'm getting more and more upset by what he's hiding from me. I hardly even feel the head of his cock tearing. "Because you have a darker side? We could've gone to couple's therapy. "

"We couldn't. Don't ask me to explain why." The things he says and the cool confidence in his tone soften me. "Not now."

"Don't you ever do it again." I'm upset and shaken. However, I trust this psycho. Dammit. "I'm warning you. You made me hate myself."

"For a good cause."

I snarl. I fucking snarl at him. "There's only so much I can take. I won't always forgive you."

"Beautiful, you can take so much." He edges his hips forward, pushing another inch inside my asshole. "I'm here to show you just how well you can do it. I'll show you everything."

His words mess with my head while making all the sense in the world. My ass relaxes at this, and Marcus picks up on that. I don't get another breath before he bottoms out inside me.

"Oh, fuck," he groans. "You have such a tight ass, baby. I love fucking every hole in your body."

He feels big. Feels like he's stretching me. Like he's taking me beyond my limits, throwing me from a cliff.

Fuck. He feels like he's my king.

My fingers scratch the wall as I adjust to his girth. With my eyes are glued to his. He grounds me through the delicious pain. By being unapologetically himself. By making me his.

Marcus drags his cock out slowly, then slams into me with so much force I stumble.

"You're not going anywhere. I have you, plaything." With his hand on my clit, he rubs me as harshly as he fucks me. "Tell me how good it feels. How much you like taking my cock up your ass. That you get off on what my fingers do to your clit."

"It's so good, Marcus," I moan.

"More." He spanks me. He fucks me. He takes everything from me and fills me up with him. "Tell me how desperate you are for my cock."

The sting dissipates as my body stretches for Marcus. The words that he demands—the ones I mean—tumble out of me. "I'm desperate for you."

Spank.

"Wrong answer."

"I'm…" The pleasure he's administering makes me see stars. "Desperate for your cock. So desperate, Marcus."

"Fuck, yes." He leans in, his stubble grazing my shoulder. His teeth graze my skin. "Be a good girl and come for me."

I smile as I cry, giving him what he asked. Heat spreads throughout my body. My orgasm is harsh and painful as fireworks explode behind my eyes.

It's then I realize what's happening to me. I come so hard because I'm with him . Because he's tuned in to my body to react this way.

"That's my good girl." When I'm no longer shaking, Marcus straightens, grabbing my hips with both hands. "Gripping my cock like that." His thrusts turn brutal as his dick swells inside my ass. "Begging for my cum, aren't you, Leighton?"

"Yes, please."

Even though Marcus's hand isn't pulling on my hair, I keep looking at him. Watching the veins in his arms pumping as he fucks me ruthlessly. His sharp jaw tenses. The dark eyes of this unconventional man are fixated on mine.

"My cum slut." He rocks into me, grunting. "My beautiful cum slut."

He comes with a loud groan that reaches deep into my bone marrow. His heat floods me from inside. There's so much of it that it leaks out, dripping down, teasing my pussy.

"Leighton." Marcus pulls out, his gaze traveling lower to my ass. "My beautiful girl."

I watch, enraptured, as his tongue wets his bottom lip. As his fingers rub his cum on my ass, then my lower back. The nerves in my asshole are extremely sensitive, and they light up under his touch.

"Hmm." Pleasure reverberates through my voice.

"Yeah, you like that." Marcus flashes me a wicked grin. "Let's get you cleaned up, little one."

My hands drop their grasp on the wall. Marcus is right there to catch me, hooking his arm around my waist and pulling me to him. He shrugs out of his slacks and briefs, and together, we go to the shower.

Once the world's shortest shower ends, he holds me steady by my neck, gazing into my eyes.

His are vacant and cold. Glacial.

The man who washed me is gone.

I recognize that look. I know what it means.

My throat clenches. Fear grips me.

I'm no longer calm. Can't when I'm about to allow this psycho to induce me into a trance.