21. CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY

Leighton

M arcus studies me from his place on the armchair.

Silent.

Ominous.

He doesn't look like Marcus I've seen over our previous sessions.

For a week now, before each hypnosis session, he's been there to reassure me. Promised me he won't fuck me while in a trance. Won't hurt me. Won't dive too deep or take or alter my perception of him or myself.

He's said he just wanted to understand. To pull out what my consciousness protects so ferociously against. Swore he'd navigate through my mind and extract what's hiding there with surgical precision.

He's let me keep my clothes on during those times .

Today, he says none of these things. Today, I'm naked and vulnerable before him on the couch.

The late morning sun shines on one side of his face.

Exposing the cruel one. Harsh, unforgiving rays highlight Marcus's strong jaw. His high cheekbones. The gleam on the eye lit by the sun is nefarious.

It's the other side that reminds me of the Marcus I remembered. The angles of his face blend into something softer. I can't see an evil glint in this eye.

But still, neither side is exactly the Marcus from our sessions.

That reasonable side of him has been stowed away.

His kind side has no place here.

What's left is a predator.

Ready to strike.

"Whom do you belong to?" Marcus asks in a low and menacing voice.

I know better than to challenge him when he's like this. "You."

"Good." Then, without a preamble, Marcus clips, "Moon."

No drifting smoothly into a trance.

No You're getting sleepy or You're on the beach, your toes dipping into the sand .

Nope.

In an instant, everything changes. My bones weigh a ton. My tongue is heavy in my mouth. I'm sinking into the couch.

The swift transition jars me.

I feel a little as though my head's been shoved into the water violently .

I'm…

I…

"Leighton, listen to me." A command. Not a question. Not Can you hear me? "You're going to do as exactly as I say. Okay?"

In the back of my head, I hear his order for what it is. Marcus is adamant. He's going to continue rattling the metaphorical bodyguard at the door to my subconsciousness.

My insides don't really get it, though. They swoop at this beautifully scary man. Of this thigh-clenching monster.

When I don't answer—can hardly even blink—he grips my jaw. Slightly less forceful than usual. Or maybe I'm too floaty to notice.

Black eyes take my vision hostage. So consuming. So arousing. I'm liquid between my thighs.

"Blink once for yes ."

I do.

"Good little plaything," he drawls, each word slow and commanding. "Tell me, why are you hiding?"

"Pink sequin bikini, blue eyes, pink sequin bikini, blue eyes…" I hear myself mumble, my voice fading the longer I speak.

"Do not close your eyes on me."

I realize I hardly see Marcus anymore, so I pull my eyelids up. He's commanded me to. Deep down, I want—no, was born —to obey him. That's why I'm so receptive to his hypnosis.

I think .

Maybe all I am is a doll like the ones in the closet. Unable to deny him because I'm made of plastic, or… What are they made of anyway?

"Leighton, focus," Marcus commands my attention. "What of blue eyes?"

A giggle escapes me. He never acknowledges the bikini part. He's such a good father. Such a good man to look after his daughter the way he has and—

There's a sudden pressure on my nipple. My focus drifts to the source of the pain. My eyes follow.

Thick short hair. Black eyes stare back at me. His deviant mouth covers my nipple.

He's straddling me. Biting me.

Ow.

Oh.

My pussy tingles. His fingers are there. Pushing, shoving, stroking.

Fuck, that feels good. That feels right, and—

"Ahh," I sigh-scream.

My sore asshole. Something invades me. Dragging in and out of me. I can't fight it. Can't twist away.

I lie there, taking and taking, while the pressure on my nipple intensifies.

This isn't how the previous sessions worked.

Should I worry?

"Are you with me now?" Marcus towers over me. The sight of him and the tone of his voice ground me. "Blink once for yes , twice for no ."

Once. I blink once .

"Good girl."

The sting in my ass is relieved. Just my ass. Not my pussy.

"Leighton."

His tongue caresses my lips, parting them. When he breaks our touch, he's high above me again. My lips are wet. My lips can't seem to snap shut.

An emotion that reminds me of…lust? Is that lust? flashes on his features.

I'm not my pussy. I'm not my breasts. Nor am I my wet lips and heavy limbs.

I'm Marcus's.

"Beautiful. My beautiful doll." Too fast for me to comprehend, his brow furls and his voice whips me. "What. Of. Blue. Eyes?"

At his question, a door appears before my eyes. Behind them, really. I can't actually see it, but I'm aware of its existence.

There's a man in black security clothes standing there with his hands clasped at his crotch, military-style.

There are also three locks that have been installed in case Mr. Faceless military man fails somehow.

"He knows what he's looking for," the faceless guard snaps. "He wants you to say it. He wants to scare you. I won't fucking let him."

"Not… He's not after me," I mutter, addressing the guard. "He's after you."

"Who's there?" Marcus demands. He's less ruthless, more caring. More possessive. He's worried. About me. "Is that blue eyes? "

"Ry's not here," I whisper, my lips parting at the end of the sentence.

"Except she is." The faceless guard sounds disgruntled. I don't understand why.

"Rylan's there?" I'm curious. Then again, she's my best friend. It's only natural she'll be there where my memories are stored.

The faceless man takes a hesitant step to the side.

Marcus curls a hand around my neck. "Is she?"

I must've spoken to both of them at once. Huh.

"It's just faceless." My attention returns to Marcus who's also playing with my nipple, not my pussy. That's nice too.

Marcus's eyes bore into mine. He's digging into my brain, and I let him.

"What are you hiding?" Marcus asks. Except he's not asking me.

"What are you hiding?" My mouth echoes the faceless man's question.

"This isn't how today's going to go." Marcus is stronger. Marcus is a gentle hurricane. Marcus's voice pushes the guard, who stumbles to the floor. "You'll"—he presses my clit while his other hand tightens on my throat. It's the best feeling ever—"stop holding back. Stop keeping things from Leighton."

"You won't be happy about what you find here." The guard sneaks his hand into his pants pocket. He's getting the keys out, despite his obvious apprehension. "I'm protecting you. Why does he have to ruin everything?"

"I'm freeing you, not ruining things for you," Marcus answers the guard .

He hears our conversation. Neat.

Or is it?

Oh, well. Could've been worse. I could've confessed to stealing Marcus's shaving razor and masturbating with the handle last summer.

"Dirty girl."

Shit, I said that out loud too.

"Yes, you did say that out loud." Marcus slithers down my body. His tongue at my clit. "I can't hold back, Leigh. I have to touch you. Have to make you come on my tongue."

"Marcus, he's holding the key," I gasp. Or moan. Something.

"Good." His tongue works me. His mouth sucks me. I can't stop him or the way I'm feeling. Can't. "Maybe being at my mercy will be enough to command the fucking door open."

"That's sick." Faceless frowns. He's hidden, but I feel his resentment. Feel the downturn of his mouth. "He knows pink sequin bikini is Rylan. And he does this while he's asking you to talk about? You understand why we can't like him? This version of his is reckless. It'll get you killed."

Another finger in my pussy. Another flick of a tongue. No, I don't understand. There's no reason at all for me to hate Marcus.

"Fuck, you're delicious, Leigh." Marcus ignores everything. Makes wet noises and low, hungry groans. "Let me take care of you. I'll deal with the bastard soon."

I giggle. Next, I moan. I've never experienced arousal behind my heart. Inside my mouth .

His finger slips to my ass. It's just as uncomfortable as it was before.

"S-stop," I screech, my mouth the only moving part of my body. Oh, yes. My eyes move as well. Unfortunately, eyes can't talk or push him off me.

"Look at you, desperate to fight me." Marcus rises to his knees, freeing his cock. "Christ, I love how you're this defenseless. Absolutely powerless. All you can do is take. I hope your relentless little mind is aware."

I'm scared. I'm paralyzed. I gave Marcus the keys to my body and my psyche, and he's about to do the worst with them.

But then he's up here. Then his mouth trails hot kisses on my neck. His teeth chafing the sensitive skin. The tip of his cock rocks against my clit. Smoothly. Affectionately.

My monster loves me.

"Mine." He slides himself inside my pussy. His growl is like a balm to my anxiety.

Hard and soft. Claiming me.

I love him. He can have me any day. Any way he likes.

"Marcus."

"Eyes on me," he tells me when his hand locates my throat once more. "See what you're doing to me. How fucking crazy you make me, little doll."

I see everything. Eyes narrowed. Lips pressed tight. Vein pumping in his neck.

Ruthless and unforgiving. Psychotic.

He's rendering the guard inside my head.

Marcus uses my body for his pleasure. More than that. For my pleasure .

The humming beneath my skin intensifies. It's explosive. It shimmers and prickles.

"Please."

Marcus slams his mouth on mine, creating something wonderful. And I come. I'm taken over by my climax, my soul kneeling to the man who commands this orgasm.

"That's it." He thrusts as though he's trying to break the couch. "Milking my cock. Begging for me to fuck babies into you. To show you who owns this mind. This body. It's mine. I won't stop, Leigh. Won't stop giving you everything you want, you hear? I won't ever stop."

His pumping becomes erratic, more furious. He releases his cum inside me a few strokes later, shooting it into my womb.

Babies…our babies will grow there.

No.

"Sick babies," I rasp. "Hated babies."

"No. They could never be." Marcus slides out of me, gripping my jaw. His eyes penetrate me. "Talk to me. Open the fuck up and talk to me."

My inner gaze returns to the door. While Marcus was fucking me, the faceless guard opened the locks. The three of them hang loosely on the door.

The door itself has been left ajar. Welcoming me to walk inside.

I slide my eyes to the guard. He shrugs with one shoulder. "Suit yourself."

"Go in there." Marcus's grasp hurts. His thumb caressing my jaw comforts me .

I go. Walk right into an old memory.

Rylan and I are sitting cross-legged on the bed in her room. We're young, thirteen. I can tell since she's wearing her One Direction T-shirt. A year later, she claimed she grew out of them and moved on to Radiohead.

"Gross," she hisses.

"What's gross?" Marcus of today and the thirteen-year-old me ask in tandem.

"Don't you hear her?" Rylan scrunches her face in distaste, plucking at a lint on her duvet.

Marcus's new girlfriend. The first one he introduced to Rylan. The first woman to stay over for dinner. For a lot of dinners.

"Alexa?" My confusion in the memory hung heavy, as it does now. Why has my mind brought me to this day?

"Stay with it." Marcus's voice centers me.

I'm back with Rylan. She tilts her head up, her lips curled in an angry sneer. "Who else? Laughing like she's a freaking hyena. The woman is repulsive."

"Your dad likes her," I point out, smiling despite myself. For Rylan. I don't like that he likes Alexa, either. "She makes him happy. Isn't that a good thing?"

Alexa is tall and curvy. I was short and lanky at thirteen. A blue stripe has been dyed on her gorgeous silky black hair. Mine is blonde and, well, regular.

It hurt to have to witness Marcus and her holding hands.

After his mouth was on her temple over one of the dinners I attended, I ran home and cried for hours .

"Baby." I'm confused by the change in Marcus. By the tenderness emanating from him. He clears his throat, his cruel self returning. "Continue."

"She…" Rylan plucks the lint out, discarding it with hate. So much hate that I don't ever remember seeing on her face. Other than that day with Anthony.

I whimper.

"Leighton, you're safe," Marcus encourages me.

I slip smoothly back into the memory.

" I make him happy." Rylan's frown scares me. "We watch movies together. We go to fairs. He loves the food I make. Why isn't that enough?"

She and I are both thirteen. I don't have to explain to her there are things she could never give him. Things he's not interested in taking from her. That she doesn't want to give.

But I do. Even this young, I want to give him everything. And I can't.

"You're enough." I place a hand on her shoulder. She shrugs out of my hold.

Weird. Rylan always smiles. Always lets me hug her. Always hugs me back.

Yet ever since Marcus introduced Alexa to Rylan, she's been on edge. She's been saving her smiles for her dad. With me, she snaps. Just a little. Just enough to worry me.

I hate it when she's sad.

The Marcus between my legs sighs heavily. He's remorseful. Even in my trance-like state, I feel his contrition.

Alexa's laugh filters through Rylan's closed bedroom door for the millionth time today .

"That bitch." Rylan's blue eyes darken. "I bet she applied to be his secretary just so she could fuck him."

"Rylan," I gasp.

The sound jolts her, and she flinches.

"Ignore me." My bestie's lips curve in a smile, though it's the furthest from warm. "I'm okay. Little Miss Alexa won't be a problem for long."

"She disappeared a month later," I whisper to Marcus. I'm back in the glass house, looking at him instead of at Rylan. "She broke up with you and vanished."

Marcus gives me nothing. His face is made of marble. His hand moved to the cushion next to my head, and he's bracketing me.

"Anything else?" he asks, sounding icy.

"No, I—"

Yes.

I'm hurled into another memory.

I'm with Rylan in their backyard, working in the garden.

Grinning, she pulls out the weeds. She doesn't wear gardening gloves, ever. She likes the feel of the ground on her fingers, she says.

We're fourteen. The age when Mom let me dye one strand of hair pink. At fifteen, I got to dye my whole hair rusty pink.

"Girls, dinner is ready," Marcus calls out to us from the sliding door.

"Coming." Rylan straightens in a flash.

I turn in the direction of the house as well .

Rylan's enthusiasm dies out when she notices the same thing I do. That Marcus isn't alone.

Sylvia stands next to him. Tall, slim, and stunning. Her long brown locks drape down the front of her crimson silk blouse. Her light brown eyes are friendly as she waves at us.

She's a psychiatrist like Marcus. A woman he met at a convention he went to a couple of months after Alexa skipped town.

Another woman I'll never match up to.

I don't mourn that fact. Don't get to.

Rylan commands my attention. Her furious energy draws my attention and I twist to my friend. Her smile remains plastered on her face.

Behind her pearly whites, though, she hisses, "That bitch again."

Anything I'd say wouldn't help. I faintly remember Rylan hated Alexa, no matter how much I tried to like the woman. I'm not about to argue with Rylan again. Marcus should handle it.

That is, if Ry ever tells her dad she hates his new girlfriend.

She smiles so hard at Sylvia, you'd think she's going to ask her to be her stepmom any day now.

"She did ask her." My Marcus presses his lips to mine.

"She'll get bored just like that other laughing cunt," I echo Rylan's words. She kisses my cheek, reassuring me. "She'll leave. I'm sure she will. Then we'll go back to being just you, Dad, and me. Our happy little family."

I like the idea. My jealousy has become uncomfortable. When I orgasm in my bedroom, it's Marcus's name I whisper. When he thanks me for clearing the table, then puts his arm around Sylvia, I almost scream. Almost.

"I'm going to count down slowly from five to zero. You're going to relax while I do and wake up at the end." The weight of Marcus's body on me disappears. He's at my side. Sitting. "Five…"

He does as he promised. The countdown soothes me. His reassurances help my subconsciousness lie at ease.

My body is mine.

When he says zero —when I'm able to move my limbs—I'm up. Alive. Filled with light and desperate for his warmth.

I climb into Marcus's embrace, still naked. Cum leaks from my pussy to his slacks as I straddle him. His shirt crumples as my fingers clutch onto it.

"I haven't remembered any of that." I don't let up on his shirt, even when his hands slide up to squeeze mine for comfort. "Why couldn't I remember any of that?"

"Shh." Marcus cups my cheeks, drawing me to him, pressing my forehead to his. The cruel Marcus is gone. He's gotten what he came for. "You should rest. We'll discuss this later."

Later.

I trust him. I love him.

For the time being…that's enough.

It has to be.