Chapter 9

Ophelia

Alex had locked me in his bedroom. Even though it was better than the basement, in ways, it was worse. Being stuck in a room with him didn't seem like the best idea. I'd be at his disposal, something to use when he wished. It saved me from being alone with Gunnir, but was it really much better?

I looked around the old bedroom but found little to catch my eye. A full-size bed with a rusted metal frame stood in the center of the room. A dresser pressed against the wall, half covering a small closet with a broken door. The bedside table wobbled on uneven legs by the wall. Then, of course, there was me, the new centerpiece.

Even though his room didn't smell like piss, sex, and body odor, there was no spigot to clean up and no bucket to use the bathroom in. I held my bladder until it throbbed because I had no other choice. I was forced to wait until Alex came back into the room to release me from the anchor so I could pee.

I rolled the chain along the floor, like I'd done in the basement. It was the equivalent of a trapped animal pacing the wall of their cage. It was repetitive behavior to comfort my ailing mind. I leaned against the wall and sighed.

The door unlocked and I looked up as Alex came into the room. His lips were tight. "Gunnir isn't happy with this new arrangement," he said with a shake of his head. "He thinks I brought you up here so I could fuck you more often."

"Is that not why?" I asked in a harsh whisper.

His eyes narrowed on me. "You're being ungrateful."

I cut my gaze and stared at an ant dancing circles around a hole in the hardwood floor. It would stop and start again, seeming to realize it was getting nowhere fast but having no clue how to stop its spiral. I never related to an insect more in my life.

"I didn't bring you up here to fuck you more," he said as he sat on the bed. The springs squeaked, and the antiquated air that puffed toward me told me he hadn't washed those sheets in a very long time, if ever. "I did it to keep Gunnir's hands off you. Ungrateful bitch. If I only did this to fuck you more, don't you think I'd have laid you on this bed and taken you by now?"

I nodded without looking up at him. "Is Sam okay?"

His lips tightened. "She will be."

I felt the guilt as his words ripped through me. Sam had become collateral damage in a plan she'd had no part of. I shivered as I realized that Gunnir probably did awful things to her during a punishment she never deserved.

"She didn't do anything, and you know that," I said as my icy gaze rose to meet him.

Alex scoffed. "You need to learn what to do to survive, O. She'd throw you under Gunnir if she knew it would get her out of that basement."

"No, she wouldn't. She didn't even when she could have."

"You don't know what captivity does to you, do you? I know. I've lived it myself. Eventually, the only thing you have to care about is yourself."

"Sam isn't like that," I said with a shake of my head. "And neither am I."

"You're here, aren't you?"

I turned away from him. "I have to pee," I whispered.

He grabbed my chain, unfastened the lock that anchored me to the floor, and dragged me toward the bedroom door. I looked around before I crossed the hall, searching for the sounds of Gunnir or Sam. The house was eerily quiet. Alex led us into the bathroom and closed the door behind us.

I stared at him. "I can't go with you here," I said.

"You'll have to."

I took a deep breath, lifted my skirt, and sat on the wobbly toilet. His eyes never left me as I peed, and my cheeks flamed hot with embarrassment. My gaze moved from a hole in the wall and landed on the shower. For a moment, I forgot I was peeing in front of him as the shower became my new obsession.

"Can I shower?" I asked, the drool of excitement filling the dry void beneath my tongue.

Alex put his hand to his chin. I was certain I looked like a mess, with my matted, greasy hair and the blood covering my skin and clothes.

"I guess it wouldn't hurt anything," he said. He walked past me and turned on the shower. The water rumbled through the pipes behind the wall before an uneven torrent fell from the showerhead. Alex reached into a cupboard and pulled out a towel. "It's not a hot shower."

I nodded. If I could clean myself—actually clean myself, not a sponge bath down in the basement—I didn't care.

Alex leaned against the door and watched me. I wanted to ask him to leave, but the way he leaned against the wood, so sure and focused, I knew it would have been futile. My fingers worked open the buttons on my uniform top, and his eyes dropped to my chest. My cheeks burned hotter with every inch the fabric spread. The swells of my breasts peeked from the opening. I tried to turn away, but he cleared his throat. There was no choice but to face him as I exposed more of my skin. More of me that I didn't want him to see. I stripped the rest of my uniform off, and his gaze burned through me. His muscles twitched around his mouth as he fought back a smirk. My eyes dropped to the strained zipper at the front of his pants. I was surprised he hadn't already pounced on me. He had so much more control than his brother.

I wrapped my arm around my chest and tried to hide my breasts. My other hand dropped to my crotch, keeping myself covered as I backed toward the shower. I opened the shower curtain and climbed inside, nearly slipping when I tried to step over the high side of the tub. When I went to close the curtain, Alex made a noise in his throat.

"Leave it open."

"Water will get everywhere," I said, which was so fucking dumb to care about, but it just came out.

"I don't give two fucks about the water. I want to watch you."

I put my head beneath the cool water, and it plastered my hair to my back and shoulders. It was hard to ignore the sound of his falling zipper as I tried to wash the grime away. Soon, the sound of him jerking off overpowered all other sounds. I was too ashamed to look at him, but I felt the fire of his stare over my shoulder as I cleaned my body. I thought Alex was the more refined one between the two, but as he growled and selfishly came to my body, I was more certain they were one and the same.

"Turn toward me, O," Alex said with a growl.

The cold water pelted my shoulder and pebbled my skin with goosebumps.

"I won't fuck you if you give me what I want," he urged.

I turned around, letting him see the intimate parts of me I'd tried to hide. "What do you want?" I asked, though I knew. I knew from the twist in my gut what he wanted. My eyes dropped to his hand around his cock, one hand pushing his jeans to the side as he stroked the long length of his dick with the other.

"Touch yourself." He groaned and dropped his head against the door.

"Alex...please..."

"You can make yourself come or I can fuck you, whichever you'd prefer."

I sighed and put my fingers between my legs. I tried to think of my ex-boyfriend and pretend it was his hand. I imagined his tongue on me as I stroked my clit. I closed my eyes and bathed in the touch of anyone else I'd slept with, because even the worst was better than this. It did nothing. I was numb. No amount of fantasizing could help me feel less stared at. Less watched. Any less violated.

When I rubbed more furiously, a frustrated exhale escaped my throat and sent droplets of water flying forward.

Alex stopped stroking himself. "Do I disgust you that much?" he asked as he stepped toward me. My body trembled, not from the cold water, but because he approached me with a hard dick.

I shook my head and kept my eyes closed. "What you've done to me disgusts me."

"Well, that was a chance for you to get some pleasure from this little setup that so unfairly favors me," Alex snarled as he went to rip the curtain across the rod.

I caught it and held it open. I swallowed hard and tried to get back in his good graces. I didn't need to feel the pleasure to make him think I was feeling it. The old me used to be an ace student in theater classes. I could act.

I kept my eyes on him as I rubbed between my legs once more, curling my fingers over my clit as he started to stroke himself again. His breath caught in his throat as I moaned and bucked my hips forward. I wasn't sure if he knew I was faking it as I raised the other hand to my chest and squeezed my breast.

"Fuck, O," he groaned as his strokes quickened. "I want to put my mouth on you."

I didn't want that. I shook my head and lifted my leg, putting my foot on the edge of the tub, giving him a better view of my spread pussy. I pushed my fingers inside myself and moaned. The bead of come dripping from his head and the ragged tempo of his strokes made me certain he was going to bust. I would get him off before he could put his mouth on me.

"Come with me," I told him as I dropped my head back and fucked myself. I faked my orgasm, and he didn't hesitate before he stepped toward me and fisted my hair. He pushed me down to my knees.

"Lean back," he said as he pumped his hand slower, squeezing the base of his cock to stop himself from coming before he had me where he wanted me. I craned my neck and he stroked himself above my face. His warm come painted my lips, and I fought the urge to gag. He rubbed his come into my cheeks, using a finger to push some of it into my mouth. The attempt to fight a gag was futile the moment the salty taste hit my tongue. "Good fucking girl," he moaned as he stroked against my cheek.

I didn't like that he came on my face like he owned me, but I hated him coming inside me more. Stroking his dick to me was better than fucking me. For another day, my pussy was safe, but my face and mouth had not been so lucky.

* * *

Alexzander

I looked down at her.My come coated her sweet face. Her big eyes looked up at me, and for a moment, I almost forgot what we'd done hadn't been consensual. She didn't want any of it, and I knew she faked her fucking orgasm, but I only cared about spilling my load on her face.

I tucked myself away as I backed toward the door. She got out of the shower, clean and looking even sweeter as her dark hair adhered to her neck. I wanted her so fucking bad, even though my balls were empty. I was obsessed. Fucking obsessed with her. And the more I thought about it, the less I thought I'd made the best decision by bringing her to my room. It was important I didn't just fuck her all the time, because Gunnir would throw her ass right back in the basement. I had to prove it was for the betterment of us, not just me.

"Don't get dressed," I said as I dragged her across the hall, her naked body wrapped in nothing more than a thin towel.

Her eyes clenched when I shut the door, and I knew what she thought I planned to do to her. I wanted to, believe me, I wanted to, but instead of putting a hand on her, I reached behind my dresser, into the closet, and grabbed a flannel shirt. The adrenaline coursing through her at the thought of being taken again sent her into a full-body tremble, so I dressed her. I buttoned every button, right up to the top, slowly hiding her skin with every inch my fingers rose. I stepped back and stared at her.

She looked so fucking sexy in my shirt. Her breasts pushed against the fabric, testing the strength of the top three buttons. She was still naked from the waist down, so I reached into a drawer and handed her a pair of my boxers. Her lip curled at the sight of them, but she refused to let me help her put them on. They would feel better than that skirt, though. They'd protect her sensitive skin from the floor. She could thank me later.

I attached her chain to the anchor on the floor and sat on the edge of my bed to watch her step into the boxers. She curled her body to hide what I'd already seen and what I would see again if I wanted to. Once she got them on, she sat on the floor in the corner and leaned against the wall.

Now what? Smart or not, I'd done it. I'd gotten my plaything into my room, and now I didn't know what to do with her. Gunnir was probably asleep by now, and I didn't want to risk waking him by forcing myself on her. She'd scream. She'd kick, flail, and fight. I forced those images out of my mind. It excited me too much.

My eyes went to the closet, and I got an idea. When I stood from the bed, her muscles tensed and she pulled her knees to her chest. I didn't tell her to relax. It wouldn't do any good. She knew why she was here in this house, and I wouldn't sell her lies to offer her comfort. My brother and I weren't the same, but we were still cut from the same cloth.

I went to the closet and pulled a crumpled blanket from the floor. I placed it in front of her and unfolded the threadbare edges until I'd revealed the tattered cardboard box containing the game of checkers.

"Do you know how to play?" I asked.

She tore her eyes from me long enough to look at the box, then she nodded.

"Good. I tried to teach Gunnir how to play when we were little, but he couldn't get the hang of it." I pulled the board from the box. The seam through the middle had ripped long ago, but the game could still be played on the two sections. I arranged the black and red pieces on the board, red in front of her and black in front of me. I always played the black pieces because they got to move first.

Halfway through the first game, she finally spoke. "Why do you keep this hidden in your closet?"

I shrugged my shoulders and captured one of her pieces. "Gunnir wouldn't like it. He'd burn it if he found it."

My move had opened up an opportunity for her, and she jumped two of my checkers, capturing both. "Why?"

When she'd asked about my mother in the basement, I hadn't wanted to talk about it, but what could it hurt now? It wasn't as if she could tell someone else what we discussed. "My mother used to play this with me, and he doesn't like any reminders of her because he thinks she made me soft." I pushed one of my pieces ahead on the board.

"You don't seem very soft to me," she muttered.

"It's your move," I said.

She studied the board. "You still haven't told me what happened to your mom. I can only assume she died." Her hand moved toward a red checker, but she pulled her finger back and kept thinking. "If so, that's something we have in common."

"Did your mother kill herself?"

She pushed one of her checkers forward, opening up an opportunity for me. I jumped her piece and took it away. "In a way, I guess," she said. "She chose to stay with my dad, and he's good at removing your will to live."

My move had left me vulnerable to another double jump. I didn't have many pieces left on the board once she took those two. As I made my next move, I considered telling her how my mom died, but I didn't want to give her any ideas. "Do you want to talk about your dad?" I asked instead, but she shook her head.

We had more in common than she realized.