15. Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Fifteen

Ophelia

" I know what you're thinking, Ophelia, but—"

"You don't know shit!" It takes me a second to drag my brain out of this fog after being choked into unconsciousness. That motherfucker.

"—you were being unreasonable." He doesn't even miss a beat, talking right through me instead of listening to what I have to say.

Where surprise and betrayal were my main emotions earlier, now, I'm just fucking pissed off.

I freeze, my thrashing body completely unmoving. Unreasonable? That's like one step down from hysterical and well…we all know what happens when men try to tell us that, right?

"You better fucking kill me, Jarrett, because there's only one way this is going to end if you don't." My voice is so low and tight that I scare even myself with the bite from it.

With a quick glance my way, he graces me with a smirk that I want to slap off his face, but also lick like a lollipop. I've heard that there's a fine line between love and hate but this is not that.

He's hot, I'm a straight woman. That's it. My reaction to his betrayal has nothing to do with catching feelings.

"I'm not going to do that, Kitten. Killing you isn't even on the top one hundred things I'd like to do to you, right now." Giving one last kick of my legs and pull of my wrists, I let out a frustrated growl when Rhett—Jarrett—stands at the foot of the bed, arms crossed and brows slanted in deep thought.

"So tell me, tough guy, how do you see this ending?" That gets his attention and, strangely enough, not the reaction I expected.

His grin is wide and his full lips are so fucking sexy I want to bite them until they bleed.

"I'm so glad you asked. See? A civil conversation is the only way for us to move forward, Ophelia."

Narrowing my eyes, I grit my teeth and smile like I'm the fucking lunatic and not the gorgeous yet highly delusional man in front of me.

"Well then, let's hear it. I'm all fucking ears." Not like I have a choice and I'm not bruising myself up more than I already have with the fucking restraints.

"Such a good girl." Goddamn him and his silky-voiced praises. Again, I blame my mother for the inconvenient zing of excitement that travels down my spine and straight to my clit every time he calls me that.

"Not like I have a choice, do I?" I pull on my restraints to stress my point, but he doesn't show an ounce of remorse as he slides a finger down my thigh and over to my pussy, right there on full display for him.

"To be fair, Kitten, you didn't exactly give me a choice either." I could give him a hundred arguments against that but I'm curious about how, exactly, he plans to talk himself out of this. More than that, I really want to know why he even wants to.

The reality of the situation is that he has the upper hand. Killing me would be so fucking easy right now, even with the contract from the auction. I mean, he could disappear and no one would ever find him. I know because, even with all of my resources, I only found him when he chose to be visible to me.

So why doesn't he just get rid of me?

"Go on then. Talk."

Taking in a deep breath, he lets it out slowly, like this is going to be his lifetime achievement. The speech of all speeches.

"I wasn't expecting you to be at the auction. In fact, I was trying to find an escape from you." Rolling my eyes, I don't even hide my smirk. "Okay, that didn't come out the way I wanted, but you have to admit, this isn't ideal."

"No shit, Sherlock." Then I laugh because he's British. Sherlock. Okay, fine, it's not funny, but holy shit, this situation is making me bat shit crazy.

"Anyway, I was trying to come to grips with having to kill you. Others have tried finding you but I'm the only one who actually figured out you were the vigilante plucking away at our employees and even our clients. Good job, by the way. Very stealthy." At first, I think he's fucking with me, but the glint in his eyes is definitely pride. Well, shit.

"Oh, well, that makes all of this much better." My deadpan is the deadliest of all the pans. Wouldn't be surprised if he got a concussion from my sarcasm.

"Ophelia." His dom voice is now out and I do my best to hide the way my body reacts to him in an instant.

That being said, I won't tell him as much.

"Ja-Rrett." Cutting his name into two distinct syllables, I raise a brow and wait for his reaction. Turns out, it's a swift one and comes in the form of a slap to my pussy.

"Fuck!" I'm equal parts turned on and raging at his audacity. "What the fuck was that for?" I'm growling like he normally does, only because I'm trying to mask my need for him to touch me once more.

"Teaching you manners, Kitten." With one palm rubbing against his five o'clock shadow turned full-on scruff, he scratches lightly at his jaw as if he's trying to figure out quantum gravity and I'm the missing piece of the formula.

"Says the man keeping a woman tied up in bed without her consent." I grin like I've just won the verbal lottery but he's too concentrated on his task—whatever that may be—to pay any attention to my snark.

"So here's what we're going to do. I'm going to talk. You're going to listen."

"Like women haven't heard that shit since…always." His pensive stare morphs into a glare within seconds and before I can even register what is happening, he's straddling my naked body with one hand at the base of my neck and the other pressed against the headboard.

"I'm going to ignore that jab because I have more pressing things to say to you, but know this: if you keep interrupting me, I'll have to gag you. With my cock."

I smirk. "Is that supposed to be a threat?" It's not like I haven't had his dick in my mouth, on repeat, this weekend. His only answer is the added pressure of his hand on my throat, making it harder to breathe. "Fine. I'm listening. No interruptions."

If I weren't completely at his mercy, I'd stab him.

"You were a job, Ophelia. In The Firm, your name comes up like you're a ghost. I was intrigued and volunteered to find you." Lowering his mouth to mine, he licks a path across my bottom lip and sighs. "The dark web is my playground and when I heard someone was trying to find information about James, I wondered if it could possibly be you." His teeth sink into my flesh, pulling my bottom lip out before releasing it. "Imagine my surprise when the tabloid queen herself is tied to the dark web messenger? Caliope, right?"

Okay, let's be clear, that freaks me out. If he was able to identify Opie then there's need to be alarmed.

"How? She's excellent at erasing her digital footprints." I narrow my eyes, willing him to give me answers.

"Oh, little Kitten. All in good time." Fucker.

"Whatever. Continue."

"From there, I found your location, stalked you for a few months, then introduced myself into your life."

"Yeah, that's creepy, Jarrett, I'm not gonna lie." He shuts me up with his mouth on mine, his chest flush with my breasts as his cock nestles between my pussy lips.

"Problem is, once I've got an idea in my head, I won't…no, I can't give up. You were an obsession and now, more than ever, I refuse to let you go." I blink up at him.

"Literally, I'm guessing." Yanking on my restraints, I give him a pointed look, which he answers with a wolfish grin that shows off all his pearly whites.

His hand on my throat tightens, fingers adding pressure on either side as his eyes roam my face like he's memorizing every reaction and every twitch I give him. It takes a herculean effort to give him nothing, but of course, my body is on autopilot whenever he spurs my lust for him. I've heard of the body and mind not being on the same page and clearly, this is that.

It's fine. I can get my rocks off and still keep my wits about me.

As his hand relaxes, he slides it down my torso and between my breasts, pausing only to pluck at my nipple. This time it's soft, almost reverent. When I don't react, he persists, pinching it a bit harder. Still doing my best to resist him, he licks his bottom lip like my fight is giving him a workout, dehydrating him to the point his mouth is dry.

I don't know why I like that but I do. I enjoy this push and pull, it's like I have so much power over him and yet I'm the one tied to a fucking bed unable to move. How is that even possible?

"The first time I saw you in person, I thought…‘That bird is gonna be a great shag.'" This time, when he pinches my nipple, my entire body springs forward from the unexpected sting. "Hmm, the way you fight me is even better than anything I could have imagined." His tongue licks my nearly bruised nipple before he sucks it into his mouth, humming like he's tasting a warm chocolate fondant. "And fuck, Ophelia, when you lose your own fight it's almost better than coming in your cunt."

Biting the inside of my cheeks to refrain from speaking, I just stare at him. Or maybe I'm just trying not to moan at the hot press of his tongue against my skin. Except, I have questions and he needs to answer them.

"You say you work for The Firm, the trafficking ring, right? What do you do? Do you sell? Kidnap? Torture?" With every job description, I feel sicker and sicker at the possibility that I've allowed an integral part of this organization to fuck my body ten ways to Sunday and worse even, I've loved every fucking minute of his sensual abuse.

Taking his time worshiping my tits with his mouth, he ignores my questions until he's had his fill. Only then does he look up at me and, Jesus almighty, the way his eyes bore into mine makes my body temperature rise to dangerous levels. I remind myself that my body has its own will—or lack thereof—and that my brain is capable of distinguishing from the lust and the responsibility I have to these women being taken and sold.

I won't let my pussy distract me from my mission.

As I give myself a thorough pep talk, Jarrett has other ideas. With his cock in hand now, he easily slides into my pussy—yeah, I'm that wet—stopping only once he's fully seated inside me.

"Can I count on you to not lose your fucking mind once I answer your question?" Pulling out, he glides right back inside. It's slow and so fucking soft, I almost forget we're having a meaningful conversation about his role in a company that should be burned to the ground.

"I promise nothing." This time when he pulls out, he slams right back inside me, causing my sentence to end on a gasp.

"Oh, Kitten, I want to tell you everything but I need to know this is a safe space for us." Another retreat, another drive to the hilt, and for a second, I lose my bearings. But then it hits me.

"Are you gaslighting me into forgiving your despicable role in this fucking…oh my God!" I don't know what he's just done but he hits that sweet spot inside and now dark spots are dancing above my head like I've just been hit by a two by four. How the fuck does he do that?

"I'm asking you to listen first and react later." Easier said than done but I will do my best because getting some of these answers may help us save lives.

"I'm listening." I'm rewarded with three pumps of his dick in rapid succession, like he's getting off on my compromise. In fact, he seems to be turned on by both my fight and my submission, which is original to say the least.

Wrapping my fingers around the slats of the headboard to relieve some of the pressure from his thrusts, I close my eyes for the briefest of moments as he works my lust to his advantage. He pumps in and out, slowly, reverently, using everything he's learned about my reactions to subdue me. I allow him this leniency. I let him win this battle so I can slay him in the war.

"I'm a dominant at heart, a master at reading people." He's mastering this fuck is what he's doing. "I have a gift for manipulating women's bodies. I can exploit their needs and their fears so they'll kneel at my feet and do whatever I want them to do."

For fuck's sake. I've heard of women falling for men who are mirror images of their fathers but this is next level daddy issues, right here. My father abused and manipulated my mother to the point she decided death was better than living with the memory of her torture.

"So…what you're saying is…" Oh fuck fuck fuck, he's sucking that sweet spot between my neck and collar bone into his mouth, probably leaving me with an unmistakable mark.

"What am I saying, Kitten?"

"That you're an abuser?" Fuck, I hate myself for loving everything he does to my body. My only relief is that once I'm free from this lustful prison, I'll be able to think more clearly without interruptions.

"No, sweetheart. I'm a trainer. My job is to make sure the girls are properly trained for their masters. But also…" I'm about to come but it feels dirty to do it now. In fact, this whole fucking bare-all sexfest is surreal. "I can anticipate when a woman is too broken so I fake their deaths and send them back to their families."

My eyes pop open at his admission. We both stop fucking, staring at each other like this moment is defining.

"But…oh fuck, okay…right there." Wait, what was I going to say? His dick is distracting me, I can't think.

"Goddamn, you're perfect. So tight and wet and always fighting me, but just before you come, you give yourself to me." His words are strained, spoken through his teeth like he's using every single muscle to keep from losing his control.

Reaching behind him, he unhooks my ankles, and in an instant, I've got my legs around his hips. This is the proverbial white flag and I'm waving it around at least until I come because I'm anticipating something fucking huge here.

Just as my hips fly off the bed, he palms both my ass cheeks and squeezes hard enough that I'll have bruises for days. I don't care because this new angle is everything that's right in the world.

"Yes, yes! Oh fuck!"

The headboard is slamming into the wall, causing the paintings and picture frames to shake every time his hips thrust into me. It'd be violent if it weren't so fucking amazing. Every inch of him is hard and thick, the head of his cock hitting my G-spot like it's on a fucking tracker app.

"Give it to me, Kitten."

And goddamn him for making me so fucking pliable when it comes to my orgasm. Fuck him for making me feel so fucking good.

"You're an asshole." I'm panting, words muffled from the gulps of air I'm trying to take in as my body freezes and my cunt milks his dick for everything he's giving me.

Jarrett pushes deep then tenses. He's not breathing either as his dick spills everything he's got. I can smell the mix of us, the hard core sex is strong and making me hornier than before. But the sounds? Those are addicting. That wet, gliding sound of his dick sliding, now, in an out as he begins breathing again.

"Hmm, all I heard is that you want me to fuck your asshole." Bringing his lips to mine, he kisses me as hard as he just fucked me, then smirks. I want to growl at him or roll my eyes but it turns out I'm exhausted. Physically, my body can't fathom moving an inch, and mentally, I've checked out of all cerebral activities for the foreseen future. "Give me a sec, sweetheart, and I'll lube it up for you."

Cocky bastard.

We spend the rest of the day trying to process what happened in that bed earlier. He runs hot water in the claw-foot tub, adding lavender bath bombs to give us total sensory pleasure. To my surprise, he doesn't get in right away, but spends an hour washing and rubbing and rinsing off every deliciously battered inch of my body.

Before I get out, though, I'm lucid enough to continue our conversation because I've got a million questions running through my mind.

"What guarantees do you have that the girls don't make it their personal ambition to find you and kill you for what you've done to them?" My anger has left my tone, for now at least. Earlier, it was the surprise element that had my emotions in overdrive, whereas, now, I'm going with calm and collected so I can get as much out of him as I can.

Our eyes meet, and without saying a word, there's something like a truce made in that instant. Humming like he's made a decision and plans on going through with it, he stands, unplugs the tub, and allows the water to drain right out. We both watch, mesmerized by the tiny tornado forming at the drain, and it feels a bit like foreshadowing.

Once the water is low, he takes the nearest big, fluffy, towel and extends his hand to me. I watch him, assessing him under this new light, and wonder why I didn't see it before.

The dom is there, always has been, but because I'm searching for it, I can see the depths of his monsters. That darkness that's embedded in the very fiber of his soul. I'm anticipating only seeing that but when his eyes meet mine, it's like watching a transformation happening. The smile from his lips kisses the lines at the corners of his eyes. It's not forced and it's not fake.

When his gaze is on me, his darkness retreats and the green of his eyes brightens.

I don't think I've ever had that kind of effect on anyone. Not Logan, who claims I make him happy; not Tabatha, who swears I saved her life in more ways than one; not Opie, who got a second chance with our friendship; and definitely not my mother, who, despite loving me, still saw me as the result of my father's sins.

Jarrett, though? Jarrett…he sees me, and for that, I'm giving him an inch.

Holding out my hand for him to take, I step out of the tub and allow him to dry me off. Kneeling at my feet, for once, he presents the towel in his hands for me to step into. I have to hold on to the sink so I don't fall on my face since my legs feel a lot like noodles after this weekend. With one foot in his hold, he dries up my ankle, my calf, my knee, before gently placing my foot back onto the rug and tapping the inside of my left ankle and starting the process all over again.

We don't speak for a while as I watch him concentrate on his task. It's like he's memorizing me, every line and every pore of my legs.

"Some of them are in rough shape, Ophelia." I blink at the sudden way he's volunteering information but, for once, I shut my mouth and let him talk. "A few of them I've had to take to a rehab facility where they were taken care of for months at a time. Two, I've driven back to their families because I could tell within five minutes of meeting them that they would be too broken to survive a week as a slave. Mostly, though, I refuse to take them in when it's clear as day I can't do fuck all to train them."

Pausing like he's debating whether or not he wants to continue giving me information, he dries my thighs and my ass, passing over my mound like it's not there. Ignoring the one thing he couldn't get enough of this whole weekend.

"A lot of them came from abusive homes and every single one of them, I trained to perfection. I made sure they were exactly what the buyer wanted so they would be safe. And, Ophelia…" Jarrett stands now, the towel over my breasts and collar bone as he searches my face for…understanding, maybe? Acceptance? I hope it's not forgiveness because that's not happening. Not yet and maybe not ever. "Their lives as slaves, for most, was better than where they came from."

Jarrett nods like he's trying to convince himself of what he's telling me.

Bringing a hand to his jaw, I pull him close to my face and speak as clearly as I can.

"It doesn't matter where they came from. It doesn't matter how much luxury they ended up in, Jarrett. Your firm took away their choices. You forced them into submission without their consent." Then it hits me and the disgust must be written all over my face.

"Did you…?" I don't want to say the word because I will hate myself for even being here.

"No. Fuck, no, Ophelia. Did I fuck them? Yes. But only once trust was established and consent was given. Hell, most of the time, the buyers want virgins so it's a moot point. I'm a Dom, not a complete wanker." The relief I feel is minimal because, as much as I'm glad he didn't hurt them in the most intimate ways, I'm still disappointed and frankly pissed off that he's a cog in the machine that ultimately hurts women. With or without consent, those women are not there of their own free will.

By the time he's finished drying me off, it feels like time has skipped ahead in the blink of an eye.

"We need to get ready. We can't be late." I nod at his instructions and when I look up at the clock on the wall, I realize we've only got forty minutes before we need to leave.

"Hey." Clasping my wrist, he pulls me into him before I have time to walk out of the bathroom. "I can't change my past, Ophelia."

"No, I guess you can't. But I can't change my mission, Jarrett."

We're at a standoff, a modern-day western where there are no solutions. Only obstacles.

"I'm supposed to kill you. You get that, right?" His tone is harsher all of a sudden, like I'm the one being unreasonable.

"And I'm supposed to kill you , what's your point?" We're so close I can hear his breaths and see the tight rise and fall of his chest.

"The point is…" He pauses, his glare now traveling all over my face before he growls and buries his fingers in my wet hair. "I'm not done with you."

When our mouths collide, we're all teeth and lips and tongues dueling for control. It's not about fucking, to be honest, it's about getting that last taste, the final feel of him. All too quickly, we jump apart, panting and confused.

"I need to get ready." It's not a lie, I do need the time to dress appropriately.

"This isn't over, Ophelia."

"It is for now."

"Maybe for this weekend, but I refuse to give you up forever. You're just gonna have to deal with that." There isn't an ounce of doubt in his voice. In fact, he sounds as if the mere act of throwing that information into the universe will magically make it happen.

"You can't give up something you never had, Jarrett. I can't be with someone who participates in exactly what killed my mother. I won't." We stare at each other for what feels like an eternity before he lets me go with a cocky smirk planted firmly on his lips.

Less than an hour later, we're in the helicopter heading for the airport where a car is ready to take us back to the warehouse.

We arrive with fifteen minutes to spare before the clock strikes midnight and we both turn back into the people we were before we arrived. A quarter of an hour before the bubble of our weekend explodes and reality sets in.

Outside the window of the car, the two beefy guys from Friday night are there, watching me and probably wondering if I need any kind of assistance. I don't, not really. But I do need to put my big girl panties on and say goodbye to Jarrett, knowing damn well that once I leave this car, all bets are off.

"This isn't over." He tells me this like it's a foregone conclusion and I have no say in the matter.

"I'll be the judge of that, Jarett."

Opening the door to the car, I leave him behind and register my safe arrival.

I just wish my walking away weren't so fucking hard.