Page 61 of Cold Bastard
I walked back toward her, stopping just inches away.
“And then I’m going to deny you,” I admitted. “I’m going to pull back right before you tip over. I’m going to leave you hanging, desperate, aching. And I’m going to do it again. And again. Until you understand that your pleasure doesn’t belong to you anymore. It belongs to me.”
She was shaking her head now, her lips moving but no sound coming out.
“I’m going to condition you,” I continued, my voice steady and relentless. “Every time I hurt you, I’m going to make you come. Every time you feel pain, your body is going to respond with pleasure. And eventually, you won’t be able to separate the two. You’ll crave the pain because it’s the only way you can feel good. You’ll beg me to hurt you because it’s the only way you can get off.”
I reached out and wiped a tear from her cheek with my thumb.
“And when that happens,” I said softly, “when you finally understand that you’re mine—body, mind, and soul—I’m going to fuck you. I’m going to take you in every way possible. I’m going to fill every hole, claim every part of you. And you’re going to thank me for it.”
She let out a choked sob as her knees buckled slightly.
“By the time these seventy-two hours are up,” I said, my voice dropping to a growl, “you’re going to beg me to stay. You’re going to beg me not to let you go. Because you’ll finally understand what you’ve been missing your whole life. You’llunderstand that this, this pain, this control, this surrender, is what you were made for.”
I leaned in close, my lips brushing against her ear, and whispered. “You’re going to become my perfect little masochist, and you’re going to love every second of it.”
She collapsed against the wall, her body sliding down until she was sitting on the floor, her knees pulled up to her chest, her face buried in her hands.
I stood over her, watching her break down, watching the reality of what was about to happen sink in, and I smiled.
Because this was just the beginning.
Chapter Twenty-One
Alex
I didn’t know how long I sat there on the floor, with my face buried in my hands, as my body shook with silent sobs that felt like they were tearing me apart from the inside out. Each breath came in short, painful gasps that burned in my chest. My throat felt raw, my eyes stung, and my whole body ached with a bone-deep exhaustion that went beyond the physical.
Time stopped meaning anything. Minutes could have been hours. Hours could have been minutes. The room was too muted. Too still. Oppressively silent in a way that made my skin crawl. Just the sound of my ragged breathing and the occasional creak of the floorboards as Nano moved around me, pacing slowly like a predator circling its prey. He didn’t touch me. Didn’t speak. Didn’t offer hollow words of comfort or empty threats. Just... waited. Watching me with that unreadable expression, as his presence loomed over me like a shadow I couldn’t escape. And somehow that was worse than anything he’d said. The waiting. The silence. The anticipation. The knowledge that he had all the time in the world and I had none. That he could afford to be patient while I was running out of options, running out of strength, running out of hope.
Eventually, my tears dried up. My breathing steadied, becoming slower and more controlled. My body stopped shaking, and my tremors faded into a numb stillness that feltalmost like acceptance. And still, he waited. Patient. Unmovable. Eternal.
I lifted my head slowly, my neck stiff and aching from hours spent in the same cramped position, and looked up at him. The dim light from the bedside lamp cast harsh shadows across his face, making his features look sharper, more angular than they had any right to be. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, his elbows resting on his knees, his hands clasped loosely between them in a deceptively casual pose. Watching me. Just watching. Those dark eyes, nearly black in this light, were fixed on my face with an intensity that made my skin prickle and my breath catch in my throat.
“Stand up,” he ordered quietly.
I didn’t move. I couldn’t. My legs felt like they had been filled with concrete, heavy and immovable. Every muscle in my body had locked up, frozen by some primal instinct that screamed at me to stay small, stay still, don’t draw attention.
“Alexandra.” His voice was still quiet, still calm, but there was an edge to it now.
A warning I couldn’t ignore.
“Stand up.”
I swallowed hard, tasting salt and bile, my mouth dry as sandpaper, and forced myself to my feet. The movement felt mechanical, disconnected, like I was operating my body from somewhere far away. My knees wobbled beneath me and threatened to give out entirely. My hands shook, trembled so badly I could see my fingers twitch. I pressed them flat against my thighs to hide it, as I dug my nails into the fleshy part of my skin.
He stood too, unfolding from the bed with that same predatory grace he always had, every movement fluid and purposeful, and walked toward me. Each step was measured, deliberate, eating up the space between us.
I flinched.
He stopped a few feet away, close enough that I could smell his cologne as his head tilted slightly while he studied me. His gaze moved slowly across my face, taking in every detail: my swollen eyes, my tear-streaked cheeks, the way my bottom lip was raw from biting it.
“You need a shower,” he said, his voice flat and matter-of-fact.
I blinked. Of all the things I expected him to say, that wasn’t one of them. An apology, maybe. An explanation. Something that acknowledged what had just happened between us.
But not that.
