Page 169 of Somno Slave

A paleness touches her skin. Her lips move to speak, but the sound doesn’t come out. There isn’t a single conceivable word in her brain.

“That’s...that’s inappropriate.” She stutters out.

“Inappropriate?” I scoff, leaning closer to her until I’m within striking distance. Her eyes flash with concern and she instinctively puts space between us. “No. That wasn’t inappropriate. Inappropriate would be me asking you about who makes you wet at night.”

Horror stiffens her spine. She doesn’t even have the chance to hide it, to wrap it in that brittle bravado she wears like armour. No. She’s been caught, rattled to the core.

I let the words hang between us, enjoying the way the blood drains from her face.

“Stop—” Her throat tight, the word choking itself. Her reactions are becoming faster now.

“Are your thighs still damp?”

“What?” Her pupils are blown wide. “What are you saying?”

I lift my arms slowly. The chains cry as I strain against the material.

“Don’t play coy with me now, Doctor.” I coo, flexing my fingers and testing the give on the tight material holding me still. She notices the way I shift.

“What are you doing?” She squeaks.

The beautiful bite of pain stings me as I start flexing against my restraints. The chains resist me at first. Then,pop.The first lock bursts open. It lands with a thud that echoes around the room.

She pushes to her feet.

“Stop it.” She tries to keep her voice level, but it betrays her.

I twist my other wrist. Another pop. And then another, like popcorn bursting over a hot stove.

She stumbles backwards. “Deogal, stop it.”

A sudden banging on the door echoes through the room. The guards pummel their fists into reinforced steel, but they’re met with the lock.

I smile.

The moment she realises that help isn’t coming is a sight I commit to memory. Face drawn with terror. The way those cherry-red lips fall apart as a scream threatens to break.

“Stop it!” Her voice cracks. “How did you do that?”

I tear through the last of the restraints like I’m stripping clothes from my body. They fall to the floor, one by one, in a mess of chaos. I kick sharply until the hold between my ankles shatter, shaking off the chains, they’re nothing more than loose threads.

The banging becomes louder, more desperate. And then Peter’s voice suddenly tears through the microphone. “Rheda, get out of there. We can’t get in and—”

I switch off the communication. Microphone. Cameras. The one-way glass.

Everything.

Until she’s utterly alone with her predator.

I don’t share the good news. Not yet. I let her think she’s being watched a little longer.

“Oh, my sweet, doctor,” the groan ripples through my chest. I roll my shoulders slowly and the feeling is fucking divine, each muscle stretching like it’s being used for the first time. I lean into the dull ache; I revel in the pain.

She backs away, and the rhythm of her panicked steps hitting the floor sends shivers through me.

“Stay away,” She warns, hands held high like she might actually fend me off.

I pout. “Don’t you want to play with me?”