In the background, Creighton sleeps while sitting on a chair.
I pinch the picture to zoom in on him. How can someone look criminally gorgeous even when he’s sleeping? I’ve always found Creighton hot, but that has long since bypassed the superficial beauty and reached new depths.
Dangerousdepths.
He’s wearing the same clothes from earlier and since the picture was posted ten minutes ago, that means he got home.
Ava told me the five of them live in the mansion that’s dedicated to the Elites. They throw parties, too, or more like Remi does, but neither Ava, Cecily, nor Glyn ever wants to go there.
Not even when I told them I was curious about what their mansion looked like.
Seriously, they’re okay with tagging along with me to go to The King’s U, but when it’s their own club, they’re suddenly not interested.
I release the picture to read Remi’s caption.
Rare as fuck picture of these fuckers together. Thank me later, fangirls. Also, we’re so going to paint Creigh’s face with a permanent marker. Think he’ll look good with a mustache?
Smiling, I like the picture and comment.
annika-volkov:I’m sure he will. Share pictures.
It’s only fair after the map of handprints he left on my ass then went to sleep as if nothing had happened. How dare he?
Remi replies to my comment immediately.
lord-remington-astor: Your wish is my command, my lady. Stay tuned.
I smile and go back to scrolling through my IG feed, then switch to TikTok. I’m about to post one of my drafts when a text appears at the top of my screen.
My heart skips a beat at his name and I’m seriously wondering if this is even a logical reaction anymore?
The text is a photo of Remi. Sulking. Wearing an ugly mustache drawn with a marker.
Creighton:I heard you wanted pictures.
Annika:I didn’t suggest it, he did, and I only played along.
Creighton:Don’t play along next time.
Annika:Or what?
My heart beats in my ears as I type the words.
Creighton:Your arse knows the exact answer to that. Don’t be a brat.
Well, damn.
He has no right to sound so hot when telling me not to be a brat. I can even imagine his lowered tone if he were to say the words.
In an attempt to ease the ache that’s blossomed between my thighs, I slide onto the bed and retrieve the ointment, then take a picture and send it over.
Annika: Do you give these to everyone you spank?
Creighton:Only the brats.
My chest aches and I refuse to honor the feeling crawling inside me with a name. Or even my attention.
And no, I’m not going to think about how many women have experienced what I did. That what I consider an awakening of sorts is a normal occurrence for him.
I’m simply not going there.
Annika:I thought the whole purpose of punishment was me feeling pain.
Creighton: It is. But I don’t want it to bruise. Not for long, at least. That way, I can mark it again.
Annika: That started swoony and turned creepy real fast. Oh, and by the way, I’m better. Still sore as hell, but I’ll survive. Thanks for asking.
Creighton:Watch it.
Annika:So I’m just supposed to take it and shut up?
Creighton: Preferably.
Annika:Well, that’s not me.
Creighton:Don’t I know it.
Annika:And you’re okay with it?
Creighton:I’m not.
My chest aches again, that familiar pain becoming more potent than the one on my ass.
Annika:But you still insist on pursuing me.
Creighton:I wouldn’t call it pursuing.
Annika:Then what is it?
Creighton:I’m punishing you, little purple, and I’m getting off on every moment of putting my mark on your translucent skin.
I rub my foot again on my leg. Somehow, the throbbing between my legs has gotten worse and my ass feels like it’s on fire.
He’s a true sadist, isn’t he?
Then why am I not more scared? Hell, the least I can do is stop being intrigued.
Creighton:Is that smart mouth of yours finally speechless?
Annika: Not in this lifetime. I was just thinking.
Creighton:About?
Annika: One: Why do you call me little purple?
Creighton: Aren’t you obsessed with that color?
Annika:But you aren’t.
Creighton:In my mind, you are the personification of that color.
I try not to blush, but considering the heat in my cheeks, I’ve definitely failed.
Creighton:That’s one. What’s two?
Annika:When did you start having these…singular tastes?
Creighton: Since I hit puberty.
Annika: So you’ve been experimenting since?
Though I wouldn’t call his lashes experimental. He knew exactly what he was doing. Despite the pain from his handprints, they’re not meant to leave a permanent mark.
Which means he’s done this countless times before.
To a dozen other girls. Maybe more.
Nope, no. I’m simply not going there.
Creighton:Not experimenting, engaging.
Annika:With girlfriends?
Creighton:With sex partners.
Annika:As in, whores?
Annika: Sorry, I mean sex workers?
Creighton:No. Willing submissives.
My fist tightens at the thought of how many submissives have gotten on their knees, taken his beatings, and thanked him for it later.
Hell, if the fangirls at the shelter knew he was this kinky, they’d be like ‘Choke me, Daddy.’
Annika:And are you still seeing these willing submissives?
Creighton:Why are you asking?
Annika: I don’t want to compete with girls who are already into your stuff.
Creighton: Stuff?
Annika: You know. At any rate, they need to go.
Creighton: Will you take their place as my plaything?
Annika:Aren’t I already?
Creighton: What happened today was a mere demonstration, a little taste of what I’m capable of. It’s by no means the entirety of my ‘singular tastes.’ You think you can handle me? Think again.
Well, shit.
If that was only a taste, then what else does he plan to do to me?
This is probably that moment where I should backpedal and abort whatever twisted feelings I have for the sadist.
One small problem, though.
No matter how much it hurt, no matter how painful it will be to sit at all, there’s something else. I’ve never felt as empowered and free as in the moment when he held me down and ‘punished’ me.
When he threw me against those shelves and dominated me, I never thought to fight or escape his savage hold.
For some reason, it felt…right.
And my toxic trait is definitely curiosity because I type.
Annika: I’ll never know until I try. And don’t be a hypocrite. You don’t get to tell me not to take Bran as a fake boyfriend, then go and have other people. If you’re going to unleash your inner sadist, unleash it on me.
His next text steals my air and leaves me gasping.
Creighton: You’ve fucked up again. I’ve given you an opening to try and run away, but you went ahead and refused to take it. Don’t blame me for what’ll happen next. You’re now mine to punish and discipline, little purple.
CREIGHTON
Ared hand tugs on my small fingers and I’m sent flying into a pool of blood.
My vision reddens, then gradually blackens as my limbs soak in the hot crimson liquid.
A low, haunting moan of pain saturates my ears and clashes against my bones.
I’m frozen, bound, helpless, and trapped in the middle of an intricate web.
Herweb. The spider.
Soft hands grab hold of my face, but she’s only a blurry shadow due to all the red.
She squeezes my fingers with brute force and I scream, but the only sound that echoes in the air is an unintelligible muffle.
“Shh, Creigh. It’ll all end soon.”
I jerk awake, my heartbeat hammering in my ears.
My hands are still metaphorically bound and I can’t move.
For a moment, I think I’m back in that dark room, dripping with blood, while a giant black spider hovers over me like a looming Grim Reaper.
I snatch my hand away, only to find that it’s in a fist and someone has grabbed it.
My brother.
Eli stands by the side of my bed, looking as regal as usual in his casual black trousers and white button-down. His hair is styled, his demeanor is sharp, and his face is caught in eternal boredom.
Soft light illuminates the room and casts a gloomy edge on his angular features.
He’s five years older than me. At twenty-five, he’s the oldest of all of us. The first child of godlike parents, and the first grandchild of even godlier grandparents.
Grandpa Jonathan—from Dad’s side—is constantly warring with Grandpa Ethan and Grandpa Agnus—from Mum’s side—about whose fortune Eli is going to manage once he finishes his PhD.
Eli slowly releases his grip on my fist that I nearly pummeled him with, casually drops it, and sits beside me. And just like that, his true nature dissipates with a bright smile.
After pulling his phone up to face him, he unmutes it. “Sorry about that, Mum. I think there’s a problem with the Wi-Fi. Remi’s probably downloading his stash of porn.”
From my view of the screen, I can see Mum holding a hand to her chest. “Stop it, Eli. You’re so bad.”
He winks. “The best type of bad you’ll ever meet. Also, look who I have here. A rare sight of your baby boy.”
A feminine gasp reaches me first before Eli tilts the phone so it’s facing us both.