Broken record, I know, but I need to say thank you for being the most BADASS readers a girl could ask for and having so much patience. It truly is the reason why I keep at it, even though it may be not as fast as we both would like. So I wanted to say THANK YOU for that!

WARNING: Sexual Violence.

Hope you enjoy this chapter. And I hope it comes off as dark and twisted as I intended. Don't be afraid to send me your thoughts. I love receiving each one.

Anyways, Happy reading! xoxo

Chapter 30

CPOV

What if I pretend what just happened didn't? What if I tell myself I am okay with everything? That red isn't the color I am seeing? That I didn't want to punch a wall until the skin over my knuckles breaks and bleeds?

Problem is I can't. Or more that I won't.

I'm exhausted of denying my nature. What I have been burying for years. The dirt no longer fresh or moist, the dry earth uprooting and seeking the cool gust of freedom that is oxygen.

Lord, how I'm crippling from the inside. I've caged this monster for too long. Containing this darkness is no longer a solution. It was only temporary, I see that now. The devil is pulling me back. Sinking his black, sharp claws into my flesh, tearing, dragging me into the pits of hell.

Hell.

The abode of the dead. Hot, red and orange perpetual flames licking, singeing flesh to the bone. The place of unholy sin, suffering, and evil. Wrath.

Metal chains shackle damned souls for an eternity of punishment and pain...

But I'm the anomaly.

The darkness of hell holds me together, not tear me apart.

The sweltering hellfire feels like a baptism rather than a damnation.

And when its wickedness burrows under my skin, I've never felt more alive.

I suddenly feel back at home.

APOV

Thud.

The finality of my bedroom door matches the one, single, heavy beat of my heart.

Click.

With the turn of the door's lock, my eyes dial on to the dark figure of a man casting his shadow all over the space. When Christian pushes off the doorframe, the blackness creeps closer with his first step like when tumbling waves break, calm, and lap at the shore. There is no ebb, though, no flow back into the sea where deadly rips and currents await.

He's a juggernaut. An undiscovered force of his own. There is no stopping him. His momentum can not be breached.

Taking long and powerful strides, he unloosens the tie from his collar and tosses the silk material on the bed. The luster of platinum in his eyes staring at me, he sheds himself of his navy blue suit jacket, revealing the crisp white shirt beneath. He folds it neatly before placing it on the back of the chair adjacent to my desk. I become fixated on his hands. How his fingers actively work, unfastening the silver diamond shaped cufflinks. How articulate each joint rolls up the shirt sleeves to his elbows, exposing more skin with each fold and the strained veins that ran up and down his forearms.

"Take off your clothes." His whiskey sin voice is thicker, less smooth.

I shrink violet. I look at him incredulously, my heart tempestuous.

Agitation creeps into his voice. "You remember what you told me our first night together?"

I shake my head slightly, speech stripped from the nervous ticks in the back of my throat.

"You said hurting yourself was a drug you couldn't give up. How it was so addictive that it gnawed at you. You remember that?"

I remembered.

My heart starts to stutter in that familiar, but oddly foreign way it does when I get possessed by my sadistic desire. The repetition of my own words feels like pixie dust raining down on me, making me feel weightless and lifts me to the high I crave. Unbidden, my right hand and clasps my left wrist and wrings the flesh until it turns warm, hot, then burns.

Immediately, his eyes narrow. Heavy footsteps approach carrying a wave of vibrating energy that heats my blood. A strong hand lands on the back of my neck, squeezes then upturns, forcing my chin to lift with his handling. The firm and controlling touch ignites every nerve, scorching the gold pixie dust into scarlet embers.

"We're done with that. Yes?"

I nod and give him a half-hearted smile.

The tips of his fingers massage into my skin. There's no pain. At least not yet.

Christian applies pressure and kneads the tense muscles. My eyelids flutter and my mouth opens to form an o. I lean into the simplistic touch; and the scent of his cologne. Spicy with warm hints of citrus effervescence and vanilla orchid.

After seconds of his ministrations, his hand snakes up into my hair, rubs my scalp once, twice, then garners the strands into his fists before pulling. My eyes pop wide.

The darkness of the room is absorbed in his features. His expression blank while his eyes shoot daggers of ice. The dichotomy in him, at equal measure, leaves me aroused and frightened.

"I'm going to introduce you to a new addiction. It's going to be different. The high I bring you is going to push you to your limits, Ana. You'll remember only of what I do to you. You'll feel a different kind of pain than what you're used to, but nonetheless pain that will give you what you want. What you need." I shiver, but he still has one question left. "You still want to forget?"

"Yes?"

"It's not a question."

I nod infinitesimally. "Yes."

"Then take. Off. Your. Fucking. Clothes."

I curdle. He notices. Then draws into the remaining space between us, his hard arousal trapped within his slacks, spears against my stomach.

I suck in a breath that tastes hot and dry on my tongue and fight back the urge to shrink inside myself.

He leans in.

Cups my jaw.

Makes the bone scream.

I squeak.

My hands grip his large forearms when he drives me toward him.

He brushes his full lips over mine and whispers, "What happens next is because you asked for it," before stepping away.

Casually, he sinks his hands into his pockets, his chest straining against his shirt.

"Strip."

I hesitate for a fraction but then unbutton my pants. I get halfway to my knees when he grinds out, "Slower."

My heart flurries as if in a snowstorm, but it doesn't stop wetness from coating my inner thighs. I step out of my jeans one foot at a time. Then trembling fingers find and unbutton my shirt, exposing my bra. Christian's eyes drop to the exposed skin. The short, rapid rise and fall of his chest and the tip of his tongue running along his top lip sparks my pulse to skyrocketing beats.

I swallow back anxiety.

Get out of your head. Stop thinking. Drown everything out. Focus on him.

Jesus, I'm acting like a child on their first day at pre-k.

I trust him, I remind myself. There is nothing to be afraid of.

If I am going to be afraid than I should be scared of losing him. Not being enough. I have to prove to him that I can be what he needs like I do him. Be the source of his pleasure.

He can deny it all he wants, but I see it - his thirst. The hunger. The man… the feral beast he is right now has been caged. Starved of seeking out its pleasure. This is what he desires. Truly.

I saw it our first night together. It was just a glimpse of what he is truly capable of, that much I am certain of. And although he's made it damn near impossible to open himself up to me, I knew by the look on his face - when he saw the bruises he left - he blamed himself.

We can't go back to that. It will destroy me. Because each time he holds back, I hold back. Whereas when he's this way, I don't feel like my desires are a liability. Or that my body is weak, but a magnet attracted to pain and gets stronger the more it receives.

The rough growl of my name tugs me away from the morose place my thoughts have strayed. Frost eyes flash with challenge and an encoded message that he intends for me to decipher: If you can't handle this, then you will never be ready for the darkness my mind and past possess. And if you do this, be prepared. You just might hate me when this is over.

Accepting his warning, I lift my chin high and I arch my back to reach around and undo the clasp, freeing my heavy breasts.

In seconds I'm bare for Christian. The cold air sends sprinkles of goosebumps to my skin. His gaze does one, tortuous but erotic slide down my body before he says, "Get on your knees with your hands on your thighs. Eyes forward."

I comply without a word.

The pull of what feels like 1.8 Gs aids me to my knees.

I fight the awkwardness of being completely at his mercy. Fear of the unknown sends my nails to bury into the flesh of my thighs.

"Ana," Christian prods with unexpected tenderness.

My gaze jolts from where it's fallen to his concerned face.

"I'm okay," I say, detaching my nails from my skin.

Unscrewing his frown, Christian's expression spikes back to hot and dominate. Out from the corner of my eye, I watch him stroll to the side of my bed and pick up his tie.

A satanic smile hits his lips, baring teeth.

I gulp. His eyes flashing narcotic power.

When he starts to walk back to me, I screw my eyes back to the wall. Once he's at my side, he circles me like a vulture, meticulously rubbing his jaw. On the third cycle, he stops behind me, a hand falls on my head and sweeps my hair aside. A defiant shiver rolls over me. We drift in a sea of silence, neither of us makes a move or sound. After minutes, I start to fidget. Witnessing my struggle, Christian sinks to my level - a move that normally calms me - murders my nerve. Though, the submissive in me fights and bends to his superiority.

"I'd normally use Japanese silk rope but this will do."

I blink.

Silk satin caresses the crevice of my spine. My head careens to the side, but Christian captures my chin and directs me back.

"Eyes forward. Don't make me tell you again," he murmurs in my ear like Satan himself.

I swallow hard, embarrassingly aroused at the promise of his inner monster making an appearance. "Now, lace your fingers together behind you."

I do. He wraps the tie around my wrists, vertically first then horizontally, forming a knot I'm sure is inescapable. Once Christian does this several times, he ties it off and takes the excess around his hand. "Remember your safe words?"

"Why? Will I need them?"

"Maybe. Maybe not."

The ominosity to his response is a test, of what is sure to be many. He still expects me to back out. But I won't give up so easily. Not like I did at every obstacle before I met him. I'm going to prove to him and myself that I can master this. We can be what the other needs, not these facades tearing us apart.

"Lean forward. Rest your cheek on the carpet." Christian's voice cuts through my thoughts like a whip.

Slowly, I lower myself. The soft fibers tingle my naked skin as if each loop of wool were caterpillars.

He presses a hand down between my shoulder blades so my ass is angled higher. My folded hands tremble. Starting at my lower back, his hand strokes upward. One scorching finger skims down the crevice of my spine, stopping for a moment at each vertebra, turning the bones into pinpoints of heat.

Christian's lips does the same in reverse, licking and kissing. His hot, wet tongue a dips into every curve and dip, blowing me apart by heat.

Fuck.

Show a girl some mercy.

Panting, he takes me by surprise and dips his hand between my legs, his fingers run over my wet folds. The pads of his fingers coated in my arousal seek forward and swirl around my clit, avoiding it completely. I writhe at the shockwave of deep, unadulterated need shiver down my spine.

"Stay still."

Two thick fingers disappear inside me, I groan. He leans in, kisses the shell of my ear and whispers, "Don't speak unless I require an answer. Don't move unless I allow you to. Clear?"

"Yes, Sir."

The intrusion of a third finger damn near strikes me unconscious. I thrust my hips into him, ravenous for him, but he pushes to his feet. Fingers, mouth, then his entire body until he is towering above me.

And just like that, not another word spoken, he leaves my side and saunters to the chair he laid his jacket on. He lifts the chair with one hand, directs it to the farthest corner of my room, out of my line of sight. It's the perfect vantage point.

Desperately I wait. Counting the seconds in my head, where I'm screaming for him to come back, to touch me, for a minuscule of affection.

While my limbs and muscles are stiff, and the carpet burns my knees, I can sense - despite being stoic and cold - his relaxed state as he simply watches me from afar.

And although I can't read his mind or see his face, I knew his intentions.

He's frustrating me purposely.

Fuck this. Fuck the consequences.

"Christian, please," I implore after minutes of aching, desperately burning with combustible lust. My prone position and his lack of intimacy have driven me to mania like an addict twitching for their next high.

"Hush." It's an order.

I whimper and fight against my bindings. The friction of my resistance burns my flesh, turning it raw. Others would find the sensation unpleasant, but it coaxes a moan from the back of my throat and makes me tug harder at the material.

"Stop," he bites out in a frigid tone.

My body goes taut when I hear the creaking of a chair. It's followed by rapid footsteps that end in scant seconds.

I wait with bated breath for him to untie me, to finally touch me, but the clamoring of metal against metal tell me neither await me.

My body tenses as a thought surfaces. It's the same clanking sound that had my heart racing the day Christian used it to bind my wrist during our fight about his past subs. Shit.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

Cheek flat against the carpet, I crane my neck, catching a glimpse of his muscular hand threading the leather into loops. My heart damn near gives out.

"Wait," I suck in a breath, my pulse leaping in my veins. "Wait. I need a second."

"Baby, I don't believe in pause buttons." His voice is a careless whisper, detachment oozing. "You have all you need to stop this. Two words. All you have to do is say them." He wraps the excess leather around his fist, ready for the first blow.

My breathing aggresses into shallow pants that I can't control. Anticipation kicks at my chest, but I tell myself not use either safe word. Not when I've come this far. Not for this. Not when I need to forget. When for the first time, I can prove I can be what Christian won't admit he needs.

Red.

Yellow.

They don't exist. At least for tonight.

Stripped of reservation, body charged and melting, I become servile, resting my cheek back to the floor. Then I arch my back, sending my ass higher in the air, silently begging him to finish what he's started.

The air crackles with tension. I can sense the darkness shroud over both of us. Sinking its claws and fangs in our flesh, permanently branding our souls into this sweet, wicked oblivion.

A few beats pass, then...

Without prelude, the whistle of the belt slices through air, connecting my skin with an echoing smack. I purr and suck on my lip, squeezing my watery eyes tight.

He rains a series of blows.

White-hot pain with every pummel.

The leather hits my ass and the backs of my thighs, building layers of affliction.

It smarts.

Fire on Fire.

Burn on top of burn.

Then he pauses. Just for a moment.

"Do you know why you're being punished?"

"Yes." I catch myself just in time. "Sir."

Suddenly, his hand grabs raw skin, it's as if his hand is cold water and I'm heated glass. His nails graze a vertical trail down my abused flesh.

I cry. Yes, cry. Tears breach past my ducks and make my face slick.

"Tell me."

"Because I spoke out of turn. I moved when you told me not to." My voice is threaded, taut with a concoction of fear and lechery.

"This time I want you to count. Ten strikes for moving. And another ten for speaking." His voice ripple with power. I hardly recognize it.

The next set of strikes is hellfire. Each blow adds to the threshold of my high. I count each heated lash as I receive them, the mounting high electrifies my nerve endings, toppling my pleasure.

I suck in gulping, gluttonous breaths as something inside me snaps.

I see the walls of my room through a fugue. They lose their lines and edges. And within seconds so does everything else around me. I would have followed, but I float instead, Christian tethering me steadfast to the earth, his pain transmitting through the haze.

My mind plunges into vaporous waters, swimming with grace. Every stroke of my arms into wading waters matched the strokes of the belt. The pain morphs into all-encompassing pleasure that vibrates every cell and demands my release.

"Ana?" Christian's voice slices through the delirium. It sounds eons away. I'm too lost.

I didn't know a high until this one. This high, god, this is something else entirely.

This high is the air that fills my lungs.

This high is the blood that pumps through my veins.

The choice to endure more, offer more. Go beyond the drawn lines.

This is what it's like to be truly in his world. Submit and entrust. To forget.

Christian calls out my name again, this time closer and more urgent.

I warble gibberish in response, my tongue a deadweight in my mouth.

The abrupt absence of warmth knocks me out of gravity's pull and my euphoria falls.

As I come out of my high, all my senses come back, sharpen all at once.

The first thing I feel is the burning of my knees. Then a touch of pain that make me cringe. I squeak when my mind becomes reacquainted with the ache of my bruised muscles. It's then that I realize that a switch inside me has flipped from pleasure to excruciating pain.

An arm encircles my waist, reining me back into solid muscle, as a hand trails up the valley of my breasts and settles at the base of my throat, forcing me upright.

A confluence of citrus and vanilla hugs me. The tension in me fades. Warmth blankets the chilled places on my body.

Christian forces my head to his shoulder in servitude. "Relax, baby. I'm going to take care of you."

He strokes the matted hair from my face. Sucks on my fervid skin, right on the jugular. A small quiver hits my legs when I feel his cock slide along my soaked slit. And when his tongue dips to the bend of my neck, bares his teeth to bite my flesh, he slams into me, all the way - stretching my walls, making me scream.

Fuck so thick. Was he always this so damn thick?

The sheer ferocity of his thrusts against my raw skin sends darts of pleasure all over, tripping my brain's internal circuit breaker, slowly alleviating the pain, bringing me back to equilibrium. My bound hands viciously attack his sweat-dripping flesh. A strangled growl tears from the back of his throat when he shifts from slow to hard, shallow to deep.

His hands leave my throat and waist and reach for the tie around my wrists. I gasp when he pulls out, my walls clamping down on the sudden empty space. He rolls me on my back, captures my wrists, pinning them in his hands, increasing the friction on the tender skin of my wrists as he twists, I moan. It should hurt. To anyone normal, it would, but I've wandered past that line, into my own territory where my own monster has been unsheathed.

Pain for others is sacrilegious. For me? It forges a rare pleasure. And I am ridiculously, completely, and utterly addicted.

Without pause, he enters me to the hilt, my walls draw him in, the carnal intrusion sends my teeth into the meat of my bottom lip, but I can't stop the screams, not completely. When he shifts to a new angle, the head of his cock hits over a spot I didn't know existed. The shaking of my body intensifies, his cock grows harder and another ear-piercing wail bubbles low in my throat. My mouth opens to cry out, let it free, but Christian had other plans. His hand claps over my gaped mouth, muffling the sound. I stare up at him, stunned.

I gaze into his unreadable gray eyes, searching for soft tenderness and find wicked power.

Are there any more surprises I should be aware of?

As though in answer, his pace sharpens, his hips piston, snapping in and out in and out, unapologetically, his dexterous precision hitting hypersensitive tissue over and over and over, that makes my head loll, my legs tremble, and my walls quiver from the drugging force of my orgasm.

My breaths come out in harsh rasps beneath his hand as I could feel thundering heart and throbbing aftershocks in my toes, in my spine, and lips. My walls squeeze down on him, milking his, spurring his own orgasm. Quick, rapid, shallow breaths fall from his lips as he takes one last thrust and stills.

He removes his hands and whispers something I don't catch.

Pacified, I have the simplest epiphany.

We were no longer tamed or caged. We were monsters who found each other in the dark. Two souls that until now, are finally free to coexist in our twisted desires.