ANGEL
He was back. Again.
It was the sound of the heavy door clicking open that stirred me awake from another nightmare, ripping me back to reality—my real hell.
Him.
Somewhere between Damien leaving and me wallowing in every pathetic decision that led me to this situation, I had somehow fallen asleep. My body was completely worn out. The sheets below were warm from my fever, but still uncomfortably moist. The wetness wasn’t the only thing I was aware of; in this unending darkness, my senses were heightened to a terrifying degree.
Thump. Thump. Thump. My pulse roared in my ears like a desperate drum. The faint smell of stale sweat assaulted my nostrils, and my skin felt dry and burning hot.
I was going to die without water. Didn’t he know this? Or was it his intention to kill me slowly, painfully, making me aware of my lungs losing their last breath?
Why was Damien doing this to me? I wasn’t the nicest person—I was a brat to everyone most of the time, and I’d definitely badmouthed him, provoked him, and mocked him on purpose—but nothing deserved this depraved cruelty.
Had I mistaken the psychotic look in his eyes the whole time? Instead of lusting after me, did he actually just want to destroy me? Or was Jillian behind this whole thing? She’d wanted me out of her and Daddy’s life for good.
I could hear Damien through the thunder of my own pulse. He was shuffling across the room. I swallowed back a desperate, pathetic whimper.
I wanted to scream at him to untie me, feed me, and give me a damn drink. My throat was so bone-dry that every time I tried to cough up saliva, I only swallowed thick mucus that made me heave. Nothing came up anyway because my stomach was completely empty.
I couldn’t yell at him, though. I’d already tried, and it had fallen on deaf ears. He was watching me fade away, enjoying every second of it.
Quiet steps. Closer. Closer.
He walked up to the side of the bed. I could feel his heavy gaze crawling over my bare flesh, the sheer heat of his stare making my feverish skin flush even hotter.
"You are quite a sight, aren’t you, princess?"
His chuckle was low, deep, and dripping with a filthy depravity that made me want to crawl away and hide in a hole where he’d never find me.
"I’m going to untie you, but you have to promise me something first, little girl," he drawled, his tone laced with dark authority. "Promise me you won’t do something stupid... although I’d love an excuse to punish you."
Little girl.
That phrase again. Was he using it on purpose to make me feel small and helpless? A sudden flare of bratty rebellion ignited in my blood. I wasn’t his little girl. He wasn’t Daddy, and Daddy would never treat me like a prisoner.
I didn’t want to promise him anything. I wanted to scream at him to burn in hell, but instead, I found my head nodding in sheer, pathetic desperation. It wasn’t obedience—I forced myself to believe it was just survival, tricking the enemy into thinking I was weak so I could escape later.
"Use. Your. Words. Little girl," Damien snarled. "Beg me to untie you, and I’ll consider it."
My teeth ground together so hard I thought my jawbone would snap. Bastard. He was changing his terms already. Now I had to beg? Was he testing my limits just to keep me tied up longer? No, this wasn’t the time to play the tough girl. If he cut these ropes, I’d be able to catch my breath.
"P-please untie me, D-Damien—ah!"
The instant his name left my lips, his hand cracked brutally across my exposed left breast. The sharp, loud smack echoed off the walls.
Pain flared hot and blinding, my sensitive nipple stiffening into a hard peak under the sheer force of the blow.
W-why?! I did what he asked!
"You’re begging for a punishment, aren’t you? I suppose I can give it to you," he purred, a dark promise in his voice as his heavy palm struck my other breast with a stinging splash of heat.
I cried out, my whole frame jerking against the ropes. My soft skin throbbed as his rough fingers immediately clamped down, mercilessly kneading the tender, reddened flesh he’d just bruised.
I arched off the mattress, my mind frantic. And then the realization hit me—he’d explicitly told me not to use his name. What the fuck was I supposed to call him then?! Did he want me to call him... Daddy? Like he’d demanded before?
No. Defiance flared through me like hot wax. I wasn’t going to say it. I refused to let him break me to that humiliating extent.
"P-please stop!" I choked out.
He didn’t listen. If anything, his hands grew more violent, more ruthless.
Slap.Squeeze.Tug.
Each spank landed harder, setting my breasts on fire. My tits bounced and trembled under his heavy assault, throbbing in sync with the embarrassing heat pooling between my thighs.
I couldn’t take it. It burned so bad. My chest felt heavy, sensitive, and completely raw. The words spilled off my scorched tongue before I could filter them.
"S-sorry, Sir—nngh! S-sir, please... Ah!"
Sir. He had liked that back in my bedroom. It wasn’t his name, but it wasn’t Daddy either.