Beguile

"You've been naughty," he sat beside Rie, waving the remote tauntingly in his hand.

My heart sank. I quickly patted the cushions around me, my fingers scrambling in vain. The remote—the one I thought I had hidden—was gone. When had he taken it? How had I not noticed? I squeezed my eyes shut, a cold wave of dread washing over me as his voice echoed in my head.

"Did you really think you could get away?" His tone was soft, but the words cut deep.

I shook my head, panic creeping into my chest as I tried to close my legs, instinctively shielding myself. But Rie—still hard, still desperate—was pushing forward, his tip teasing my entrance again, uncaring of the audience, uncaring of the eyes on us. The shame boiled inside me. I looked at Lucas, then back at Rie, trying to push him away with my leg pressed against his chest. But it was futile—Rie wanted more, and Lucas was in control.

The room felt suffocating, heavy with judgment, and I knew they all must have been watching, the ones I had stolen from, the ones I had betrayed. I had gambled and lost, and now, maybe this time, they really would kill me.

Maybe it's what I deserve.

The thought lingered in my mind. I'm no more than a whore with dead parents. The ones I once hated, the ones I had secretly been glad were gone. And now, here I was—no power, no leverage, no escape.

But maybe being a whore wasn't so bad. Maybe it was better than dying.

I extended my leg, the other still awkwardly pressed against Rie's chest in a half-hearted attempt to stop him. My movements were slow as I tried to distract Lucas, to show him I wasn't a threat. That I was harmless. I slid my toes down his leg, brushing against the fabric of his pants until I found what I was looking for—his hardness, already stiff beneath my touch.

I pressed my toe against him, rubbing slowly, trying to cater to him, to placate him. Trying to survive.

Lucas watched me, his eyes darkening with amusement, his lips curling into a smirk. He leaned back, clearly enjoying the display. He didn't say anything, just watched, letting me play my role, letting me show how far I'd go to prove I was at his mercy. To prove that I knew my place.

"Where else would I go but here? With all of you," I managed to whisper, my voice wavering but steady enough to carry through the suffocating tension.

Lucas smiled—not his usual charming smile, but that smug, condescending one that made my skin crawl. His fingers slid up my legs, icy cold, sending a shudder through my body. That chill wasn't just from his touch—it was the dread deepening inside me. He had spent time outside, searching, waiting, letting the cold seep into his skin, and I could feel his anger simmering beneath the surface. He wasn't showing it yet, but I knew it was there, lurking.

His hands dropped to the cushion, where he pulled out a rectangular device. He turned to Rie, whose face twisted with guilt, his pitiful features contorted as he gulped nervously. For a moment, everything hung in the balance.

Then suddenly, Lucas hurled the phone to the ground. The thud echoed through the room, followed by a series of gasps from the blindfolded captives scattered around us. Their fear was palpable as Lucas stomped on the phone again and again, crushing it beneath his heel until it was nothing but shattered plastic and broken glass.

"The first time you said that to me," He brushed his hair back with a casual flick of his hand, "was when you were locked in my arms." His eyes gleamed obsessively, "And now..." He stepped closer, his fingers grazing the deep scar on my chest.

"You know exactly what keeps me at bay, princess," he continued, "You know exactly how to tether me."

What was he even saying? It should be the opposite. I was the one tethered. I was the one who needed to submit to every word he said, to bend to his will.