The Sacrifice: Chapter 14

I’m sitting at my desk when a soft knock sounds on my office door. “Come in,” I call out.

I’m too busy staring at my computer to pay any attention to whoever enters. I finish typing out the email and look up when I’m met with silence to see my wife standing in my office.

Her head is down, eyes on the floor, her bleach-blond hair is curled in big waves flowing down over her shoulders, and she’s wearing her uniform. It looks like lingerie. I’ve never really paid much attention to what I have the staff wear until I see it on her.

Getting to my feet, I walk around my desk and lean back against it, arms crossed over my chest. My eyes drop to her black Vans and slowly take in the black Charmnight fishnet tights—they have rhinestones on them to shine while working under the neon lights—up to her black booty shorts that I know show off her bubble ass with a form-fitting matching leotard that has a deep V showcasing her large breasts.

Fuck, I’m hard just looking at her. I wonder if she’s still bleeding. The thought makes me smile.

“Come,” I command, and her head snaps up at my voice.

“Excuse me?” she whispers.

“Get down on your hands and knees and crawl to me,” I say, testing the waters just to see how far I can push her so soon.

She stares at me, eyes large for a moment, and then she bursts out laughing, doubling over with amusement. “I’m not a dog, Tyson.” She turns, giving me her back, and reaches for the door to leave.

I pick up my cell off my desk, unlock it, and open the app. I push the button before she can open the door.

A shrill scream comes from her as she drops to the floor. Quickly, she scoots backward to where her back is up against the wall to the left of the door. Her knees to her chest. Locking my cell, I set it down and make my way over to her.

Kneeling, I listen to her gasping for breath while she holds her neck. Her eyes swimming in unshed tears. So pretty. “You’re right, you’re not a dog. But you are my pet, Lake,” I say, reaching out and cupping her face.

She cowers, trying to pull her body away from me, but she’s up against the wall with nowhere to go. I lower my hand to run my fingers along the velvet wrapped around her delicate neck that I gave her before we got married earlier today. “This is a shock collar.”

Her eyes widen, and she gasps, the color draining from her beautiful features. “Wh-at?” The single word trembles on her plump lips.

“You may not have willingly crawled to me, but you will, little darling. Until then, I don’t mind forcing your hand.”

I grab her upper arm and yank her to her feet. I push the long curls off her chest and shoulders, watching the way it rises and falls with each sharp intake of breath.

Her watery blue eyes meet mine. “Tyson … please.” They plead with me as much as her words. I can’t even explain how turned on I am when she licks her lips, trying to catch her breath.

I lower my hand so the pads of my fingers run along the top of her leotard, gently feeling the softness of her cleavage, loving the sound of the whimper she makes with such little contact. Her body shakes, and her hands reach out to fist my button-up, preparing to push me away at any second.

“I can’t wait to come all over these, little darling,” I say, my eyes lifting to hers.

She’s staring at my shirt, avoiding me, but I feel the way her chest heaves at my words. I reach up and grab both straps on her shoulders and slowly pull them down her shaking arms, exposing her chest to the room. She isn’t wearing a bra. She doesn’t have one here. I smile, my hand dropping and slowly running my knuckles over her breasts.

“Your nipples are hard.” I make sure she knows I’m aware of her reaction to my touch, to my words. No matter how much her mind fights it, her body enjoys it.

She closes her eyes in shame.

“Did you like that?” I ask her, and she whimpers. “It’s okay, Lake. There will be lots of things that I do to you that your body will like.” I cup the side of her large breast and run my thumb over her hardened nipple, making her hiss in a breath.

Grabbing her arm, I pull her over to the couch and place my hand on her back to bend her over the side of the armrest. I yank the leotard farther down, and it falls to her ankles, pulling down her shorts and fishnets in the process. “Are you still bleeding?” I ask.

“I … I don’t know,” she replies softly, her ass and pussy up in the air for me to use.

Doesn’t matter if she is or not. It’s not going to stop me. I drop my hand between her legs and push her thong to the side before I run my fingers over her cunt, making her flinch. “You’re wet,” I say, loving the sound she makes. She already knew she was, but I like making her feel uncomfortable.

I unzip my slacks and pull my hard cock through my boxers, not even bothering to take them off. I need to order her a new uniform. Nothing but snaps on the leotard will suffice. I require easy access to my wife at all times.

As I rub my cock against her pussy, she whines, her ass wiggling back and forth, silently begging to be fucked. Smiling, I grab both her arms, pulling them behind her back parallel. I cross her small wrists, one hand wrapping around them to hold them in place while the other guides my cock into her cunt.

She cries out as I push my way into her, and I bite my lip to keep from groaning at how tight she is. Fucking incredible. “Before every shift, you will come to my office, and I will fuck you,” I tell her. “You will feel my cum leak out of my pussy while you work. Do you understand me?’

“Yes,” she gasps, her body trying to fight me, but I’ve got her pinned in place.

She will serve men who stare at her all night, but I will be the one who fucks her. Who owns her.

My free hand grabs her hair, yanking her head up, and I don’t take it easy on her. It’s a quickie, just to prove a point, no matter how much I want to take my time fucking what’s mine.

Her whimpers and cries turn to moans and gasps. I hold her pinned down while my eyes fall to watch my cock slam into her soaked cunt until I can’t hold off any longer. I shove my hips forward one last time and come inside her. Pulling out, she flinches, and I release her arms.

She remains lying over the armrest, breathing heavily, and I shove my bloody cock back into my boxers. She’s still bleeding. Less than earlier, but it’s still there.

I make my way over to my desk, and she slowly rises, pulling up her fishnets, leotard, and shorts. “You’re dismissed, Lake,” I inform her, in case she hasn’t caught the hint, and place my attention on my computer. A moment later, I hear the door open and close at her departure.

LAIKYN

I run to the public bathroom on the first floor, looking at myself in the mirror. I wrap my fingers around the choker and try to pull on it. Tears run down my face, and I sniff. “Fucking sick bastard.” I yank on it some more, but there’s no use. All it does is pinch the skin on the back of my neck. It’s irritated, red, and itchy. “GODDAMMIT!”

My hands slap the counter, and I bow my head, trying to stop the tears that want to fall. I’m not this fucking weak. I told myself after Whitney was killed that I would not be this helpless girl.

Yet here I am with a fucking shock collar around my neck and my husband’s cum leaking out of my bleeding cunt. Once again, he didn’t let me get off. He told me in the hotel suite that I’d have to earn it. Fuck that. I’ve gone twenty-one years without getting off. I can go another twenty-one. Hell, fifty if it takes me that long to kill him.

I wonder what the Lords will do to me if I shoot him in his sleep. Surely, they won’t care. Tyson Crawford was meant for greatness, but he gave it up. For what? I don’t know but I don’t think they’d hold a trial for me if I offed him.

I’m sure I wouldn’t be the first Lady to kill her husband and sure as fuck not the last. But they would hand me down to another—when a Lord dies, his Lady is gifted to another Lord. It’s how they keep us in line. We’ve seen and know too much, so we must stay within the society. Who says he won’t be worse? Is there worse than my dead sister’s ex-boyfriend that killed her? I’m not sure I want to test that theory.

Lifting my face, I look at myself in the mirror and wipe the tears out from underneath my eyes. I never thought I’d be glad that I wasn’t wearing makeup. Otherwise, I’d look far worse. But who the fuck cares what I look like. Right? I’m here because I have to be not because I want to be.

The door opens, and I avert my eyes to hide the fact I’ve been crying.

“Laikyn, right?” a woman asks.

Letting out a slow breath, I lift my head. “Yeah.” At least she didn’t call me Mrs. Crawford.

She comes to stand next to me, looking at herself in the mirror. She’s pretty, dark hair fixed in a high pony, full makeup on with pink glittery eye shadow and matching lipstick. “I’m not sure what he sees in you.” Her brown eyes meet mine in the mirror.

I stiffen at her words. “Excuse me?” I ask, hoping I heard her wrong.

Turning to face me, I do the same, curious as to what she meant by that. “Tyson.” She crosses her arms over her chest and her eyes drop to my ring. “Now your sister … that made sense.”

My heart pounds in my chest. “You knew my sister?” I can’t help but ask.

Instead of answering, she just smirks before she turns and walks out of the bathroom, making me wonder what the fuck that was about. Just one more thing to add to this fucked-up day.

The night hasn’t gone all that bad. I spilled a couple of drinks but nothing serious. They just tipped over on my tray when I tilted it too much. I haven’t broken any glass, so that’s a plus. I did however have problems answering customers who asked what we serve.

Alcohol, dumb ass, is what I wanted to reply with, but instead, I smiled brightly, bent over and shoved my tits in their faces and said “I’m new. What do you usually drink?” One guy gave me a twenty and said to surprise him. The other guy got hit in the arm when his girlfriend caught his eyes on my chest.

I’ve never been allowed to party, so unless it’s a rum and Coke or Red Bull and vodka, I don’t know what goes into these mixed drinks. And anyone who asks is stupid. You came to the club; you should know what you like.

I’ve flirted with everyone at my tables. Thankfully, Tyson isn’t a complete idiot and only gave me two tables tonight knowing I didn’t have any experience. But it is a Saturday and it’s been nonstop slammed. He also didn’t put with me another server to train me. He just threw me to the wolves. I feel like it’s a test, and I’m failing.

The lights hurt my eyes, and the blaring music has given me a headache. I don’t know how he chooses to work and live here.

Making my way over to the main bar, I step up to the wait station in the corner and hold up two fingers and call out “Bud Lights.” Beau is pretty cool. He’s been the most helpful. The other servers kind of stay away from me. There’s nine of us here tonight and I think they’re mad because two of them each lost a table. And one girl was already complaining about the schedule change when she demanded to see which section she has tomorrow night.

I briefly glanced at it, and I work every night for the next seven days. I have a feeling that’s how it’ll be from here on out. My husband owns it, so this is where I’ll be. I know he’ll make me hand over my tips to him every night once we close because that’ll just be another way for him to control me. I’ll work for him day and night and have nothing to show for it, except for bad eyes and migraines. Living the life.

“Here you go.” Beau sets the open bottles on my tray, and I thank him.

He gives me a huge smile and winks at me. “You don’t have to thank me every time, Lake.”

I blush when his eyes drop to my chest, and I nod my head in understanding. I’m sorry that I have manners.

Walking over to my table, I turn, and someone runs into the side of me. Beers are knocked over, and I gasp at the feel of the cold liquid splashing my face, neck, and hair.

“Watch where you’re fucking going!” Bethany snaps at me, before throwing her long dark ponytail over her shoulder, pushing her nose up in the air, and storming off.

I could tell from our first encounter in the bathroom that she was going to hate me. She’s made sure to remind me of that every chance she’s had tonight.

Turning back to the station, I set my now wet tray on the surface, and Beau gives me a sympathetic smile. “Here you go.” He passes me a handful of bar napkins, and I blot my face and lick my lips, tasting the nasty beer.

Well, so much for having a good night. Now I need another bath.