Page 126 of Cruel Delights

I need to come. I have to come. It’ll hurt. It’ll likely bear down harder. Perhaps bite my fucking dick off.

But I need it. I need the release, or I’ll lose my mind.

A line of cold sweat breaks out on my temple and trickles down the side of my face. The rest of my body flushes hot.

The contrast makes it difficult to think. That’s in addition to the myriad of other fucked up complications about the situation.

I squeeze shut my eyes and urge myself to calm down.

Anger-fueled reactions are for Neanderthals like Grady. Panic-induced meltdowns are for the weak.

I’m better than that. Rarely is escape achieved in these situations when people let their emotions drive them. Usually, it’s the opposite. People’s emotions do them in during situations like these.

My best bet is to remain calm. Think rationally. Proceed carefully and methodically.

I stare around the room. Lyra’s somewhat cleaned up the chaotic mess that her room is usually in. Piles of clothes have been picked up, washed, folded, or hung up. Shoes have been pushed back into the closet where they belong. She’s organized the top of her dresser cabinet and her bedside table.

There are plenty of hair accessories on her dresser. If only I could reach one of the clips or pins she has. Though I’d need use of at least one of my hands.

I keep searching. My gaze roves over every inch of the room. My brain spins into overdrive trying to think of a way out of this.

I could take a risk and wait for her return. She’ll have to unlock me eventually. Naturally, I’ll overpower her—and some severe punishment will be doled out.

Make no mistake, Lyra will not be escaping me under any circumstance.

She still belongs to me; she is still my possession.

While she may have the upper hand in the current moment, it’s temporary. I’ll be flipping the script at the first opportunity. Ideally, I’d do so before she returns. However, that might not be possible given how I’m restrained.

My clothes are on the edge of the bed. I stretch my body, causing the metal cage to pinch down on my groin, and attempt to hook my foot under my pants leg. If I do so too aggressively, I run the risk of knocking the pair of pants off the edge.

I’m not yet sure what I’ll do even if I do pull up my pants. I have a knife in my back pocket. My keys. Myphone.

With no hands to dial. Perhaps I could attempt to get it into my mouth and fiddle with it that way…

I focus on retrieving the pair of pants first. The rest I’ll worry about once that’s accomplished.

As I kick up my foot to hook the pants leg over it, the pair is weighed down by the things in my pocket. Instead of pulling it toward me, it’s pulled downward off the bed.

“FUCK!” I shout.

My temper threatens to roar back to life until I tamp down on it. That plan was a long shot.

No use fixating on its failure. I’ll have to figure something else out. I return to square one, searching the room and thinking hard about what I’ll do.

The cage has been locked onto my crotch for so long, it’s gone numb. Only a dull throb tortures my poor, still-hard dick.

My motivation becomes the punishment I’ll give Lyra not if, butwhenI escape. She’s played a good game; the first person to truly beat me for once. That I’ll admit.

However, she has no idea the type of hell she’s in for. I’m not a man of mercy. I’m a man of cold, cruel retribution, and I intend on collecting the debt Lyra’s incurred.

I just have to devise a way out first.

Don’t worry, little lamb. You’ve won this round. But the game is far from over.

30Lyra

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