She threw some clean clothes at him and slipped from the bathroom. Miles hung his head. He’d really screwed up. Becca needed him to be strong. Ivy needed him to keep looking not wade down a path of self destruction. What the fuck had he been thinking? Why had it taken seeing the strongest person he knew reduced to tears for him to realise what he’d been doing?
He was no good to either of them passed out in his own vomit. He’d been wasting time. He needed to use his pain as fuel, not turn it inward as a force of self destruction. He pulled on his clothes with a new determination. Today was another day.
He stepped out of the bathroom just in time to see someone pushing a cleaning trolley out through the front door.
“Your lazy ass still too good to clean?” he teased, trying to re-establish some normality, even if it was faked. Becca was on the sofa with a hot mug of coffee in her hand, and Ivy’s comforter draped across her legs.
“You already ruined my clothes and make-up. I’ll be damned if I let you spoil my nails too.” He grabbed his own coffee from the table, a tired sigh escaping his lips as his hands wrapped around his favourite mug, taking a tentative sip.
Its burn was so different to spirits. His gaze focused on the bunny picture and he tried his best to find a smile. “Tails. You can’t do this again. She’s out there somewhere, at least try to be someone she’ll recognise when she comes home.”
“I can’t find her, Bex,” he whispered, staring at the mug. “I can’t find her. How am I meant to accept that?”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Ivy crouched, carefully placing the scalding mug of black coffee on her back, being careful to avoid the lace ribbon that secured the tiny apron to her. It had taken her a while to please her owner with this service, to learn how to crawl from the kitchen to the dining table without spilling a drop of the burning black liquid.
Even now, the tether attaching her to the runners on the ceiling jerked, causing her to tremble under the strain of tugging the chain behind her. When she finally reached the table, she remained still, waiting for him to remove the mug.
The slight burning on her back told her she’d not been as careful as was expected. As he removed the mug, she placed her palms over one another before her, lowering her head to rest on them.
The sting of the cane caused her to suck in a deep breath through her nose. Her owner was working on his laptop, doing important work. That she had disappointed him by spilling his coffee meant he now had to stop his work to punish her.
Twenty lashes.
Ten for the spillage, ten for interrupting.
Today was the cane. She preferred that to the spiked chain whip he’d recently revealed. Her back was still healing from that, not that he let her wounds discourage him from whatever sick fuckery he had in mind. She deserved it anyway. When she didn’t perform as expected he should punish her.
He tugged on the chain when he was finished. A signal she was to take her place under the table. His laptop chimed with the tell-tale signal of a conference call. Above, she heard him tap the wooden surface, and reached up, unbuttoning his trousers to allow her access to his cock. Owner enjoyed being pleasured while he was on a conference call.
She licked her lips, placing her head into his lap. Starting slowly, she traced her fingers across his testicles with a feather-light touch, while her other hand stroked his shaft. He petted her head, signalling she should use her mouth.
She kissed and licked him softly, continuing using her hands to pleasure him. Swirling her tongue around his crown, she stifled a whimper as his hand tightened in her hair. She teased him with kisses, increasing the pressure before taking him fully into her mouth. She heard him mask a groan through a drink of coffee. She sucked and swallowed, humming quietly through tight lips. Just the way he liked.
She moved slowly, deliberately, but he was eager. His hands fisted in her hair as one of his legs wrapped around her, pinning her in place as he thrust her head up and down, lifting his hips to meet her mouth.
He was moving her with such force her head bumped into the table, and she could hear the impact shaking the mug across its surface. He must have put the call on mute because he was groaning loudly, fucking her mouth, winding his hands tighter in her hair until her scalp burned agonisingly and he exploded, shooting jet after jet of come into her mouth. When he released her she sat back, wincing against the pain of new and old sores, and waited.
“Swallow,” he commanded. Then he was back on with his business, so she lay at his feet, waiting. “What!” She heard his hands strike the table, the chair scraping across the floor as he propelled to his feet. “When?”
There was a slight pause while whoever was speaking through his blue-tooth headset relayed some more information. “I’m on my way. Don’t. Touch. Anything.” He slammed his laptop closed. “Up,” he commanded. She crawled after him as he led the way to their room. Snatching the chain from the collar, he opened the door to the cage, sliding the bolt across and fastening the padlock before storming out and turning the lights off without so much as a word.
Her heart pounded in her chest from the unfamiliarity, the break in routine. Unsure what to do, she lay down, listening to the fading sound of the helicopter blades. She knew she should have just lay there, waited, but something was different.
She knew the sound of her world, the distinctive groan of each cupboard, the slice each whip made as it cut through the air, the different serenade of every chain. Something hadn’t sounded right. She’d heard the cage door close more times than she could count. The sound of being sealed within was her equivalent of a parental goodnight.
Placing her hand to the bars, she felt for the bolt, her pulse quickening as her fingers traced the contours in the darkness.
The padlock wasn’t fully engaged.
Her trembling fingers yanked down before she had time to think. It gave beneath her effort with a satisfying click, allowing her to unhook it and push the bolt across. The cage door squeaked as it swung outward. Her pulse quickened further.
She stared blindly at the opening. She knew she should move, but even though she knew the cage was open, she sat still.
It must have been a few minutes until she tentatively worked up the courage to place a finger outside the cage before quickly drawing it back. A finger quickly became her hand. A single hand two. And still nothing happened.
Her breathing hitched.
What if this was a test? She’d failed so many. But she’d heard the helicopter leaving, he’d seemed angry. This wasn’t like when he’d let her sleep on the bed and she’d tried to smother him, or when he’d stepped from the room without securing the tether and she’d tried to run.
Indecision prickled her skin. The cold draft against the ruffles of fabric reminded her she was still dressed in the small apron he made her wear when preparing food for him. He never left her in the cage clothed, although she wasn’t sure this open-breasted lacy number really qualified as clothing.
Her two hands slid forward, probing the darkness, and then she was crawling free of the cage. It felt as if the fading flicker of the dim candle representing her will began to sparkle. She was alone. She was out of the cage. He was gone.
Part of her screamed for her to be still, return to the cage, sit and wait. He’d be proud of her when he realised his mistake, but the little voice that kept her sane, the part of herself she’d never fully let go of when sinking into her world of obedience and empty thoughts, had another idea.
She felt her way to the bed, grabbing his pillows, shoving them under the thin blanket in the cage and sealing it. She knew he could be watching, that if she was caught she would suffer worse than the time she had found the knife in the kitchen. That had not been a good day to listen to the small voice in her mind. She prayed this turned out differently.
After her punishment for that incident, she had also discovered what that strange tank in the bathroom was for. Sensory deprivation. If she thought being left alone in the pitch black and cold w
as bad, it was nothing compared to having all her senses stolen from her. She hadn’t disobeyed him after that. Not even once. That little voice had even quietened, until now.
She knew this bedroom door didn’t lock. This was it, her chance, and she’d be damned if that little voice didn’t spur her on and feed the well of excitement and fear rising in her. For so long her flight response had begged to be heard, at last she could comply.
Crawling, she slid out into the darkness, discovering for the first time that when he turned the lights out, it wasn’t just the one room that was plunged into the abyss, but the whole, windowless deck that became a black void.
She had crawled this hall enough to know its simple layout. She descended the stairs, towards the light, expecting any moment for someone to reach out, grab her, and throw her back into the cage. But no one came. Not when she reached the outside and felt the morning sun kiss her battered flesh. Or when she climbed the rail to feel the jagged caress of the calm ocean wind.
She knew she couldn’t stop, she couldn’t marvel at her first glance of natural lighting, her first caress of wind for who knew how long. She had to keep moving.
In the distance she could see land. She didn’t dare to think how far it would be.
Swim or die.
She lowered herself over the railing, praying no one heard the splash. Her arms flailed as the cold devoured her. Her eyes stung as the briny sea washed over her, burning her cuts and bruises as she fought her way to the surface with a gasp.
Pain exploded across every part of her and she almost went under again as the rippling agony of the briny fluids found every laceration.
She wanted to scream, to cry out, but she bit down. She needed to be silent. She needed to push the pain aside. This was her only chance.
Her limbs flailed until she found that part inside her that existed in a space beyond pain. It was amazing what the body could endure in the name of survival.
Slowly, stiffly, she began to swim.
Breast stroke wasn’t the fastest, but it had always been her strongest stroke, the one she could maintain in the pool for the longest. But this was no swimming pool. There was no side to touch every length, no floor for her feet to find when she tired.
Swimming in a pool was so different to the vastness of the ocean. The space was overwhelming. There were no people, and if anyone from the yacht happened to glance outside there was little doubt she would be seen.
Pushing everything else from her mind, she fixed her vision on the distant land and swam.
Swim or die, because she sure as hell wasn’t going back.
Stroke, stroke, stroke.
That single thought accompanied each glide through the water. It was amazing how a simple word held so much power, how she could focus her mind on it to numb out everything else.
She didn’t know how long she’d been swimming. The sun’s warmth was directly above her. Beating down with the kind of light that felt like spring. Its warmth on her skin was a blessing because the water itself was frigid, chilling her skin despite her muscles burning with fatigue.
The yacht was nothing more than a distant speck on the horizon now, but the land seemed no closer. She was tired, exhausted, and slowly she felt the panic began to take hold. Her technique faltered causing her to cough and splutter, misjudging her breath as her head went under, reminding her how icy the water was.
A gasp escaped her as every ache and pain became overwhelming. Her strokes became more frantic. She had been running on fumes, and now the vapours had run dry.
She tried to focus on the hum of distant motors. Motors meant people, people meant rescue, but it was getting harder and harder to keep her head above water. She was sucking more water in with each breath, spluttering more than breathing.
She knew it was the end the moment it happened. The inevitability washed over her like the swells of the ocean, as one missed stroke caused her head to sink as she inhaled. She coughed and choked as she went under again.
Too tired to resist, she felt the ocean’s current tugging her down as her arms desperately reached up, trying to grab the water’s surface as if she could climb an invisible ladder back to the surface. She had heard drowning was meant to be peaceful, but as panic and acid filled her veins, she realised it was anything but.
The world around her descended into silence. The vibration of water around her ears consumed her as she sunk again, and her consciousness began to fade with the slow humming of her heart as her world descended into blackness.
Her limbs were heavy, unresponsive.
This was it, the end.
Her chest tightened and she let her mind hold on to her one true vision of happiness.
Miles.
Her one regret.
She could see him now, more clearly than the sun rippling above her on the ocean’s surface. He was holding her in his arms. His eyes of pine cones and glitter sparkled with laughter as he dipped his chin and their eyes met. In that moment, he had looked at her like she was the only person in the world.
She should have kissed him.
Just once.
The image dulled as her mind became foggier, her ears filled with the humming rush of blood and, for a moment, she wondered if it was her heart that made that noise, or if it could be a motor, not that it mattered now, it was too late, she could feel her consciousness slipping away. The grasp of his image faltered as her final thoughts echoed in her fading mind and she took her last breath, breathing in the briny water.
Swim or die.
Die it was.
At least she wasn’t on that yacht.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Perry was in his building before he realised he hadn’t checked to see how his pet was behaving. The news of the cyberattack had thrown him off balance. His head of security had interrupted his conference call to request he attend site to check what information could potentially have been at risk.
There was a lot of very sensitive information on his personal server, which had been the target, and he needed to be sure that everything was being handled appropriately.
After checking he didn’t look as flustered as he felt, he pulled his phone out of his pocket in the elevator, opening the live feed.
His little slave was sleeping under her blanket. He wished he’d had a little more time before leaving, that he’d taken a moment to breathe and secure her how he normally did for such outings.
Watching her writhe would have been a welcome distraction, especially since there was no saying how long he was going to be stuck in the office. Oh well, he’d just have to make sure she showed him exactly how much she missed her owner when he got back.
James, his personal security guard, peered over his shoulder, nodding with appreciation as he scrolled through his favourite pictures of Ivy. He was the only person to know the truth of her situation, and he’d felt her mouth long before the others.
Perry was not against sharing her lips, just the other parts, and making her service his crew had been an ingenious punishment that not only humiliated and degraded her, but proved beyond a shadow of a doubt no one on the yacht would come to her rescue.
James had first met her when Perry had needed his assistance. He had bound her in rope suspension, her arms tied behind her back, bending her over, he’d left her a little too long and her shoulders hadn’t been able to take the strain.
Her screams when he’d had James wrench them back into the sockets had been delightful, almost as delightful as making her show the large man how much she appreciated his help.
Damn, he should have made them wait and fucked her again before he left. Yesterday, he had to admit, he’d been a little too rough, she’d been behaving, but he’d still punished her. He couldn’t help it, he loved seeing her fear as he wrapped his hands around her throat, cutting off her air as he drove himself into her.
He loved the panic in her eyes, the way her tight, hot pussy clenched around him, her body contorting as she tried to plead through the silencing
constriction. It was as delightful as that moment he released his grasp after filling her with his come. Her coughs and sputters as she tried to force air back into her lungs forced her to grip him tighter as he remained buried inside her, softening, while relishing that final delight.
She’d become such a good little toy, so obedient.
He’d trained her to respond to all manner of hand signals. He wasn’t even sure she even realised why she was doing the things she did now, that she was taking silent cues. It had been no different to training a dog, fitting really.
He pulled himself back from the thoughts of his little cock slave and listened to the team drone on about how the attack had happened, how they breached the firewall or something and some other jargon he didn’t care about. He only wanted to know one thing, well two, who did it, and what information did they get.
It had taken a five hours for his team to confirm the breach was minimal, and since he was such a good owner, he was getting a little worried about his pet.
He normally left her special bottles of food and water if he knew he was going to be gone any length of time. Yes, he liked to abuse her, but he still needed her healthy to carry his child, that’s why he was trying to dial back the drugs as well.
Since he had taken her, the morning drink always contained a dose, enough to make sure she didn’t fight too much, that her body continued to respond so beautifully to his touch. He had a good feeling about this month, which could be why he was getting the aggression out of the way now. When she was pregnant he’d have to be a little gentler.
He briefly toyed with the idea of calling one of the navigators and having them put her some water down, but that would mean they’d turn the lights on, and he couldn’t have her responding to someone else if they showed her some kindness. He was her light; he was the only source of affection. No, she’d have to wait. A few more hours wouldn’t kill her.
Climbing into the helicopter, he opened his feed again. She was still asleep. Although it wasn’t surprising, given that he’d left her bound to the Motorbunny for a few hours after she’d woken him up screaming with one of her annoying nightmares. He didn’t mind the sound of her screams, just as long as he was the one causing them.
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