It’s all right, baby. I’ll ring it for you. Branwen’s panting so fast now and making tiny little mewling noises. A shudder passes through her. Ding-dong. There it is, and I feel myself smiling against her sex as her orgasm rocks through her and she clutches my shoulders. Her pussy tugs rhythmically on my finger and I feel a spasm in my cock.
Finally, she falls back, gasping for breath. After a moment, she seems to realize how much noise she’s made and clamps her lips shut.
I kiss her inner thighs and sit up. “Are you going to do as daddy says?”
Branwen’s eyes are full of yes and I know I’m in her head now. She just needs a higher power to serve, and now that power is me.
I smile wide in the darkness and I wonder if she sees her devil in my face. “Such a good girl.”
Branwen
It’s not the morning light or a nightmare that wakes me. It’s the feel of something hot and stiff pressing into the cleft of my behind. A heavy arm is flung across my waist and a large, rough hand holds one of my breasts. I look down at myself. It’s squarish, tanned, and has veins crisscrossing the back. There’s a silver ring around the middle finger and the nails are short and clean.
Geraint’s hand. The hand that touched me. Those fingers were inside me. My eyes fasten on the print of a horse ranch on the far wall, trying to comprehend the events of last night. It was as if I came under a spell. I was dreaming about Cora, and then Geraint was up on the bed with me. Talking to me with magic words. Promising to make it all better if I only did what he said. It felt so very good to do what he said. I wonder if he hypnotized me or drugged me in some way because I wasn’t in control of what was happening to me.
I can’t have been.
I let him hit me. Be rough with me. Make me cry. Punish me over and over. A flood of longing and something else, something more delicious, wells up inside me and it’s all I can do not to rub against that thick rod pressing against my behind. My body isn’t my own anymore. My body belongs to Geraint. It wants Geraint. I’ve never so much as let a man see me topless, and yet when Geraint touched me, I opened my legs for him and did things I didn’t know my body could do. My cheeks heat at the memory of his tongue lapping me between my legs. Men put their mouths…there? Like a kiss? When he hasn’t even kissed my mouth?
But why would he when kisses on the mouth mean romance, love, marriage. I don’t know much about what goes on between men and women but this wasn’t about any of that. This was something bad because Geraint is a bad man. He’s not the good sort of man you marry, so of course he wouldn’t put his mouth on mine. Bad men put their mouths in other places.
The longer I lie here, the more chance there is that it will happen again. I try to ease myself from his arms but his limbs are a dead weight on me. I’m naked, and if I don’t get away from him before he wakes up, he’s going to see everything in the cold light of day.
Geraint murmurs sleepily and grinds his cock against my ass. “Stop wriggling or you’re gonna make me fuck you.”
I freeze, terrified and fascinated at the same time. He might do what he did last night—spank me till I cry and then soothe me with his words and tongue.
Daddy forgives you.
Tears fill my eyes. I can still feel it, what I’ve been hoping and praying for. I know it’s a fake feeling that he gave me and not the true forgiveness of God, but it feels so, so real. I’m dying of thirst and Geraint held a cup to my lips. This bed, being in his arms, might be the only time in my life I’ll ever feel this way. One step might be enough to hurl me back down into the abyss of pain and darkness where I’ve been living for so long.
“Shit!” Geraint exclaims and sits up, taking the sheets with him. I almost let out a yelp and cover my nakedness with my arms. He looks all around the bed, and then at me. I stare back at him, bewildered, wondering what’s wrong.
“I didn’t tie you up after,” he says, his dark hair falling into his sleepy eyes. “You’ve been unbound for hours. Why didn’t you try to escape?”
Stupidly, I look at my wrists. It didn’t even occur to me to try and get away from him.
Geraint smiles, and it’s the same smoldering, hellfire grin he gave me last night, all chiseled beauty and pointed canines. A person shouldn’t possess such a smile. His eyes travel down my naked body. “I knew you were a good girl, Branwen.”
Stop saying that. I’m a bad girl. I’m the worst girl.
I reach down and tug at the sheet, trying to cover myself. Geraint holds it fast and stares down at me. He’s naked too. He must have stripped before we fell asleep. I avert my eyes from the sight of his…thing, so thick and upright with its engorged head and traces of swollen veins. He’s using his power of forgiveness to slake his lust with me, and I can’t give in to either.
Geraint rolls on top of me, moving his hands to either side of my head and his knees between my thighs. I make a tiny sound of fright as his you-know-what rubs against my sex. I can feel its power against my fragile flesh. Ready to take, ready to plunder and consume. The silver crucifix around his neck dangles between us.
He cups my cheek with his hand, rubbing his thumb across my lower lip. My gaze has become locked on his, as if he’s a snake poised to strike. Maybe this is how Eve felt when the snake offered her the apple. Maybe she had no choice. Geraint slides his hand down my throat, squeezing me there for a moment and making my head spin, and then roaming further and taking a handful of my breast and doing the same. The heat is radiating off his broad chest. My fingers itch to take hold of him again as I did last night, if only to hold on for dear life, but I don’t dare in the cold light of day.
But Geraint dares. He’s more than brave enough to touch me. He runs his knuckles over my belly, and then reaches down between my parted thighs. He just brushes the seam of my sex, as light as a feather. He caresses me again, and the sensation expands to fill my whole world.
“My silent girl,” he whispers, the black stubble gleaming on his chin. “What secrets do you know? How can I make you offer them up to me?”
He draws his finger through my sex, the delicious drag making my eyes close and my heart race. How can it be sinful when even Geraint’s touch feels like forgiveness?
“I’ll coax them from your lips, babygirl,” he murmurs, and I feel his lips flutter against mine. Then he moves away, and when I open my eyes, I find he’s kneeling on the bed, his hard penis jutting out over my naked body. He grins at me, scratching his fingers through his dark hair before levering himself off the bed.
“But first, coffee.”
I scramble to cover myself with the sheet, my heart thundering in my ears. It’s frightening how fast I come under his spell. Just a few words and touches, and I’m pliant in his arms, ready to welcome whatever he chooses to do to me.
Geraint lets me shower and use the bathroom first, and then he ties me to the bed once more while he does the same. I listen to the rushing water and the sound of him singing in a deep baritone. Only last night, he was in a sinister, barely contained fury as we burned a piece of someone, and now it’s as if he doesn’t have a care in the world.
He emerges from a cloud of steam ten minutes later, his hair dark with water and stuffing his dirty T-shirt into a bag. He’s got a fresh white tank top and black shirt on, unbuttoned to show the crucifix on its long chain at the center of his chest. I’ve had to put on the same clothes I was wearing yesterday, down to my underwear.
“If you keep being a good girl, tonight, before we stop in a motel, I’ll buy you some new clothes. Would you like that?”
I look away quickly, not wanting to feel grateful to my kidnapper but knowing it’s too late.
He unties me and holds out his hand. “Come on, time to go.”
As if we’re boyfriend and girlfriend, he walks me to the front desk and checks us out, then takes us to his car. The morning is bright and clear and there are plenty of cars passing us by on the high street. I could scream. I could beg and cry out for help and people would rush to my aid. I�
��m small and slight while Geraint is large and mean.
He’s taking me back to the place where it all began, like a pilgrimage. I should have faced what happened months ago, but I thought prayer would give me release. Geraint needs something too. I can feel anger and grief pulsating in him, breaking through his moments of forced cheeriness and seductive danger. We’re being pulled toward a place that will change both of us, forever.
So, I won’t run. I’ll return to Avallonis and face whatever lies in wait for me there—be it salvation, or death.
We pull out onto the main road and Geraint takes us into a drive-thru coffee joint. It’s a long way from Texas to Napa. I picture the map in my mind. We’ll probably head up into New Mexico and then on to Phoenix and Los Angeles. A shiver passes through me at the thought of seeing the walls of Avallonis again.
“Black coffee?” Geraint asks me, and I shake my head. “White coffee. Sugar?”
I hold up two fingers, and he orders for us. We drive to the next window and he collects our drinks, passes me mine, and then we speed out of town.
Out on the interstate, Geraint puts his foot down. I can tell he’s feeling the pressure of all those miles ahead of us and wants to eat up some of them this morning. He doesn’t speak, merely taking occasional mouthfuls of his coffee and tapping his long forefinger on the steering wheel. I wish he’d stop doing that. He keeps drawing my attention to his hands and reminding me of what we did last night. There’s a power to his touch that I don’t understand, something divine that shouldn’t belong to a mortal man. I remember the feel of his arms around me that rainy night, when a terror so great filled me that I couldn’t stop running. He gathered up all that fear and took it into himself, and the release was so great I couldn’t stay on my feet a moment longer. Surely a demon wouldn’t do that. Only an angel can swallow darkness.
Geraint
By one in the afternoon, we’ve traveled two hundred miles and I can hear Branwen’s tummy rumbling over the sound of the car’s engine. She’s been fidgeting a lot and that big coffee she drank probably means she needs to pee. I can see the pole-mounted signs of fast food restaurants in a town up ahead, beckoning drivers to pull over.
I turn into an IHOP and when we get out of the car, I stretch my arms above my head and groan luxuriously. Branwen casts me a look and I think she knows I’m making more noise than I normally would to make up for her silence. I sling an arm around her shoulders and we head in and find a booth.
“I’m goddamn starving,” I mutter, perusing the familiar pictures on the menu. There’s just something about diner food. Filling and comforting and plenty of it. Branwen looks like she could use a good feed. In the bright light of day, she’s so pale and thin, you can practically see through her. I don’t suppose they go in for good dinners at her convent.
She’s wriggling around in her seat. Oh, yeah. Bathroom. I wonder what she’d do if I just ignored her. Wet herself rather than ask to go to the toilet? After a few more minutes of squirming, I take pity on her and take her to the restroom. Once she goes into the ladies’, I nip into the gents’ and relieve myself as fast as I can, then come out and stand by the door until Branwen emerges. One of the waitresses give us a funny look.
“She gets scared if I’m too far away,” I explain with a wink, taking Branwen’s hand and leading her back to our booth.
The same waitress comes over a few minutes later for our order while Branwen still has her nose buried in the menu.
“Baby, what’ll you have?”
She points out the strawberry and banana French toast and I have to hide my grin. Good girl, she’s got an appetite, then. I order for her, and then add, “And I’ll have the sirloin tips with two eggs, two hash browns, and two pancakes. Orange juice and coffee for two.”
We sit in silence as we wait for the food, and I watch her as she watches the people around us, curiosity in her lively eyes. She’s been in a convent for months, so this must be like getting out of prison for her. How sheltered was she before? Maybe her daddy never let her out of Avallonis, except to go to school. I wonder if she had friends. Boyfriends. And just like that, I’m looking at her mouth and wondering if any man’s ever kissed those cherry lips before. If anyone’s sucked those rosebud nipples. I fucking hope not. I want to be the only one to have touched her like that, not some little stoner teenager.
I’m drawn out of my reverie by our food being placed in front of us. Damn, I’m hungry. I spear a piece of sirloin and shove it in my mouth. Branwen eats all the strawberry halves from her plate first, then all the slices of banana, and then pours about half a bottle of syrup over her French toast and dollops on extra whipped butter.
“Would you like some French toast with your syrup?” I ask, but she’s too intent on her food to acknowledge me. Finally, when her whole plate is clear, she reaches for her juice and drinks that down, and then sits back. She’s going to be buzzing down the interstate on a sugar high, I can just tell.
When the waitress comes to clear our plates, I ask her for a pen and paper, and though she gives me another funny look, she brings it. I should do this now while Branwen is feeling content and well-fed.
“I want you to draw me a map of Avallonis. Where the gates are. Where the house is on the property. Where the doors are. Mark any security cameras or other things I should know.”
I slide the pen and paper across to her, but she doesn’t touch them. “C’mon, Branwen. Last night, you promised you were going to be a good girl for me.”
Her cheeks flush and she looks away. I stab a finger onto the paper. “Young lady. Remember what I said? If you’re a good girl, I’ll buy you some new clothes.”
Haltingly, she reaches for the pen and paper and writes, and then turns the paper around to show me. What are you going to do to daddy?
My temper flares. She’s thinking of the well-being of that asshole? “Just draw the map, Branwen.”
But she sits back and folds her arm in classic “No, don’t wanna” fashion. I narrow my eyes at her, wondering how best to proceed. She’s been so tractable so far, I wonder if I should let it go and come back to this in a few hours when she’s had time to think about it.
I swallow a mouthful of juice and change the subject. “Why were you running that night I found you?”
She hesitates, and then picks up the pen. Because daddy’s mad at me. He thought I was going to tell.
“Tell what?”
What he did.
“What did he do?” But she doesn’t write anything. “Why aren’t you talking?”
Branwen sighs, and then writes, Because I swore to God that I wouldn’t speak again until I’ve atoned for what I did.
“Sounds like your daddy should be making amends for what he did, not you,” I mutter into my coffee cup as I take a sip. “I know he should be atoning for what he did to me.”
What did he do to you?
“Take a wild fucking guess.”
Her eyes search my face. She knows. She saw the finger.
Branwen puts the pen down on the paper and sits back. She’s done all the talking she’s going to do. I slap some cash onto the check and get to my feet. I’ll get what I need when we get to Avallonis. I just may have to do it with a gun to her head.
We drive and drive, the Mustang eating up the road. The sun travels with us, slowly sinking down through the clouds. Around six thirty, we pass through El Paso but I keep going. I want at least to get out of Texas today. We drive for another thirty minutes and the first place we reach in New Mexico is Berino, a sand trap of a town with a single strip of stores and a motel at the far end of the main street.
We could keep going but my eyes are falling out of my goddamn head. I need some sleep or else I’m going to kill us on the interstate. It’s nearly eight hundred miles to Los Angeles from here and I want to get north of there tomorrow, and then reach Napa by midday the day after. Sleep now, and then a long day tomorrow.
I pull into the motel and check us into a room. It’s another
mish-mash of out-of-date décor, but it’s clean. I grab a bottle of water off the dresser and drink most of it down in one gulp.
“What do you want for dinner? There’s a Mexican place next door. Chicken burrito? Beef?”
Branwen looks down at herself and then up at me, a question in her eyes. I’ve forgotten what I promised her. Clean clothes if she was good, and I’ve stopped for the night in the middle of fucking nowhere.
“There’s nothing here, baby. I can’t buy you any clothes. Tomorrow, in Phoenix or something.”
The hurt in her eyes goes through me like a knife. “Did you draw me that map like I asked? No, you fucking didn’t. So stop looking at me like that.”
Branwen’s eyes are still full of reproach. I dig into my bag, pulling out a fresh T-shirt, and toss it to her. “Wear that.”
She takes the T-shirt and stalks into the bathroom. A moment later, I hear the water turn on and the sound of her scrubbing her clothes in the hand basin. Well, fine. They’ll be dry by the morning. What’s the damn problem?
The shower goes on, and Branwen emerges a few minutes later with wet hair and wearing my T-shirt like a dress. She gets into bed and stares stonily at the opposite wall. I go over and tie her wrists to the bed leg.
“Chicken? Beef?” But she doesn’t answer and I growl, “Fine. Sulk all you want but if you don’t like what I get you, then that’s your fault.”
I stalk out of the room and head into the takeaway joint next door. It’s hot and sultry inside, and the locals eye me with guarded expressions. A few of them are looking at my car parked across the road, their expressions covetous. It’s a ’68 Mustang in pristine condition. I fix each of them with hard looks until they turn their attention elsewhere.
I order two beef burritos with sour cream and jalapeños and grab a couple of drinks to go as well—a beer for me and a lemonade for Branwen. Taking them back to the room, I toss hers into her lap and untie her.
Vow of Obedience: Cavalieri Della Morte Page 4
