Masochist

by Nadia Aidan

  “I am sorry, Adonis. I wanted to say that to you in private, beyond your brother’s suspicious gaze.”

  “His gaze was suspicious because obviously there was much to be suspicious of.”

  “I never meant to hurt you. I hated that I had to lie to you and manipulate you but there was no other choice.” She stopped abruptly, probably because she glimpsed the hardening of his expression.

  “There is always a choice. Isn’t that what you told me, Selena?”

  A long silence stretched between them and if he listened carefully he would swear he could hear her heart pounding.

  It was a long while before she spoke again. “I am truly sorry, Adonis. Truly. When we made lo—”

  She did not finish the word when he emitted a low growl.

  “The physical intimacy we shared. I did not fake that, not any of it. I truly did not expect to find myself in your arms, in your bed, but I could not resist you. I couldn’t. I didn’t want to say that in front of your brother, but I wanted you to know. Every response, every emotion, everything I said to you in those moments—that was all real.”

  “How nice of you, Selena, to stroke my ego.” His smile was bitter. “I am happy to hear that you did not fake the orgasms I gave you. I would be an even richer man if I had a dollar for every time a woman praised me for the time well spent in my bed.”

  Her eyes flickered with pain and fury. “What we shared went beyond just the physical and you know it, just as you know that I am not every woman.”

  His laugh was harsh. “Believe me, I do not need further confirmation that you are not like any other woman.”

  Adonis leant away from the wall and crossed the room to the locked armoire in the other corner. He brandished a key and unlocked it, then flung the doors open. They slammed against the wall. The sound of the armoire’s brass knobs ricocheting against the wood shattered the strained silence in the room.

  She gasped as she stared into the bowels of the closet, seeing what he’d intended for her to see. Her fear was almost palpable. She feared what he would do, she feared the unknown.

  “What you are is a snake, Selena. A liar and a rat. You manipulated me into placing the only family I have in danger so that you could have revenge against your father. I understand your need for revenge. What I cannot accept are your methods.”

  He found the object he was searching for and turned around, his palm curling around the stiff leather.

  “You preyed upon my guilt, my feelings for you, and you used me. Had you left it at that I would not feel such rage, but that you brought my brothers into this is unforgivable.”

  “I am sorry about that, Adonis. That every one of your brothers would be dragged into this was neither my plan nor my intent and I will never forgive myself if anything happens to them.”

  He studied her. She seemed genuine, earnest, but he could not be certain that this was still not a part of her plan, the master game she still played.

  “My father trained each of my brothers in the art of seduction, the art of lovemaking.” As Adonis spoke he took a step towards the bed where she was still his prisoner. “Just as my father trained each of us in the art of weaponry and the art of war.

  “We were trained to kill, just as we were trained to seduce, to inspire lust…to fuel and fulfil desires. We were chosen, each of us, not only because of our ability to master the lessons he taught, but also because of the unique skills which we already possessed, that were innate.”

  He stopped at the edge of the bed, on the side where she was cuffed.

  “When we came to Dieu, we had names—normal ones like every other boy—and we went by those names for many years until after our mother died, until after we completed our training.

  “Ares was named because he has always possessed a darkness that makes him capable of a type of violence that others might be haunted by, whereas he remains impervious. He was Dieu’s chief assassin and executioner. Apollo earned his name because of his ability to hunt—to track anything and anyone. It is a shame that Apollo has disappeared with Eros because, now that we need to find them, Ares is only the next best at it. But for Apollo, finding things, people—that is as natural to him as breathing. It is because of his tracking abilities that Dieu made Apollo his chief spy and retriever.”

  He smiled then. “Eros’ abilities are naturally more obvious. He is as skilled as any of us in weapons and the art of fighting, but he is a lover—a natural born charmer and seducer. Woman or man, if Apollo could not get close enough to a person to obtain information, Eros was sent in to obtain it with time well spent in the bed sheets. When Eros chooses to unleash the full powers of his charm, I have rarely seen anyone deny him. But he was mainly used to ensnare and disarm using the art of seduction. And that is why, while all of us are adept at seduction and were used for such purposes, Dieu chose Eros as the chief consort among us all.”

  “And you?” Selena asked, when he did not immediately continue. “Why were you so named?”

  A smile curled his lips. He couldn’t be certain if it was seductive or if it was cruel…but then again, if it was both, then that was the greatest irony of it all.

  “I was the hardest for Dieu to name. I was beautiful, but not as beautiful as Eros, nor was I as natural at seduction. The same can be said for the art of war, and when it came to tracking. All of which I’m good at, but my brothers were still better. I was the last he named, but when Dieu discovered my strengths, he was very pleased. He often said he’d saved the best for last. And at one point he even admitted that I was his favourite.”

  With each word he spoke, he wrapped the length of the object he held within his grasp around his hand, his eyes never leaving her. Fear leapt in her gaze, wary and unfocused as it danced between his hand and his face.

  He did not change his expression—knew it revealed nothing of his inner depths, his inner emotions.

  “Dieu had a penchant for cruelty that apparently I shared, but not in the same way. I have always been fascinated with the dichotomy of pleasure and pain, and I have always been a master at delivering them both. I said that it was rare for people not to fall under Eros’ spell, but some didn’t. Eros’ strength is seduction, but he does not have the temerity to push. If a lover did not furnish what he sought, he did not press further. And that was always where I came in.

  “I would bestow upon that person unimaginable pain, but then I would take it away, their saviour, and offer them solace by bestowing upon them unimaginable pleasure. Secrets that people swore they would take to their grave, they parted with before I was done with them. And, unlike Eros, there was no one—man or woman—who did not provide me with what I sought.”

  Selena’s eyes widened, her lips trembled, but still his face remained impassive. It was so natural for him to slip into this role again, as if sixteen years had not passed since he’d been called upon to force one to reveal the secrets they swore they never would.

  “Wielding both pleasure and pain was my strength, and it was a gift, just as it was an art. Dieu possessed the same skill, but even he admitted that he was not as adept as I, nor had he seen anyone else that was. It was because of this I was his chief interrogator or torturer—the title is a matter of perspective, I guess.

  “I was a master at torture, at dominance, at making anyone and everyone submit to me.” A small grin tugged at the corner of his lips. It was fleeting. “You once called me a masochist. To hear the word associated with me, I thought ironic. Because I’m a natural sadist, Selena. I can withstand immeasurable pain, but wielding it, along with pleasure…that is my strength. That is my gift.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Fear clawed its way inside Selena, and, once it lodged itself inside her belly, it would not relinquish its hold. It only grew, intensifying until it became evident to her that she only maintained her sanity, her courage, because deep down she still believed, no matter his words, that Adonis would never hurt her, not truly.

  Yet, as her attention strayed to the f
logger he twisted in his hand, she surmised that his version of hurt and hers were grossly inconsistent.

  “Has anyone ever died under your”—she gulped—“ministrations?”

  “Killing is Ares’ duty, not mine.”

  His response did not answer her question, but she did not point that out. The knowledge that someone had suffered under his hand then died would not be comforting at this point.

  She stared curiously at him when with his free hand, the one unburdened by the coiled leather, he reached out to untie her robe. She sucked in a breath when his hand gently pushed aside the slips of fabric. Heat fanned out across her chest. His fingers touched everywhere—a subtle caress of her breasts, testing the weight in his palm, teasing her stiffened nipples. It was shameful. This man sought to cause her pain, to torture her and yet her body still lusted after him, still craved him. He removed the robe from her body, though, with her bound arm, it hung limply from one side.

  Almost as if he could glean her thoughts, he produced a key and unlocked her wrist. She grasped her aching wrist, massaging the stiff muscles in her arms as she glanced at him in question.

  “I do not need you bound in this manner to do what I will do. There were many who I did not bind and they still yielded beneath my touch. Sometimes I simply commanded them to clasp their hands together, and they did it until I told them to stop.”

  “And what will you command me to do?”

  “Anything I want, until you give me the information I seek. I will do many things to you this day, and the next, and the one after that until you have told me the truth and answered every one of my questions.”

  She had no doubt he would try, but she was equally determined to resist.

  “There are some questions I will not answer because I cannot.”

  “You will answer every one of my questions, Selena.”

  “I will jeopardise everything if I give you the answers you seek,” she continued as if he hadn’t spoken.

  His lips slashed into a cruel smile. “But I have not even begun. How do you know what questions I will ask? You never know. You may be able to answer all of them…”

  “Or none of them.”

  His cruel smile did not waver. “You talk of jeopardising everything, and yet you risk the lives of me and my brothers?”

  She could not argue that, so she didn’t. Selena sat there atop his bed, her body entwined in the sheets that still carried his scent, that still wore the stains of their lovemaking from just hours ago.

  Everything had changed between them.

  And yet, nothing at all.

  Fear and mistrust still lingered between them.

  “Lie down on the bed, on your back, with your hands above your head and your palms gripping the bars of the headboard.”

  She could have resisted, but what would have been the point? An army of guards were posted at every exit…and that was if she managed to escape this room.

  Ares was gone. She’d heard him depart earlier and before he’d left the threat and warning he’d issued had been clear—harm his brother and he would not hesitate to end her life in those most agonising of ways.

  He’d left soon after that, so now it was just her and Adonis, alone in this house, alone in this room.

  She lay down as ordered, her body stretched out, her hands on the headboard.

  There was no point in resisting.

  “Will you handcuff me again?”

  “I see no need to at this point. As I told you, there are ways to force one’s obedience so that bindings are completely unnecessary.”

  He began to unravel the leather from around his hand and she stared at the unwinding black material, entranced. It was because of her acute fascination with the leather flogger that it was not until he was fully nude that she realised he’d even removed his clothes.

  She had not imagined torturing someone would require both parties to be nude, but she knew nothing of such matters so she remained quiet, staring at him, wondering what would happen next, what he would do.

  She did not have long to wait.

  “When it comes to this, I am adept at discerning a lie.” His smile was wry. “Obviously, I am not so skilled at it elsewhere or I would have long been on to you. But, in these matters, I will know if you lie, so every question I ask of you, Selena, I suggest you answer truthfully.”

  “And if I don’t?”

  “I shall punish you.”

  Her attention flickered to the flogger for the hundredth time. “And if I refuse to answer?”

  “I will punish you.”

  She pierced him with her gaze. He’d not yet brought the hard leather within an inch of her body, and already she panted.

  “And if I answer truthfully?”

  “Then I will pleasure you.”

  Despite herself, she shuddered.

  “How will you be able to discern truths from lies?”

  “I did this for many years. I have many ways, but the most obvious is by using your body.”

  Her brows arched. “My body? How so?”

  “Just as your body betrayed your mind sixteen years ago and you surrendered to me, your body can betray your lips when they work to form the lie born of your mind.”

  She gasped at that, in shame and anger.

  He would use her body against her… again. He would use her body to betray her. That was somehow fitting, for she’d betrayed him, then used his body.

  “Why are you here, Selena?” Adonis asked, his whispered words breaking through her thoughts, his deep voice seductive against her ears. Even his voice was sexy, sensual.

  She stared up at him. His face was stoic. She notched her chin higher. All those who’d come before her had surrendered, but she was not them.

  She answered his question, but it was not the answer he sought. It was a lie and she paid for it.

  When the braided leather struck her nipples and a bubble of pain burst in her chest, she writhed against the bed, closing her eyes.

  She would not yield to him. She would not surrender…not ever.

  * * * *

  Adonis asked Selena the same question he’d posed hours earlier.

  “Why are you here?”

  Her lips trembled, her focus drifting between his face and the object in his hand. Sweat glistened across her naked body, like crystal gems sparkling in the desert sand.

  She bit down on her lips, her eyes defiant, glazed with lust and tinged with pain.

  He struck her again, across her breasts, lightly, and she closed her eyes, her head falling back on a long, soul stirring moan. She’d given up telling him lies several hours ago. Now she simply remained silent, quietly waiting for him to strike her again.

  Angry red welts crisscrossed her chest and her belly and yet she did not yield. She did not surrender. His strikes were heavy enough for her to feel the sharp sting of pain, but just light enough to tease and taunt, to tempt her body with the other face of pain—pleasure. Selena’s body vibrated with the dual sensations and yet she still remained defiant, belligerent in her silence.

  Adonis would not say it, but her fortitude impressed him. Men far stronger than her had yielded beneath his leather ministrations within an hour or two. Women far more resilient than her had begged him to stop and soothe their pain with pleasure after ten or twenty lashes. That Selena was strong and resilient did not surprise him. That she was far stronger and more resilient than all the others, did. None had lasted for this long without crying out, without begging him to stop. None had refused to yield to him…except her.

  By now she should have begged him to stop, begged him for the physical release he’d steadily nurtured within her. Yet she did not beg. She did not utter a word, not even a soft whimper of pain. Quite the opposite. Her body seemed to welcome the pain, relish it, as if the pleasure that her body craved came second to her desire for pain.

  He bit back a grim smile. He’d called her a masochist.

  He now considered the truth of such a statement and decide
d that she probably was. He wondered if she even knew it, if she understood that about herself. Did she feel shame or revulsion because of her nature? Was she repulsed by it? Or did she embrace it?

  He wondered.

  He set aside the flogger. She looked curiously between him and the object of her torture, but still she remained silent and did not question him.

  When he began stroking his swelling cock as he stood nude before her, she still did not question him.

  It was only when he approached the bed and settled between her parted thighs that she asked on a breathless gasp, “Wh-what are you doing?”

  His lips curled into a smile as cold and as cruel as he knew himself to be—this side of him which she’d awakened with her betrayal. He did not answer her as he hooked her legs over his arms and held her spread before him.

  Moisture glistened on the folds of her sex, and a small puddle had gathered beneath her where her juices had trickled from her body to stain the bed.

  His smile did not waver.

  A masochist indeed.

  She’d orgasmed. He hadn’t fully realised it until now, though he’d suspected she had when her perfumed scent hovered in the air between them. She did well in hiding her arousal, the full extent of her pleasure, but now that he knew—now that she knew he knew—she realised she was in danger.

  He should have sensed this earlier when he’d suspected her nature. That was his fault, his mistake. One he would correct, starting now.

  A true masochist found pleasure in pain, which was why she had not surrendered. He’d never encountered a true masochist…until her.

  Selena would not yield to pain, because she thrived upon pain. Just as those with masochistic tendencies could even endure being denied pleasure, where he would bring them to the brink of climax and then retreat. The same was true of Selena, for whom the denial of her orgasm would not force her surrender.

  Unlike those with masochistic proclivities, who could simply endure being deprived of release, with Selena—a true masochist—her body would go so far as to welcome the physical deprivation and accept it as pain.