by Nikki Rae
His hand moved to the back of my head, threading through my hair as he tilted it upward to give himself more access to my throat. If I thought my body was betraying me before, now it was a complete mutiny. His warm mouth bit and sucked, sending a wave through me that I had never felt before. He seemed to be searching for something, and my traitorous body let him, my hand pressing the back of his neck and urging him on. All at once, he found what he was looking for just above where he had taken out my old tracker.
The combination of him touching me, one hand in my hair and the other around my waist, the pressure of his body against mine, his mouth producing firecrackers and the slight pain as the stitches tugged either from him or my own heavy breathing made me whimper pathetically. I wasn’t sure if it was from fear or pleasure, and my body was so overloaded with confused sensations that I found it hard to care.
Hearing me only spurred him on, his grip around my waist tightening and his body pushing me further into the cushions. I kept my eyes helplessly closed, content to be blind. I wasn’t exactly sure how close he was, but if I had to guess, it was enough to make my body tense in all the wrong ways without him actually being on top of me.
The heat had since left my face, all of it culminating in my lower spine and deeper, in places I had never truly been aware of.
Then there was something else. A sudden building pressure, an impatient thing that wanted to bloom into something bigger, more intense. At the same time, the rest of my body was reacting, my nipples hard and rubbing against the wool of the sweater despite the heat from the fireplace. A fine sheen of sweat broke out on my exposed skin, yet it made me shiver as the tingling in my spine grew.
Somewhere, through the haze, I could hear it affecting him as well. I had no idea if it was genuine, but every now and then he would growl low in his throat, his fingers tightening against my scalp almost to the point of pain. Unlike just before he had beaten me, this time I welcomed the feeling, each individual follicle intensifying anything I already felt.
I noticed my thighs had pressed even more firmly together, as tightly as they would go, a second too late.
The pressure building within me finally broke free, flooding the space between my legs with liquid warmth and the rest of me with tremors I couldn’t control. I felt as if I was a visitor in my own body, letting it steer me as I grasped his head tighter to my throat and held on as the feeling flat-lined.
He pulled away sharply, his saliva drying on my skin.
I swallowed hard, not wanting to open my eyes. I was fully back in my body, slammed into it as if falling to earth from a distant planet. This had not just happened. It was impossible.
“Get up.” His voice was rough, quieted by lack of use.
My eyes shot open to see him glaring at me, face flushed and lips swollen.
On shaking legs, I tried to do as he asked, but they wouldn’t cooperate, too weak from what had just occurred. Now I couldn’t get my body to listen to me at all.
Master Lyon grabbed me by the wrist. “You think you’re clever, don’t you?” He sounded almost completely sober now, his eyes cutting back and forth across my face. “You think you can lie to me so easily? I thought I made myself clear.”
He pulled me up so I had no choice but to stand and I stumbled, the dead weight of my thighs making me clumsy.
I didn’t understand what he meant at first, but it dawned on me as he started to pull me from the room, towards the one where he had beaten me before.
He thought I had faked this. He thought he had discovered my entire plan and that this was part of it. If only I was that clever.
Master Lyon had already dragged me up the stairs and to the room, the harsh lights making me squint as he flicked them on. Without pausing, he pushed me over to one of the wooden posts of the bed.
“Take off your pants,” he ordered, already unbuckling his belt and getting ready to beat me senseless.
I opened my mouth to say something but his glare made me freeze. I would only make it worse for myself if I spoke now. But I couldn’t just let him punish me for this. For once, it wasn’t my fault.
Tears welled in my eyes as I rapidly shook my head, pressing my lips together so a sob wouldn’t escape.
“No?” he asked, shocked that I wouldn’t comply.
I didn’t have a chance to figure out some other way of communicating it to him. In a few long strides, he was directly in front of me, shoving my hands out of his way so he could do it himself. I couldn’t react; I could only stare as in an instant, the jeans were unbuttoned and on the floor around my ankles.
I closed my eyes, preparing for the worst. There was no use in fighting if he refused to hear me.
But nothing came. Not right away. I heard him exhale a slow, heavy sigh. It wasn’t the usual irritated one I was used to. This one sounded like someone had punched him in the stomach and he was struggling to contain his reaction.
When I opened my eyes, I watched through clouded vision as he walked over to the dresser and opened a drawer. He took out and bundled something that I assumed was clothing under his arm before he came back in my direction.
“Sit,” he said, softer, yet his voice still hoarse. “On the bed.”
It wasn’t hard. The bed was directly behind me and my knees were buckling anyway.
Removing the pants from around my ankles, he tossed them as far as he could before he lifted each of my heavy legs and slid the smooth cotton of sweatpants over them. I bit the inside of my cheek, trying to keep my mortification from turning into tears.
“Stand up.”
The words were soft again, but still made me jump.
I scrambled to comply with his order, knees locking into place and having to cling to one of the bedposts so I wouldn’t fall.
He swiftly pulled the dark gray fabric up to my waist, tying the drawstrings higher than they needed to be so the pants weren’t pooling over my feet.
I didn’t understand what was happening. A second ago, he had demanded I take off my pants and stripped them from me when I couldn’t. He looked as if he wanted to beat every inch of my skin until I passed out again, but now he was dressing me? Not only that, but these were much larger than the jeans on the floor. They were his. Was this is room, then?
He stood in front of me, arms crossed over his chest. He was staring at me, yet he felt miles away at the same time. He took a few breaths. “I’m about to allow you to speak,” he said. “I would choose my words wisely if I was in your position.”
I blinked a few times, waiting for something that would no doubt be worse than a beating. Why else would he bring me here?
“Did you just come?” he asked.
I stared up at him and he stared right back. I assumed I was allowed to speak now, and I struggled to answer. For a fleeting second, I thought I could pretend I didn’t know what he was talking about, but glancing past him at my discarded jeans, seeing the noticeable dark stain from where I stood, I couldn’t risk lying. We would both know.
“Y-yes, sir.” I wanted to say more, but he wasn’t done with his interrogation.
“Were you trying to?” His eyes shifted over my face like they were scanning some sort of code.
It was this question that broke me. My legs gave out and I missed the bed completely, the wood beneath my knees softer than what I deserved. How could I let this happen? How could someone I hated so much, someone who stood for and perpetuated everything that had made me miserable since birth, do this to me? How could I not only allow, but initiate it?
This was far worse than him forcing himself upon me. This was my fault. This was completely within my control and I had let that control loose with a few kisses placed in the right spots. How could I be so weak? How could this man I despised make me betray myself so completely?
Maybe you don’t hate him as much as you think, a voice said from somewhere at the back of my mind. I had to squeeze my eyes shut so I didn’t think about it more.
I didn’t know how many minutes p
assed without my response, but I couldn’t form one. It didn’t matter anyway. He could beat me into oblivion for all I cared. I deserved it. I wanted to do it myself.
He knelt in front of me, tipping my chin upwards so I had no choice but to look at him. “Answer me,” he whispered.
That was all it took to set the tears forth. I didn’t care about that either right now; I had already displayed just how weak I was. Crying was nothing compared to that. Still, before they could consume me, I choked out, “No, sir.”
My head was heavy in his hand and although I tried to keep looking at him, the torrent blurred my vision and no matter how much I blinked them away, the tears were only replaced by more. My pulse beat in my ears, making my head even more cumbersome and hang low as he released me. I thought he said something, but I couldn’t hear what it was through my pulse or labored breathing, which was quickly growing frantic as I gasped for air.
What did it matter anyway? My plan had backfired, he had known what I was doing, and I had become a traitor to myself and a prisoner of my own body. It had been worth less than nothing and I was less than what I had been since we began.
Suddenly, I felt him coming closer, his arms wrapping around my back and under my legs. He picked me up, pushing my head into his neck so even if my eyes were open, I wouldn’t have been able to see where he was taking me. Maybe I would finally be sent to the dungeon he no doubt had yet to show me. He would probably lock me away the same as they had at the Compound, never to see the sun again. Maybe he’d let me keep the sweatpants if I was lucky. I could find a nice place to hang myself with them if there truly was no escape.
He set me down on a cold, smooth surface and it was only then that I opened my eyes. We were in a bathroom I hadn’t seen before, and as I glanced over his shoulder as he let go and took a step away, I could see the room behind him through the open door. His room. We hadn’t gone far at all.
The bathroom was smaller than mine; only a standing shower, sink, and toilet on which I sat. There was a window to the side of the shower stall, a multitude of hanging plants reaching their vines towards the glass they would never escape for a sun they would never really feel.
The sound of the faucet running made me jolt, and I had to grip the edge of the toilet seat to keep from crashing into the tile beneath me. I wanted to stop crying, to regain my breath and composure, but no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t get control of myself. This had never happened to me before. No matter how bad things got, I could always form my own comforting world, dig myself out of any hole. But when I focused inward as I usually did, all I found was emptiness, a blank mind that held nothing more than guilt and shame. The realization that not only had my body deserted me, but my mind as well, only made my heart beat faster, the pulsing in my head louder, and the tears flow more until they were soaking the front of my sweater.
I think he said something, but I couldn’t understand the words. After I didn’t respond, he knelt beside me, gently touching my back and bending me forward, his other hand guiding my head towards my knees. I then felt him gathering my hair away from my neck and face, rubbing my back and silently waiting for me to calm.
After a while, the tears began to subside. I could breathe again, and I sat drawing in long, deep breaths, sniffling and praying that the tears wouldn’t start again.
He stood a moment and then he was back kneeling in front of me. He lifted my head and stared at my face before taking a washcloth and wiping away any trace of snot or anything else. He did this as thoroughly and clinically as he had taken out my tracker and given me the new one. It was just something he had to do, nothing more. I was almost grateful for it. It meant he wasn’t actually trying to make me feel better. I didn’t think I’d be able to take it otherwise.
When he was satisfied with his job, he bent to retrieve a glass of water he had set on the floor beside him.
“Drink this.” His voice was patient. It was the last thing I expected—especially from him right now, after I had wasted so much of his time.
With trembling hands, I took the glass from him and gulped the liquid down before I handed it back.
“More?” he asked.
I didn’t know I was so parched until he asked the question. My mouth and throat felt stuffed with cotton, absorbing any moisture. I nodded, unable to say anything.
Standing, he turned the faucet back on to refill the glass before he gave it back to me. This time, he didn’t kneel. Instead, he remained completely upright, his arms folded over his chest.
I drank slowly this time around; my stomach ached and I also wanted to stall, to prolong the silence before he inevitably asked me something else that would send everything rushing back. Right now I felt content with being numb, too drained to conjure any other emotion.
He didn’t say anything until I had drained the rest of the water. “Finished?”
Blinking a few times, I took stock of how my throat no longer felt like a desert. I nodded again.
Master Lyon gestured for the glass and I slowly extended it towards him. He placed it on the edge of the sink with a soft sound as it connected with the porcelain.
“Do you think you can stand on your own?” he asked.
I straightened my back, testing how dizzy I was and how I would fare if I left the safety of the toilet.
Instead of nodding, I slowly stood, willing myself not to tilt or fall.
“Good,” he said, but it didn’t exactly sound like praise. It sounded more like he was checking something off a list. “What about walking?” he asked. “Do you think you can manage that?” There was a light twitch to the corner of his mouth. He was trying to show me that despite his gentleness, despite this show of weakness—perhaps from both of us—that he was back to normal. I should be that way too.
I looked directly at him for the first time since this whole display had started. “I…think so, sir.” My intention was to sound confident, but I wasn’t so sure it came out that way.
He gestured with his hand, curling the fingers towards him to indicate he wanted me to follow him, but I couldn’t help but hesitate. He sighed. “You’re not in trouble, Doe. Please.” He repeated the movement.
Turning, he was so sure I would follow. I didn’t have it in me to prove him wrong, so I fell in step behind him.
We went back out into his room, but only for a moment before we were walking towards the hall. Then we were at the door to my room. He opened it, turning on the light.
“Get into bed,” he murmured, closing the door behind us. The soft click made me jump but I didn’t want to show him any more fear. He had seen enough of it for one night.
I made my way to the mattress, peeling back the comforter and then the sheets before slipping underneath. It felt like I was crawling into my own grave, and it would have been exactly what I deserved.
The light went out and I could hear him moving towards the bed. I forced my eyes to adjust to the darkness the best I could. The moon wasn’t exactly full outside the window above me, but it was enough to cast a deep blue tint across the room.
I heard the shifting of fabric and the metallic sound of his zipper as he unbuttoned his pants. My heart leaped into my throat and the emotions from earlier threatened to overwhelm me once again as I brought the covers closer to my chest, every muscle tense and rigid.
I watched his silhouette as he raised his arms above his head to take off his shirt. I was grateful when I caught a glimpse of his boxers that he wasn’t naked. I would shatter if that were the case—if he wanted more from me right now.
I didn’t know how he saw my expression, but when he turned towards me, he paused. “Tes yeux sont si larges, Biche.” Your eyes are so wide, Doe. He wasn’t shouting in the least, but his voice was too loud in the silence.
I blinked, trying to get my eyes to look neutral.
“We’re only going to sleep,” he said, quieter this time as if he had noticed this as well. “Nothing more.”
I let out a breath and my muscles r
elaxed a fraction. The blankets no longer felt like they were about to suffocate me and my heart settled back to where it was supposed to be.
He lifted the blanket on his side of the bed and climbed in beside me like it was the most natural thing in the world. It took him a minute to get comfortable, picking up the many pillows one by one and fluffing and flattening them. Then all at once, he stopped moving and the silence of the night surrounded us once again.
My Owner was close to me, but he could have been closer. I had already been here a few days and he had never slept in my bed before. No one had ever slept in the same bed as me before.
I must have tensed again, because he said, “Doe,” on a sigh, “what did I say? Repeat it to me.”
I cleared my throat. “That we were going to sleep, sir,” I answered in a small voice. “Nothing more.”
“Exactly,” he said, turning over, and it took me a moment to realize he was facing me. “So close your eyes.” Now he was whispering, and he reached over to smooth some hair out of my face and tucked it behind my ear. Then his hand was gone, back at his side under the comforter.
I did as he asked, trying to relax and make myself fall into sleep. My body was completely exhausted. I couldn’t move if I tried. But my mind raced, replaying every second of the night and pinpointing every possible moment where it could have gone wrong.
“I cried too,” he whispered after so long that I was beginning to think he’d fallen asleep.
My eyes opened and I couldn’t help but turn towards him, the heat from his body infiltrating mine. The simple words were a lure and he was pulling me in without even having to try.
“The first time I came,” he clarified.
I was supposed to say something, but the only thing I could think of was, “Why?”
He let out a breath, cool on my face as he thought—maybe of some lie or whether he would tell me the truth, and if so, just how much of it.
“I hadn’t meant to either,” he whispered so quietly that I almost didn’t hear him.
This was a surprise to me. Someone who had no doubt been raised into this life, who had been bred and prepared for it at such a young age…it didn’t seem right that the ultimate goal for any man hadn’t been under his control.
