The Maiden (The Cloister Book 1)

by Celia Aaron

  “I’m already coming,” a man yells from down the corridor. Some of the women laugh. Others silently exit their cubicles and make their way toward us. Most are nude, which has become frighteningly normal for me. I’m more often naked than clothed at the Cloister.

  “Here we go.” Chastity lowers herself to her knees.

  The first woman comes in, her mascara already streaked and dried down her face. Her ribs protrude, and she looks ten years older than she probably is. She gives Chastity a glare, then turns her gaze to me. Something like molten fury passes across her face. She steps toward me, but Jez grabs her too-thin arm and whips her around. “Get it done.”

  “Cherry,” Chastity says.

  Cherry bends over and spreads her cheeks.

  “Cherry.” Chastity gives me a pointed look.

  “Oh, right.” I grab the Sharpie and write the woman’s name on the vial.

  Chastity takes a clean swab and gently inserts it into Cherry, then pulls it out and hands it to me. I place it in the vial and press the top on.

  “Is it in yet?” Cherry laughs, but there’s no joy in it.

  “You’re done.” Jez motions for the next woman to come inside.

  We spend the next few minutes taking samples. It’s demeaning, but none of the women seem to mind. They walk in dead-eyed and leave the same way. Most of them verge on emaciated, though a couple are large, as if they’ve been treated differently to please certain clients’ particular desires. It isn’t lost on me that Chastity seems to know most of their names.

  When we’re done, Chastity collects the vials and places them in the backpack.

  “That’s it, then?” Jez speaks with too much force, but volume can’t hide the vulnerability in her eyes.

  “Until next month.” Chastity hefts the backpack. “I’ll send these off to the lab as soon as possible.”

  “So efficient.” Jez steps closer to Chastity.

  “Jez—”

  She touches Chastity’s face so softly that I suddenly feel out of place, a spectator to an intimate scene.

  “They’ll see,” Chastity hisses, but leans into Jez’s touch all the same.

  I turn my back and side step until I’m standing in front of the camera. The angle is tricky, but maybe I can shield them, at least a little bit.

  “Does it hurt?” Jez’s voice is soft, the venom gone.

  “Not anymore.”

  “I’m sorry.” Jez’s voice cracks just a bit, a hairline fracture.

  Chastity lets out a breath. “It’s not your fault.”

  “It’s not yours either.”

  “We have to go.”

  “I know.”

  I can’t tell if they embrace, but then Chastity is tapping my shoulder. “Come on. We need to get back.”

  I catch Jez’s eyes, the tears that threaten, and she covers her mouth with her palm to stifle a sob.

  Chastity walks out, her long skirt swishing on the garish carpet, and I follow her past the grunting senator and some other scenes of depravity. Skin slaps on skin, women moan loudly, and I focus on getting out of here. Keeping my eyes ahead, I stay in step with Chastity until we push out the doors into the vestibule. The guard doesn’t look up as we pass, and a rifle leans next to the outer doors. It wasn’t there before. For a second, I consider grabbing it. But the foolishness of the idea keeps me walking. It would accomplish nothing, and after all, I was in this until the end—until I found out about Georgia.

  The cool air washes over me as we exit into the sunny day, and it’s as if I can finally breathe again. No more cloying perfume or the thick scent of sex.

  As we start walking the road back to the Cloister, I glance behind us. No guard. That must have been his gun by the door. He’s still inside the Chapel, one of the many faceless users I’d heard as I walked through.

  Chastity hurries up the rise. I almost have to run to keep up, and I want to ask her to slow down, to enjoy the freedom for as long as we can, but when we’re out of view of the Chapel, she whirls on me.

  Grabbing my coat, she pulls me face to face. “You will say nothing about what you saw and heard today.”

  “I wouldn’t.” I try to square this fierce Chastity to the meek one from the Cloister. “I’m your friend.” My words aren’t a manipulation. They’re true. Ever since the night with Newell, I’ve known that Chastity was different than the other Spinners. I just didn’t know how different until I saw her interactions with Jez.

  She loosens her grip. “It’s just, I don’t want Jez to—”

  “Get in trouble. I understand.” I grip the back of her hands and put my heart into my words. “I’d never do something to hurt you.” She’d already been hurt enough, judging by the scar on her forehead and the feelings she swallowed when we were in the Chapel.

  “Thank you.” She releases me and steps back, then lets out a shuddering breath. Playing the heavy isn’t her style, but she definitely gets her point across when she wants to. “We better go.”

  We walk elbow to elbow, not hurried but not slow, down the tree-lined road back to the Cloister.

  “Can I ask you something?”

  She tenses.

  “Not about that.” I jerk my chin toward the Chapel. “Something else.”

  “Sure.” Her answer is guarded, but I take what I can get.

  “When were you a Maiden?” If she was in Georgia’s “class,” I may finally be able to get some answers.

  “Three years ago. Why?”

  Shit. She was one year before Georgia. “So, when your year was up—”

  “That’s not something I want to discuss.”

  My heart sinks farther, deeper, and flirts with despair. “I was just wondering about a Maiden that was here after you. The one that got hurt…” I take a deep breath. “Got killed.”

  “We are forbidden from speaking about her.” Her words are curt, signaling the end of whatever confidences just passed between us.

  The Cloister comes into view, the prison bars beckoning us closer. We walk in silence, heads down, and the breeze loses some of its clarity, the landscape no longer giving me heart to go on.

  When we’re a few yards from our jail, Chastity puts out a hand and stops me.

  I turn to her, the blue of her eyes brilliant even against the backdrop of the azure sky. “What?”

  She chews on her lip, then says so softly that I almost miss it. “She talked about you.”

  “Who?”

  The door hinge creaks, and the Head Spinner walks out of the back of the Cloister, her raptor-like gaze landing on us with eerie focus.

  Chapter 25

  Delilah

  “Right where you belong.” He walks in and tosses his jacket to the floor next to me before sitting on the bed.

  This isn’t where anyone belongs, but I swallow my criticism. “You’re late.”

  “Am I, little lamb?” He pulls my face up to his. “Does this mean you missed me?”

  “No.” Had I missed him? I shake off the question. “I mean, I was wondering if you sent that video to my mom, is all.”

  He turns his neck and cracks it with unnerving precision. “I did.”

  “And?”

  “Why so worried?” He peers down at me, a furrow forming between his dark brows.

  “I just—” I shrug and come out with the most plausible explanation “—I know how Heavenly deals with outsiders.”

  “Oh, I see.” He smiles, slow and poisonous. “She’s alive and well. On her way back home.”

  “Really?” I didn’t expect my mom to give up so quick. Then again, if Adam spoke her language… “Did you pay her to go?”

  “Of course. She’s an addict. Something you failed to mention.” His nostrils flare.

  My insides crumple that she caved, but relief tempers the disappointment—she seemed to have kept her mouth shut about Georgia. Adam wouldn’t be in such a good mood if she’d spilled.

  And maybe I’m making progress. I haven’t been able to speak to Chastity since
this afternoon, but I have to believe that she meant Georgia when she’d said ‘she talked about you.’ I’ve been holding onto that flame of hope, letting it fuel me for the rest of the day. I snap my attention back to Adam. Not that it’s difficult. He looks like some sort of dark CEO in his deep gray suit and tie. “Heroin makes her a different person. I didn’t want you to know.”

  “Embarrassed?” He strokes my too-warm cheek.

  “Yes.” My voice is barely a whisper. I hate to admit I’m ashamed of my own mother, but it’s true. And maybe, for just a moment, I wondered if she gave a shit about me again. The flyers, coming here, trying to find me—but it was just a charade, a different sort of shake-down. I ignore the stinging fact that a simple payoff is enough for her to abandon her only daughter.

  His fingers stray lower, to my neck. “You should have told me. Trust, remember?”

  I shiver at his soft touch and the leashed violence it suggests. “Yes.” I want to argue that he never asked, that it wasn’t important. But I know it won’t matter. The tight tone of his voice tells me that much.

  “You know I have to punish you.” He tries to feign regret, but doesn’t quite manage. His hunger is still there, beneath the surface, claws waiting to catch and rip and destroy.

  I can’t respond.

  “On hands and knees.” He stands and unbuttons his shirt, revealing fair, muscled skin with a trail of dark hair leading south.

  I swallow hard and crawl onto the bed.

  “Did you go outside today?”

  I turn to look at him as he stands behind me.

  “Yes, how did you—”

  “I spoke with Grace.” His hands curl into fists, but then he shakes them out. “Told her you were to be allowed out.”

  “Oh.” I don’t mention the nature of the outing—visiting a whorehouse wasn’t what I’d had in mind—but I’d take it over staying locked up inside the Cloister. “Thank you.” I face the headboard again, and it occurs to me that I’m having what could pass as a normal conversation while I’m completely naked, on all fours, and about to be punished by a man who treats me as a pet rather than a person. And I just thanked him. “No.” The word rockets out before I have a chance to stop it.

  “What?” He approaches me and strips off his shirt, tossing it to the floor.

  I sit back on my heels. “No. You aren’t going to punish me.”

  He smirks. It’s hard and cold, like his eyes. But heat courses through me all the same.

  “Is this how you want to play this evening?”

  “I’m not playing.” My voice shakes and I scoot off the bed and stand. “You aren’t punishing me. I’m not a—”

  He hurdles the bed and has me in his hard grasp before I can even form the thought to run. I’m slammed onto the bed face first, his weight on my back, his bare chest pressing against me.

  His mouth at my ear curls my toes. “I think we may have a slight misunderstanding between us, little lamb.” He grabs a handful of my hair with one hand and slides the other down my side. “You see, I’m the one who calls the shots where you’re concerned. I own you.”

  “Stop.” I try to push up, but it’s no use against his lean muscle.

  “I can’t. Not until you understand. This is a lesson you need.” His hand slides beneath me. “And one you want.”

  “No.”

  “You’ve wanted it since the first night I saw you. Fire at your back. Hell in front of you.” He presses his fingertip against that one super-sensitive spot between my legs.

  I gasp.

  “This body, this mind, even this soul—all mine. I’ve already killed for it. I’d do it again a thousand times over.” He strokes slowly, heat sizzling through the deepest parts of me. “And I’ll do whatever I want with you. I won’t force you. That’s not what this is.” His finger slides lower, delving into my wetness, and then back up again, circling my clit. “This is a lesson.” His thick length presses against my ass, and dark sparks burst in my mind. “One that I should have already taught you.” He bites my earlobe, and an unbidden moan rises from my throat. “Pleasure and pain. I offer both. You will take both. And you will trust me to give them in whatever amounts I see fit.” His teeth migrate to my neck, biting down like a wild animal holding its female in place.

  I struggle to catch my breath as he stops circling and starts strumming my clit. His cock grinds against my ass, his hips moving in time with the maddening strokes of his fingers. Everything inside me tightens, twirling around him. I’ve come before, to my own fingers, but it has never been like this. A punishing need for release, a desperate rush toward ecstasy.

  “Please.”

  He bites harder, almost breaking the skin, and I cry out, unsure if it’s pleasure or pain that gives me voice. My mind stops and focuses on the building tension, the intense need, the primal craving to let go.

  But then his fingers disappear.

  I let out my breath in a huff. He still grinds against me. “Do you want me to make you come, little lamb?”

  Everything goes blank, my body chasing after what he’d offered. I hate myself, but I don’t lie to him. “Yes.”

  His weight lifts. “Turn over.”

  I push over onto my back and stare up at him, a dark god with hell in his eyes.

  “Spread your legs.”

  I’m damned to obey. No, I want to obey.

  “Good lamb.” His lashes lower, and he drops to his knees. Gripping my hips, he yanks me toward him. “Tell me you want me to eat your virgin pussy.”

  I bite my lip, the truth stuck in my throat.

  A jolt and a sting rush through me. I yelp and try to sit up. His wide palm on my chest pushes me back down.

  “You slapped me.” I grip his wrist. “You slapped me down there.”

  Smack. I jump and squirm as he slaps me again. A heady feeling, one that shoots me even higher than his fingers, rushes through me.

  “This is for disobeying.” He hits me again, right on my clit.

  I try to close my legs, but his broad shoulders prevent it.

  “This too.” Another slap.

  I’m writhing, desperate to escape or something worse, to surrender.

  “Tell me you want to come on my mouth.” He rears back and delivers a stinging slap that brings tears to my eyes.

  His gaze burns into mine as he rears back again.

  “Yes.” I choke out. “Yes, please.”

  With a guttural noise he leans forward and opens his mouth wide. I jerk when his tongue licks me from bottom to top. It feels wrong, overwhelming, and utterly addictive.

  “Adam!” I grip the blanket.

  He slides his tongue up and focuses on my clit, that little bundle of nerves that seems to light up my entire body. “Eyes on me.”

  I stare down at him, my breasts heaving as I try to catch my breath and fail. His tongue is a weapon, one he wields with delicious efficiency. He slices through my modesty, my fear, and goes straight for the kill. I can’t separate myself from this moment, can’t escape his clutches, and I don’t want to.

  My hips move as his fingers dig into my skin. He isn’t gentle, doesn’t give me any reprieve from his lashing tongue. Wet noises bounce off the walls, and I’m too high to be embarrassed. High on him.

  When I thrust my hips against his mouth, he groans, the sound vibrating through me, adding to the maelstrom of tension between my thighs. I’ve never felt arousal like this. It’s so intense it hovers on the verge of nausea.

  I close my eyes, but gasp and open them when he pinches my clit with his teeth.

  “Watch me.” He licks his lips. “I want to see your face when I tear you apart.”

  “Oh my—”

  He focuses on that one spot of white heat, his tongue whipping faster. My legs shake, and everything shrinks—all of my thoughts and emotions folding in on themselves until I’m nothing more than a pulsing kernel of need. And he knows just how to make me pop.

  I can’t hold it back, my entire body tensing. My pleas
ure bursts on his tongue and floods my body like a tidal wave. I thought I’d come before. I never had, not until Adam Monroe was between my thighs. Thoughts disappear as I let out a raw cry, my body contracting and relaxing to the tempo of his tongue. My orgasm isn’t linear. It’s a rollercoaster, loops and drops that rob me of my balance and keep me guessing. I can only breathe again at the end when the train returns to the station, slow and languid, it’s occupants sated and exhilarated.

  “Naughty little lamb. Next time I’m going to record those obscene noises you make.” He gives me one more lick and stands, gazing down at my boneless body with animal satisfaction. Leaning down, he runs his fingers along my slit. I shake at his touch, the sensation too much. He brings them to his lips and smears my wetness there, then licks the rest from his fingertips.

  Oh my god.

  My eyes travel south to the bulge in his pants, and I swallow hard. For the first time in my life, a thrill goes through me at the thought of pleasuring a man with my mouth. But Adam isn’t just any man. I know that now. He’s my weakness, the one thing that could derail my search for the truth.

  “Do you want it?” He runs the heel of his palm along the thick ridge.

  “I-I—”

  “I’ll tell you what I want. My cock so deep in your mouth that you can’t breathe, that you can’t do anything except suck and pray that I pull back before you suffocate.” His guttural voice strokes the jagged parts of my desire. “Tears in your eyes, your hands gripping my thighs, and fear. So much fear.”

  I sit up, my body trembling. “You want me afraid?”

  He tilts my chin up so I meet his gaze. “Fear that you love it. Fear of how filthy you are when you’re on your knees for me. Afraid of your own wants. Afraid of how far you’ll go to please me and yourself. That’s what I want to see. What I will see.” Dropping his hand, he stalks around the bed and snatches up his shirt and jacket.

  When he leaves, slamming the door behind him, I stare after him. His footsteps quiet and disappear, and the girl I share a wall with cries quietly on the other side. A chill sinks into my bones, and I yank up the blanket, wrapping it around me and trying to understand everything that just happened.