by Regine Abel
“Ah, so now it’s childhood love?”
He curled his lips but continued as if I hadn’t interrupted.
“Grace was always pretty, but she became gorgeous at twelve. Mr. Carston, the son of a bitch who ran the orphanage, was quick to notice. It took me a while to realize what he was doing to her. I killed him and took Grace away. I’ve been taking care of her ever since.”
“Touching story, really. However, child abuse on fringe colonies is commonplace. Those who survive move on. We all have our own growing pains.”
My own childhood had been no cakewalk. I’d have taken someone trying to get into my pants any day over everyone looking for an opportunity to maim or murder me. At least, I think I would have preferred that. However, the thought of that Mr. Carston abusing Grace, especially as a helpless child, made my hands twitch with the need to shatter his bones. It was a good thing Marcus already disposed of him. Otherwise, he’d be getting a visit from me.
Marcus nodded. “I have no doubt you’ve faced plenty of hardship, being half-human. Surely you can understand that I would want to do this for the person who helped me through my difficult times?”
No, I didn’t. No one ever helped me survive any of my own nightmares aside from my father’s distant protection.
That’s a lie. William saved you.
That was true. I owed William. If he ever found himself in a bind, no price would be too high to help him.
“Unfortunately, her contract isn’t for sale. You’ll have to find yourself a new cock bait.”
His expression hardened. Marcus pressed his lips together, clearly holding back. I doubted it was fear making him pause. He wasn’t in a position of force in these ‘negotiations’ and knew better than to antagonize me more.
Marcus sucked in air through pinched nostrils, his eyes piercing me. “Alright, Mr. Myers. Let us speak plainly.”
I leaned back in my chair, a bored expression on my face, and gestured for him to proceed.
“I know you’re still angry about Jeruna… with good reason.”
My lips twisted into an angry snarl, fury boiling in my veins. It took all my willpower to rein in my rising temper and school my features. He had balls bringing up Jeruna. Pretty, smart, and with a backbone. I couldn’t help feeling a begrudging respect for him. This was unexpected. He held my still furious gaze, his unwavering.
“Grace didn’t want to do it and felt horrible about the whole deal. She’s a pushover. She needs to please. You can get her to do almost anything if she thinks it will make you like her in the end.”
“And that should absolve her?” My hands fisted over the armrests of my chair. Thinking of Jeruna made my blood boil. Self-control normally wasn’t much of an issue, but right now, mine was beyond thin.
“No, Mr. Myers. It shouldn’t and doesn’t. I’m merely explaining how it happened,” Marcus replied. “You have every right to demand retribution for the offense and to restore your honor.”
“How kind of you to grant me your permission.”
What’s my problem?
I was acting like a snotty brat. This was not how I wanted to portray myself to Grace’s former lover – the man who owned her affection from childhood. Showing more class than I was, Marcus pretended not to hear my childish outburst.
“Grace has been with you for the past two weeks. You must know by now that she’s nothing like Darla and Steffie. They were cruel and spiteful. What punishment they received was a long time coming.”
Marcus uncrossed his legs and leaned forward. While his posture could be perceived as begging, the expression on his face belied its submissiveness. Though he was pleading with me, he was also doing a lot of convincing.
“Grace is a good girl, loyal to the bone. She doesn’t have an ounce of malice in her. Granted, she’s no rocket scientist and she can be a little superficial, but she’ll do anything for those she cares about. All she wants is to be loved.”
“Didn’t you just say you loved her?” I asked.
“I’m a man whore. As long as it’s tight, warm and willing, my dick is happy to dive in. Grace isn’t down with that. The whole time I was stepping out on her, she didn’t cheat once, even when I gave her permission. Hell, I even tried to convince her to participate in my orgies, but it’s not in her. It makes her feel dirty. Grace wants to belong to a single man who will only want to belong to her. That will never be me.”
Images of Grace begging me not to let the other Braxians fuck her flooded my mind, her words echoing in my head.
“Just you. Please… Please, Anton. Just you.”
And how she shied away from Caleb when he suggested we swap partners at Sade. That had been so unexpected, not that I would have ever let that twisted fuck anywhere near her. I would never admit it, but I was pleased by the thought that she wanted no other cock but mine.
“Fascinating, but what does that have to do with anything?” I said, tapping my fingers on my armrest. The clock was ticking. I wanted him gone before Grace returned.
Marcus straightened in his chair and gave me a speculative look. “I understand Grace has been punished for her trespass and your elders considered your honor restored at Sade.”
How the fuck did he know that?
“Therefore, I would reiterate my offer to buy back the remainder of Grace’s contract. This would be the full amount of the original debt with all interests regardless of the two weeks she has served so far. I have found a man whom I believe can be everything Grace wants. He will be faithful, give her a home, a family, the stability, and love she’s always craved.”
I jumped out of my chair and heard it scrape against the floor. My fists resting on my desk, I leaned forward, glaring at him.
“Fuck you, fuck your offer and fuck that man. Grace is mine. So take your offer and get out. You’re not getting her back.”
The bastard didn’t flinch. Instead, he barely repressed a smug smile. He’d baited me and I’d jumped in head first. I wanted to break his neck.
Marcus slowly rose from his chair, smoothing his suit.
“I don’t need her back,” he said. “I need her happy. If I were smarter, I’d marry her. You’ve had your revenge, Mr. Myers. Grace is a wonderful, beautiful girl. A smarter man than me would play for keeps and realize what a treasure he holds.”
“I do not need advice on how to manage my property,” I said, straightening.
Marcus glanced around the room with an amused smile. “That, you definitely don’t. I’ve taken enough of your time. Thank you for hearing me out.”
He sauntered towards the door. After opening it, he paused in the doorway and turned to face me.
“By the way, if Grace starts kissing you on the forehead, it means she considers you’re a couple and she feels affection for you.” With a final nod, he walked out.
I touched my eyebrow, then stroked across my forehead. Grace had kissed my forehead – just once, as a good morning greeting. Ten minutes later, I had stuffed her in a cage for twenty-four hours because she didn’t want other men fucking her.
I dropped back into my chair with a heavy sigh. Resting my elbows on my desk, I held my head between my hands.
CHAPTER 10
Grace
I watched another recording, trying to analyze the patrons better than last time. Like yesterday, I couldn’t focus. This time, it wasn’t because I itched to go stir the hornet’s nest, but because I ached. Everywhere. Despite my comfortable chair, I stacked a pillow on top. My throat hurt like a bitch. When I checked in the mirror this morning, I could see purplish red bruising in the back of my mouth around the tonsils. Swallowing, eating, even talking was painful. It felt like my throat was riddled with tiny cuts. My pussy was sore too but that was more bearable.
Romero was fairly upset when he realized I was in pain. I didn’t tell him anything, but he guessed the soreness was curtesy of Anton. Thankfully, he didn’t pry. He merely reminded me that it was vital I figured out what my target wanted. Well, I knew what he wante
d; revenge. And I gave it to him with my tears and pain. I just needed to survive the next five months.
He called it a day after fifteen minutes. With the state of my throat, singing or even discussing anything wasn’t an option, but I had wanted out of the penthouse. The stiff way I moved made performance training impossible. We would reconvene in a couple of days. While sorry I didn’t spend more time with Romero – he was a really cool guy – I was quite happy to go curl up on my pet cushion and wallow in self-pity.
After tossing and turning for an hour, I gave up and crawled to the breakfast table to fire up the vidscreen. My training day wouldn’t be a total waste. Half an hour into my homework, the bedroom door opened.
Surprised by my presence, Anton froze in the doorway. “Shouldn’t you be training?”
A coil of dread seeped down my spine. Clasping my hands to hide their trembling, I faced him. Fear weighed so heavily on my chest, I could barely breathe.
“R-Romero c-cancelled today’s l-lesson.”
My voice sounded raspier than normal.
Anton frowned, his eyes dropping to my throat. He marched towards me and I instinctively shrank away, raising shaky hands before me.
He stopped in front of me. Head bowed, I silenced a whimper.
Don’t cry. Don’t move. Don’t make him angry.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” he snapped. “Get up.”
Shuddering, I lowered my hands hesitantly and obeyed, looking at him with pleading eyes. I thought of running, hiding, throwing myself at his feet, but knew better than to antagonize him. When he raised both hands towards my face, I flinched.
“Stay.”
His voice was as hard as the look he gave me. Cold sweat trickled down my back. I blinked away the tears welling in my eyes – I didn’t want to survive another punishment. I swallowed, wincing halfway through. My throat felt like some vicious beast had raked its claws through it. Anton’s frown deepened and he placed his fingertips on the sides of my neck. I felt him apply a slight pressure while studying the reaction on my face.
“Does that hurt?”
His voice was muffled by the frantic pounding of my heart.
“A l-little… B-but mostly when I s-swallow or t-talk.”
Lips pursed, his hands remained gentle on my neck. My chest heaved from my semi-panicked breathing. Although Anton didn’t appear to be angry, he wasn’t happy. What did that mean for me?
“Open your mouth.”
I complied. That hurt as it stretched the muscles in the back of my throat. But I didn’t want to give him any reason to hit me. By the hard set of his jaw, I knew what he saw displeased him. While I could deep throat with the best of them, yesterday was different. No one could handle that.
Anton took a few steps back, then gestured for me to approach. Confused, I closed my mouth and did as ordered, trying to hide my stiffness and the limp from my bruised knee.
“That’s enough,” he said, glancing at the pillow on my chair.
At first, my face heated with shame, then I felt myself pale with worry. What if he begrudged me seeking that bit of comfort? Without a word, Anton circled around me and stepped into the bathroom. Not knowing what to do, I stood still, waiting to see what he was up to. He came back carrying a spray bottle, some ointment, and a hand towel.
My heart seized in my chest.
All tension bled out of me as I watched him approach. I felt like a puppy eagerly awaiting to be petted by my master. Dr. Hazan would be disappointed with me. It was wrong to respond to kindness this way but I couldn’t help it. I loved having someone take care of me. Even now, knowing I needed care because of the trauma he’d inflicted on me, a warm fuzzy feeling spread through me. Anton placed the ointment on the table.
“Open,” he said, raising the spray bottle in front of my mouth. “Don’t swallow until I tell you.”
I nodded and he pushed three times, coating the back of my throat. Cold at first, it started tingling, the feeling growing in intensity before quickly fading.
“Close your mouth and swallow.”
I did as he commanded. It hurt but not as much as earlier. Anton massaged my throat and I leaned into the touch. Romero asked me earlier if I was familiar with the spray. Of course I was, like any decent singer. It worked wonders on sore throats and laryngitis; two things you couldn’t afford before a show. When he asked why I hadn’t used any, I gave him the runaround and he let the matter drop. Truth was, I didn’t know how Anton would feel about it. It wasn’t uncommon for masters to refuse painkillers to a pet they had personally punished.
“Open again.”
Anton repeated the process twice more. On the third time, when I swallowed, my discomfort became faint and distant.
“Sit on the bed,” Anton said while putting down the spray and picking up the ointment. After I complied, he approached and looked at my groin. “Are you sore?”
What do you think? I thought bitterly.
But I simply nodded. He gently pushed my shoulder backward, indicating for me to lie down. He lifted my skirt, exposing me to him. Noticing the bruise on my knee from when he had shoved me to the floor, he rubbed some ointment over it first. The effects were almost immediate, numbing the dull throbbing there. I always bruised easily. For a while, Marcus and I thought it might be some medical condition, but the doctors found nothing. My pale skin didn’t help either, making the slightest scratch look worse than it was.
Once done with my knee, Anton parted my legs and crouched in front of me. Lifting my head up to see what he was doing, I watched him spread some ointment on top of two fingers then carefully insert them into my swollen opening. The coldness of the cream, my raw insides and the thickness of his fingers made me flinch.
Anton put his other hand on my thigh and caressed it with his thumb in a soothing motion. My eyes pricked, and I blinked away the tears. I wanted to hate him. I should hate him. It wasn’t right that I was this hungry for the slightest sign of caring. Just like it wasn’t right that I had been so brutally punished for something stupid I did years ago. I watched Anton gently slip his fingers in and out of me, coating my inner walls with the healing cream. This was the man I liked and wanted to see. The gentle, caring, careful Anton.
Why couldn’t he always be like this? Why did the men I like always end up hurting me?
He pulled his fingers out. “Better?”
I nodded, fearing my voice would betray the turmoil raging inside me.
“How is your rear?” he asked after lowering the front of my skirt.
I froze. The terror from last night creeping back in. Nothing ever scared me more than when he almost fucked my ass. I believed he would damage me beyond repair. Kill me even. Pictures of me lying in a pool of my own blood flashed in my head. I shuddered, goosebumps erupting all over my skin.
It didn’t happen. He stopped. You asked him and he stopped.
He did stop.
That didn’t make anything that happened last night okay. But for me, it changed everything. Paul never stopped. Begging him only brought me greater punishment.
“Grace?”
Anton’s voice snapped me out of my daze. Yes, my ass did hurt. Nowhere near as bad as my vagina had, but sore nonetheless. I could still feel the burn from when he ripped out the plug.
I considered saying no, not wanting Anton anywhere near my ass in case he decided to finish the job. However, nothing indicated he wanted revenge right now and I really didn’t like pain. It felt silly to punish myself further.
“Yes, a bit,” I whispered.
“Move up the bed and get on your hands and knees,” he said.
I did as ordered, my pulse rising. He applied a small pressure on my shoulders so my face rested on the mattress with my ass up. That position made my butt hurt. Then again, since last night, any position hurt. While eager for the relief the ointment would provide, I dreaded the moment Anton would insert his fingers into my tight hole.
As if sensing my growing panic, Anton’s callouse
d hand gently caressed my butt cheek in a circular motion to make me relax. I felt his wet fingers on my rosette and tensed up. He didn’t try to push his way in though. While still caressing my cheek, his fingers softly applied the cream around my inflamed opening, soothing it. With a slow, painstaking process, Anton eventually managed to slide a single finger inside me to coat my rear with the ointment.
When he finished, he wiped his hand on the hand towel and helped me back to my feet. He made me walk around the room to assess my level of discomfort. It wasn’t as magical as the throat spray, but I no longer walked as if a stick was stuck in my behind.
“In half an hour, have something to eat,” Anton said. “And before you go to sleep, we’ll put on a bit more ointment.”
“Yes, A... Thank you.”
I almost said his name but thankfully caught myself in time. After last night, I wasn’t sure where I stood. Should I call him Master? He only ever asked me to call him Anton, though.
He gave me a strange look then nodded. I watched his retreating back as he headed for the bathroom, wondering what thoughts were going through his mind. Did guilt drive him to take such thorough care of me? Did he fix me only to break me again later? Was yesterday enough punishment or was it only the first of many?
After washing his hands and putting away the spray and ointment, he quietly walked out of the room.
* * *
The next two weeks were like sitting in the eye of a storm. Things remained peaceful, quiet, yet you knew some serious shit would go down soon. Anton reverted to the distant, but mostly kind man of our first week. After soothing the bruising he had inflicted, he didn’t touch me for three days.
I felt in limbo, not quite knowing my purpose or what he wanted from me. Worse, wondering if more punishment awaited twisted my stomach with fear. I really wasn’t good with pain. At least, Anton didn’t want to do severe damage to me, which was a major relief. Despite his rage, Anton used Denax on me – a fast-acting muscle relaxant – right before I asked him not to take my ass. Even without giving it enough time to take effect fully, a few seconds would have spared me from tearing but not spared me from pain.
