by Amy Valenti
Though her wounds were dressed and slowly beginning to heal, the deep shock of her brief captivity and torture was only just starting to fade. And when she started awake from a light doze with a gasp, tears in her eyes, I drew her gently into my lap, enfolding her in my arms as sobs wracked her body.
"Let it go, little tease... Take all the time you need."
* * * *
With the commissioner's blessing, I took a couple of weeks off work to stay with Faye, and for the first few days she barely left my side. Her sleep was frequently interrupted by nightmares that left her distressed and trembling, and I held her as close as her injuries permitted as she whispered to me in the dark, relating over several tearful nights the full story of the hours spent with Aldridge.
I listened to the details with gritted teeth, safe in the knowledge that the darkness masked the rage and guilt on my face. But when she kissed my chest softly and said, “It's okay,” I realised my mistake. She knew. She was so well-attuned to the sounds of my breathing and heart rate, and the amount of tension I held in my muscles, that she couldn't possibly not have known.
"It's not okay, Faye,” I told her, brushing my thumb over her cheekbone and bringing it away damp with the remnants of her tears.
She placed her hand over mine, and I dimly saw the outline of her head as she raised it from the pillow. “It is okay, Sir. There's no point in feeling guilty about something that wasn't your fault. It was all him. I know you did everything you could, for me and his brother."
By the middle of the second week, Faye's stitches had broken down, leaving the wounds closed and well on the way to healing completely. Her left arm was mostly painless, but the deeper, muscle-deep cuts on the right limb had a way to go yet. She wouldn't know the extent of the scarring until the scabs were gone.
Her legs were a different story. The burns had been at the more severe end of second degree, and although the blisters had deflated, the skin was still sore and angry. She didn't complain, but I could see the impatience in her eyes whenever she changed the dressings.
"Take your time,” I said quietly, and she sighed, smoothing her hand over the fresh dressing and getting up to sit beside me.
"I just want this to be healed, Sir."
She rested her head on my shoulder, and I put a careful arm around her. When she looked up at me there was a glimmer of irritation in her eyes. “I don't want you to be scared of holding me. I don't wanna have to hold back with you."
I gently kissed her forehead, understanding her frustration. “Will it make it easier if I order you to be patient?"
She nodded. “A little."
I tilted her chin up with a finger, modifying my tone a little. “You deal with this, little tease. It's my decision when we move forward. Nothing you do can change my mind."
A slight tremor went through her, and I mentally questioned my last statement. I could almost feel the power exchange between us, feel her ceding the responsibility to me, and the urge to order her to her knees was almost overwhelming. I tried to keep it from my face, but I was a split second too late, and one corner of her mouth twitched upwards in an ironic smile. “Now you know how I feel."
Faye
Fifteen days after my abduction, Pierce was called in to work for the reopening of a cold case he'd worked on, way back when. He had no choice but to go, but I saw how the idea frustrated him.
"I'm fine,” I reassured him, smiling a little at his over-protectiveness and getting up to hug him.
My grip wasn't as tight with my right arm as with my left, but Bill had told me it was only the pain preventing it, and that once I'd healed completely, I'd be back to almost strangling the recipients of my embraces in no time.
I read the doubt in Pierce's eyes when I pulled back, and dared to roll my eyes at him. “Seriously. I'm over it. Go to work."
Strangely enough, it was true. Immediately after my rescue I'd have felt anxious about being left alone, but after being the centre of Pierce's attention for over a fortnight, that fear had left me. Only a couple of my post-traumatic dreams had focussed on his leaving me, and his attentive responses when I'd woken up had soothed away any subconscious doubts.
He fixed me with a long, analytical look before relenting. “You need anything, Faye...you call me.” Until I nodded my agreement, he didn't budge, but then he kissed me goodbye and left.
Smiling, I stood still for a moment, adjusting to the silence and the knowledge that I'd be alone for more than thirty minutes. Then I headed to my PC, setting my music volume up higher than it had been in over a month and engrossing myself in the video game Layton had got me hooked on a few months ago.
The day passed uneventfully, which calmed Pierce's fears a little, and the rest of the week flew by. On Saturday morning I slipped out of bed and headed for the shower, knowing the move would wake my Dom and that by the time I emerged from the bathroom he'd be out in the living room, a freshly brewed cup of coffee in hand.
I finished blow-drying my hair and went to find him, walking into the room just as he was sitting down.
"Morning, Sir.” Before he could reply, I dropped into a position so familiar it sent shivers down my spine—kneeling at his feet with my back against the couch.
For a second he was silent and I kept still, resisting the urge to look up and gauge his reaction.
"Sure your legs are up to that?” His voice was low, and I read the real question behind his words—was I sure I was psychologically ready to kneel for him again?
I didn't bother to answer, leaning my head against his knee with a faint smile. Psychologically speaking, I'd never left.
Relenting, with the firm order for me to move if I got too uncomfortable, he trailed his fingers through my loose, red locks. A tiny shiver passed through me, and he leant forward to rest his hand against my bare neck.
"I've been thinking about this, little tease,” he said casually, and I couldn't hold in the hope in my expression. He read the question in my eyes and shook his head. “Soon."
I deflated a little, and he tightened his grip ever so slightly, sending desire sweeping through my body in a tingling wave. My eyes fell closed at the display of dominance, and his chuckle made me catch my breath.
"Not today. Or tomorrow.” He withdrew his hand, and I nodded, taking a deep breath and trying to settle down and listen to his words. “Maybe not even next week. But we need to renegotiate, and I want you clear-headed when we do."
I bit my lip and nodded, feeling a flash of resentment towards the madman who'd tortured me. It was bad enough that I was injured, but this went deeper than that. Pierce hadn't had to ask me about my limits since he'd collared me, and he shouldn't have had to now.
Pierce interpreted my mood correctly and crooked a finger, beckoning for me to join him on the couch. I slid onto his lap and he enfolded me in his arms.
"I know. But things have changed, and I need to know how much."
I opened my mouth to reply, but before I could begin he shook his head.
"You even think about exaggerating what you can take, little tease, and I'll deny you permission to come for a year."
Wincing, I re-evaluated. I'd been planning to tell him that nothing had changed, as long as he went easy on the sites of my scars. I just wanted things to be normal again, and part of me was terrified Pierce would be disappointed in me for my increased limits, though logically I knew he never would.
"Psychologically, I can still take everything I could before,” I began slowly. “Except...the obvious. Stuff that's happened. Kidnap scenes, scenes where you pretend you don't care..."
Pierce nodded. “And physically?"
I thought about it carefully, taking my time, and he didn't rush me. While I was being tortured, I'd compared the pain to the controlled kind Pierce meted out to me, concluding the two were nothing alike. Put in the position of being given pain again, though... My mind recoiled at the thought.
"I don't think I can, Sir,” I whispered. It made me nauseous to utter
the words—the pain side of play was something I'd never thought I'd stop relishing, and I knew Pierce enjoyed my reactions to the varied sensations as much as I used to love receiving them. “Not even if I'm not tied up. I'm sorry..."
"Faye.” He tilted my chin up, seeking my gaze and holding it as he told me, “The play... it's not the focus of our relationship. If you said to me you wanted to stay completely vanilla from now on—no orders, no collars, no physical play—I'd agree to it. Without hesitation. You're my girl first, and my slave second."
A warm glow tingled through me, and I relaxed a little, a slight smile touching my lips as I nodded.
"Just bear in mind any punishment I give you will be psychological for now,” he reminded me.
I agreed softly, making a mental note not to act out for the foreseeable future. I'd always found mental punishments harder to bear than physical ones—until now.
"I'll be good, Sir."
He kissed my forehead, his lips lingering for a moment before he pulled back.
"Re-collaring first, then a scene. Tell me your safe word."
We both already knew it, though it was rarely used. But we were both keenly aware that if ever there was a time I'd need to speak it, it was now.
"Chemistry, Sir."
Though my lips obeyed his command, my mind was elsewhere. His mention of re-collaring me indicated a formal ceremony, rather than just placing it around my neck as if it wasn't a big deal, and I itched to move the schedule forward, to feel the weight of my favourite accessory against my skin.
"Good girl.” Kissing me softly, he drove the rest of my impatience from my mind for one blissful moment. Only one moment, though. “Soon,” he promised, and I sighed, resigned.
Soon couldn't come soon enough.
Pierce
Over the next few days, I kept a close eye on my girl, monitoring the ease of her movements, her facial expressions whenever she sat or stood, how quickly she reacted when she needed to use her arms or legs. By Wednesday night, when I let myself into her apartment to find her dancing around the kitchen, simultaneously preparing food and moving to her deafening music, I judged her ready.
Not that I planned to tell her that yet. I had a specific scene in mind, and it was one I couldn't initiate until I was away from the apartment. So I restrained myself, not letting her push me past the limits of my control, although she spent a good portion of the night curled up in my lap.
I held out until my lunch break the next day. It was a rare quiet day for my team, and though we were supposed to be catching up on overdue reports, the overall tone in the squad room was boisterous. Santoro gave Layton a hard time about something he was buying over the internet, and Beaumont interjected with coolly amused comments at intervals.
Preoccupied with my own thoughts, I let them get away with it, cutting them loose for lunch at around one. When I was sure they'd disbanded and headed their separate ways, I left the precinct and drove to a place I hadn't been for a couple of days—my own house.
Walking into the kitchen, I inhaled the familiar smells of herbs and bread. I hadn't had much time at home recently, and I ran an absent-minded hand over the kitchen counter as I dialled Faye's cell phone number from memory.
She answered on the third ring, her words excitedly tumbling over each other. “Hey, Zach! You're not gonna believe what I just found on eBay—"
"Later, little tease."
She never answered the phone by calling me ‘Sir'—just in case it was another member of my team borrowing my cell for some reason—and by using my pet name for her, I was letting her know I was alone and free to speak unheard.
She fell silent, her anticipation transmitted through the connection by the slight, unsteady hitch of her breathing.
I kept her waiting for a couple of seconds, reinforcing in both our minds that I was in control. “How are you feeling?” I said finally.
"Good, Sir,” she said, without hesitation.
"Hmm...” I leaned against the counter, taking my time. “In that case, I've got a task for you."
"Anything."
I imagined her in her apartment, awaiting my commands, and resisted the urge to just head over there and give a few in person. That would come later.
For now... “I'll be finished at work at around six, then I'm gonna call your cell and hang up. That'll give you twenty minutes or so. When I get to your apartment building, I'll call up to it so you know I'm there. And when I walk through your door, little tease, I want to see you naked and kneeling for me."
Her breath escaped her in a sigh, the slight tremble in her words rewarding me. “Yes, Sir."
"Any questions?” I knew there'd only be one racing through her brain, and she voiced it uncertainly.
"Is this—? I mean..."
On any other occasion, I might have drawn things out a little before answering her question, tormented her a little. Now wasn't the time for that.
"Yeah, little tease. It is."
I could almost hear the broad, uncontrollable grin on her face. “I love you, Sir."
It had been too long since I'd really reminded her of my position as her Dominant, and with a quick glance at my watch to check I had time, I let loose a little.
"Where are you?"
"At the computer,” she said, volunteering no more information than necessary.
Good girl...
"I want you in the bedroom, now. Put the phone on the bed and undress, then lie down and tell me exactly what you're thinking."
Whispering acquiescence, she moved into the bedroom and I heard the faint sounds of clothing being shed. I closed my eyes, aware of my growing arousal, and knew I'd be a little later back to the office than I'd thought. I didn't give a damn.
"I'm here, Sir...” Faye's voice was slightly breathless and I imagined her lying there, pale skin against dark sheets, her mind fixed firmly upon me.
I waited, reminding her mutely that part of my order had yet to be followed, and she spoke softly, as if unaware of the power she held over me at that moment. “I'm thinking... that I want you to walk in here right now and fuck me, Sir. Just pin me to the bed and push inside me, and make me beg for permission to come..."
I gave a wordless growl as my cock begged for attention, my self-control tested by the images her words evoked. Being around her for the past week had been sweet torture—I'd known she'd be able to withstand a reclaiming with minimal pain, but still I'd forced myself to wait until the only discomfort she'd be in would be intentional.
"Where are your hands?"
"One holding the phone, the other on my stomach, Sir."
She knew exactly what was coming, and I could visualise her all too well—her half-closed eyes, her parted lips, her hardened nipples and the slick wetness of her pussy between her spread thighs.
"Put the phone on speaker and put it down."
I knew when she did—the sound quality changed, and there was a slight scuffle before the line settled down.
Before she could speak, I told her, “Now touch yourself. I wanna hear you."
My imagination filled in the blanks all too willingly as her first, soft moan reached my ears.
"Oh, God... Sir... I'm so wet for you... I want you so much..."
At her sounds of pleasure, my entire body cried out a protest that was almost impossible to ignore. Stubbornly holding back, I focussed on her, giving her calm instructions and forbidding her to come until I allowed it, telling her exactly how hard it had been to keep myself from taking her over the past few days.
When her frenzied breathing turned to desperate whimpers, I knew she couldn't hold back for much longer. I gave the order and she lost her fragile grip on composure with a satisfied cry, gasping and sighing as the aftershocks carried her. Listening to her, my cell phone held tightly against my ear, I dug my free hand into my thigh so hard it hurt, refusing to let myself join her, keeping the facade of my control in place.
Gradually, she calmed enough to murmur her thanks, and I ached to hold
her, to watch her slowly return to herself as her limbs curled around me. For a few minutes I spoke quietly to her, making sure she knew I cared and reminding her of her orders for the evening. Then, reluctantly, I hung up, tucking my cell into my jacket pocket and making for the stairs.
I was already going to be late back to the precinct, but before I could even think of concentrating on work I had my own needs to take care of. The way my mind kept drifting to Faye this morning, I'd never make it through the afternoon if I didn't.
Faye
I spent most of the afternoon in a strange state, hovering between suspense and contentment. Pierce's call had taken the edge off my desire, but I knew it was nothing compared to what he had planned for that night. The time seemed to crawl by, and after spending most of it daydreaming I filled the final hour or so by changing the sheets on the bed and taking a shower.
When my cell phone rang, I was putting the finishing touches to my hair. Setting down the brush, I reached for it, but it cut off after the first ring.
Zach...
Feeling almost nervous, I reapplied my makeup—not too much, just enough to emphasise my eyes and lips. As I deposited the cosmetics back in their drawer, a sound jarred me—Pierce was buzzing up to the apartment, letting me know he was home.
Following his instructions, I shrugged out of my robe and went into the living room, kneeling within sight of the apartment door as I imagined where Pierce was right then. Entering the code to unlock the building door downstairs, taking the elevator up to my floor, walking down the hall to my door...
I didn't hear him approach, but that was nothing new. The man made a living out of being stealthy. But he didn't try to be quiet as he opened the door, stepped inside, locked it behind him. I knew better than to look up, keeping my gaze trained on the rug in front of me.
Noises. The rustle of cloth as he drew off his jacket and cast it aside. The jangle of his keys as he placed them on the table on the way past. His slow, even breathing, betraying none of the anticipation that was eating me up inside, though I didn't doubt he felt it too. The air was thick with tension, and I remained still with an effort, steeling my muscles against the urge to fidget.
