Tender Mercies

by Kitty Thomas

  He clicked the television off. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

  A minute passed, then two, then three. He finally returned with a cold wrap used for sports injuries and a jar of something she didn’t recognize. She flinched when he sat beside her on the couch, but quickly recovered.

  “Give me the hand you were writing with.”

  Grace extended the hand to him with only a little hesitation, and he opened the jar. The room filled with the sweetest fragrance, and if she closed her eyes she could almost believe she was in a lush garden.

  “The native people make this salve from a rare flower known for its healing qualities. We use it for muscle and joint pain, and also sometimes for wounds.”

  Asher took some of the cream and spread it onto her hand, massaging each finger individually. She let out an involuntary sigh as he used the salve and the massage to soothe the pain. It seemed to go on forever, and she didn’t want him to stop.

  There was a part of her brain that knew she’d only been in his care a day and that it was still far from safe to believe he was good, but another part––the part that existed only on primal feelings and urges, not logic––hoped he’d soon touch other places like that.

  Then there was the orgasm from earlier that morning. How fucked up was it that she wanted him to do that again, and she wanted to return the favor? Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. The chant started up in her head again.

  “Grace, are you all right?”

  She looked up to see those intense, concerned blue eyes drinking her in. Asher wasn’t empty. His eyes didn’t pretend. Did they? She couldn’t be sure. How stupid was she going to be, trusting a fantasy again? She hadn’t been careful enough with Lucas. Everything had looked so good on the outside, then reality had come crashing down. No, it was too soon to be so stupid again. It would always be too soon.

  But the word in her brain changed. Now it was Asher’s voice in her head. Grace. Grace. Grace. Grace. That word that finally meant something again: Mercy. Favor. Goodwill. Could those things actually be coming from this man? If they were, she wanted to kneel at his feet and never get up.

  “Grace?”

  “I’m sorry, Master. I was thinking.”

  “Tell me.” He’d finally stopped rubbing her hand and wrapped it in the cold pack, taking the fabric strap with the Velcro tab and firmly attaching it in place.

  She hesitated. Stupid. Stupid. Don’t tell him anything. Don’t tell him the truth. Don’t be stupid again. Never trust another man. Never. But she couldn’t listen to the voice in her head, not with him so close, his very presence and touch and look compelling her to obey. She no longer knew how not to obey when an order was delivered. She’d stupidly do whatever he wanted.

  “Same things,” she whispered. “Afraid it’s not real. This is all . . . a lot.”

  “I understand. I’d wanted to let you be outside some this afternoon to get used to the sunlight again. You’re so pale.”

  She looked down at her hands, wondering if he found the pallor of her skin repulsive. She wanted to know if he wanted her outside so she could be healthy and glow, or for his own personal aesthetic. In the end, it didn’t really matter. She should be grateful to go outside. Her gaze traveled behind the sofa and through the glass doors. The sun was setting.

  “Have you been on the balcony yet?”

  She shook her head.

  “Come. I want to show you.” He took her unwrapped hand and led her through the double doors. The balcony was much larger than it appeared from inside her room. There was only one lounger and a table, but there was room for much more. It was as if he was sending her a message that this was a private spot for her.

  The railing came up just over her waist, and she gripped it as the island breeze ruffled her hair. They were right on the ocean. She could both hear and see the waves lapping the shore as the sun seemed to slowly sink beneath the water.

  “It’s lovely.” She still held back, reserving her excitement for weeks or months from now, if things stayed this way.

  “It’s real,” he whispered in her ear, the rich baritone of his voice like a song. Asher ran his fingertips through her hair, and she leaned into him without thinking. “I love this hair,” he murmured.

  She flushed at the compliment, glad there was something he found appealing. It was hard to see herself as more than a piece of broken trash that had been thrown out. What could she give him in return for all of this?

  He unwrapped her hand. “How does it feel?”

  “A little better. Thank you, Master. You didn’t have to . . .”

  “I take care of what’s mine.” He was so fierce about it that it stole any reply she might have had.

  If it was real, he was going to so much trouble for her, that to show any trace of doubt in him seemed like the highest betrayal. So she kept it inside.

  “Go put some shoes on. I want to show you something while there’s still enough light to see it.”

  He let go of her hand and she went to the closet and slipped sandals on, then he took her down to the garden. It was tucked away next to the house, where the grass still grew before sloping into sandy beach.

  “I thought you could take over some of the gardening. William can teach you. It’ll get you outside in the sun more. I want to start you off gradually. Just a few minutes a day until your skin gets used to it.”

  She’d expected a lavish and well-manicured garden as lush and perfect as the rest of the house, but there were piles of perfectly good uprooted flowers and lots of dirt. Had he not liked the flowers William planted?

  “It’s time to move on,” he said.

  Looking from the pained expression on his face to the uprooted garden, she guessed it was about the other slave. Had it been a garden for her? Too many memories, maybe?

  “Have you ever done any gardening?”

  “No, Master.”

  “William still has to clear all this away and add some nutrients to the soil, but in a few days it should be ready. We can get you some books so you can decide what types of flowers you want. I’ll mark everything we can get and grow here.”

  She searched his eyes for hints of dishonesty, but it still seemed real. It still felt like he meant all of this. The idea of working outside with a gentle breeze and the salt air and sound of the waves was so much freedom, so much more than she thought she’d ever get to taste again.

  Seven

  Grace tried to get comfortable, but she couldn’t. The cold, damp stone of the cell made it impossible, and the holes in the blanket kept her from being able to get warm. The faucet over by the wall wouldn’t stop its incessant prattle. Drip. Drip. Drip. The dog whined and scratched at the cell door. She could hear him sniffing from behind the thick, weathered wood. Her blood ran cold.

  Not again.

  The door opened and Lucas stood there with an evil gleam in his eyes as the dog started sniffing his way over to her like a bloodhound. Then he was trying to get at her naked skin with his tongue through the holes in the blanket. It wasn’t the dog’s fault. Lucas had trained him that way.

  Her master just laughed. She’d long ago stopped seeing Lucas as handsome. The permanent coldness in his dark eyes made it impossible to remember what she’d found attractive about him at all.

  His features had a statuesque perfection, and that was what he reminded her of. A statue. Cold, emotionless marble that she was incapable of moving toward a humane action with even her most desperate pleas or cries for mercy. He moved with purpose, his heavy shoes thudding over the stone.

  Then hands were on her, shaking her. “Wake up.”

  The nonsensical words coming out of his mouth, and the even more nonsensical concern in his tone, jolted her out of the dream. Grace looked frantically around her, but she wasn’t in the dungeon. She was in Asher’s bedroom. In Asher’s bed. The bedside lamp was on.

  For one terrifying slice of time, she’d thought Asher had been the dream, that she’d woken there, returned back to her real reality.
But it had only been a nightmare.

  She remembered now how she’d gotten here. After the garden and walking down to the ocean, they’d had dinner on the terrace. When it was time for bed, she’d gone to her room, thinking she’d sleep on the sofa, but he’d guided her to his room instead.

  “You sleep with me,” he’d said, his tone possessive.

  So that was why she hadn’t had a bed. She should have thought of that option, but the idea he’d actually allow his slave to share his bed had seemed so ludicrous, she hadn’t seriously entertained it. The thrill and novelty of sleeping in a bed with her new master, of this being the permanent plan, had been almost more than she could process. But he hadn’t moved to touch her, and she’d drifted into a troubled sleep, worried she’d said or done something wrong, that he was somehow displeased with her. Those fears had translated into other, more awful things in sleep. Even though he swore he’d never return her to Lucas, the fear still lingered that she might prove a large enough disappointment in the end to get taken back.

  “Grace, are you all right? Your cries woke me.” In the darkness she couldn’t see his face to gauge if he was angry or irritated with her for waking him.

  “This . . . I . . . I’m sorry. Please, I’m sorry.” Having just come out of the nightmare, she was still on the defensive. She held her hands up protectively, though she knew it was a weak and pointless attempt.

  He gathered her in his arms. “Shhhh. You can’t help what you do in your sleep.” Then he chuckled. “Though if you make it a habit to hit me at night while pretending you were dreaming, we’ll have an issue.”

  Her hand flew to her mouth. “I . . . I hit you?”

  “You’ve got quite a right hook.”

  She flinched and tried to pull away.

  “Stop struggling, kitten.” His voice was low, the tone she was starting to think of as his master voice, the tone that meant business and instantly brought her compliance. She went slack in his arms, listening to her heart still pounding too fast in her chest, as if it were claustrophobic right now, too.

  His hand went to her hair, petting her as if she actually were a kitten. “Was the nightmare about Lucas?”

  “Yes, Master.”

  He cursed.

  “Please don’t make me tell you. It was bad enough dreaming it.”

  He’d pulled her down next to him, pressing his warm body against hers, spooning her. His erection pressed against her back.

  A terrifying thought stole into her mind. Surely if he were decent, if he were the good master she’d invented in her head, he wouldn’t have a hard-on right now. Even if he’d woken with one, seeing her in so much pain and distress should have made him go limp. Shouldn’t it? She shuddered against him, and then she asked the question out loud, afraid to hear the answer, and equally afraid she’d be punished for asking it, but unable to stop herself.

  “Does my fear turn you on?”

  His mouth was next to her ear, his voice a low growl. “It does. That scares you more, doesn’t it?”

  The only answer she could manage was a whimper.

  “Don’t worry. That’s not the only thing about you that turns me on. Your delicate features and long golden hair turn me on. Feeling your naked body pressed against mine turns me on. Your vulnerability. Your desperation to please me. Your quick obedience. Your gratitude for the things I give you. You don’t have to worry your fear is my only trigger. It isn’t.”

  But it is a trigger, she thought, trying not to hyperventilate in his embrace.

  Her question seemed to have only aroused him more. She tensed for a moment when his mouth found the pulse in her throat and he started to suck and nibble on the tender flesh there.

  “We can deny what we are, but it won’t go away. No matter what happens, your body responds to what it responds to. As does mine.”

  He wasn’t wrong. If her fear turned him on, maybe, as wrong as it was, it turned her on a little as well, because her body was begging for his to come fill her. Her moisture was dripping out of her, and with the way they were cuddled and wrapped together, she knew in a few moments he would know as well.

  Asher’s hand moved around the front of her, dipping between her legs. Without conscious thought, she opened for him, giving him the access to her body that he wanted.

  “You and I are both going to come tonight. I’m going to be kind. You can decide whether it’s mouths, hands, toys, or my cock inside you that gets the job done.”

  She bit her lip as his fingers continued to massage and rub the folds of her sex, avoiding her clit until he was ready to give her more. She tried to think. Even though her body wanted him, everything was scary right now. But hands, they’d been there already. At least for her.

  “Hands,” she whispered. He was silent for a moment, and immediately she regretted the choice. Maybe he was disappointed in her and had expected some greater effort on her part. Something more imaginative. But surely he must understand, even being able to stand being touched by anyone was a huge feat, given that twenty-four hours ago she’d still been living the nightmare with Lucas.

  “Fortune favors the brave, my dear. I suppose you’ll have to wait to learn what my tongue can do.”

  She shivered at his words. He was disappointed. Well, what did he expect? Did he really expect her to be excited and eager after what she’d been through? She was grateful to him and wanted to please him, but too much of her was at war. She was afraid she’d never be able to fully give him what he wanted. And she really did want to give him everything. Between Lucas and her lingering fears about Asher and what kind of temper he might unleash on her, she just froze up.

  He stopped touching between her legs when she went stiff. His hand instead went to stroking her belly. “Grace, listen to me. I know you’re scared. You don’t have to feel any particular thing about any of this. So stop fighting with yourself. All of this is out of your control. I am taking what’s mine, but you can keep your heart. For now. You don’t have to give me everything, just your body. When your body trusts me, your mind will follow. Now, open.”

  When his hand had moved away from her pussy, she’d closed her legs back together, as if in doing so she could protect those parts of herself from further exploration. Now, on his command, she opened them again, her body even more excited than before, and her brain more confused and upset by that fact. But he wasn’t asking for her brain, just the part that had betrayed her in its willingness to comply.

  She thought about all those times she’d wanted to separate and hover above while Lucas did the things he did, and now she wished she could do it for a different reason. She was scared of feeling too much pleasure with Asher, in coming to count on it and believe in it. She knew he was right. Once her body belonged fully to him, her soul, heart, mind . . . they would obediently follow behind like little soldiers. And what if it was a bad choice again? But she didn’t have a choice here. He’d spelled that out clearly. Whatever happened, it wouldn’t be her fault.

  She hadn’t hopped on a plane to go to Asher’s home voluntarily. She’d been bought and brought here. Her choices were only to obey or be punished. It didn’t make her bad if she wanted pleasure instead of pain, right? Her body lurched when two fingers tunneled inside her. She’d been so wrapped up in her thoughts and rationalizations that he’d taken her by surprise. His other hand was busy memorizing her body, running the planes of her face, over her hair, her breasts, her belly, her thighs. The fingers inside her started to pump in and out with greater intensity.

  “You’re so responsive. I like that.”

  His voice was so musical, like the pied piper leading her over a cliff. There was a time when, if she could have pictured this scene and all the horror of the past few months, she would have imagined fighting back, not just giving in like this. What he was doing to her body, however, felt so good. After feeling so bad for so long, she greedily lapped up the pleasure that was on offer. Never had a tactical invasion of fingers felt so comforting and welcome, and
never had a sexual advance created so much turmoil and confusion.

  “This body knows who your master is,” he growled in her ear, which only made her wetter. He sat in front of her, the fingers of one hand still moving inside her while the palm of his other pressed against her clit, grinding against the swollen bit of flesh that was so hungry to be touched, harder, faster, forever.

  “Be a good little slut and come for me now.”

  That word. Slut. It should have killed her response, but rolling off his tongue, the word only excited her more. It wasn’t abuse. It was endearment. Though she was still afraid, he was taking control of her and taking away bits of uncertainty with each small demand. She fell back into the pattern she’d learned over eight months. Obedience without thought. Her body opened further to him, her cunt clenching around his fingers as she came.

  She was panting, trying to come back to earth when his voice once again pierced the silence of the room. “Good girl. Now return the favor.”

  Asher’s cock was the hardest she’d seen it. His hand moved possessively around the back of her neck, forcing her head up so her eyes met his. “You see, your fear isn’t the only thing that makes me hard. Touch me.”

  Her tongue darted out to slide over her lower lip in an unconscious, nervous gesture. She reached tentatively to stroke the soft flesh, not at all sure about hands. Lucas had used her cunt, her mouth, and her ass, but he’d never had the patience for hand jobs. She wasn’t sure if she was bad at it, or if he just hadn’t liked them in general. But now she was paranoid it was the former.

  She leaned forward, her hair falling across him as her mouth got closer to his cock.

  “Now, kitten, let’s not change the rules of the game midstream. That’s very unfair. You said hands. I followed the rules. So will you.”

  Her eyes shot up to his, afraid to see anger, but instead finding mirth. She let out the breath she’d been holding and wrapped her hand around him and started pumping. Don’t be so stupid. You’ve given a hand job before.

  Asher leaned against the pillows and let out a hiss. “Exactly like that. Harder.”