Right after Silver had been brought to the Retreat, Miles helped me scare the shit out of her when I feigned releasing her into the building on her own. He stepped off the elevator just in time to send her scampering back toward my room. We hoped that it’d be enough to deter her from any hair-brained escape plan, but at least she’d been a little easier to deal with after that. He was the only one I’d trust around her, as much as he might love indulging in the slaves, he was about as committed as he could be to Alley. And I knew he wouldn’t hurt Silver—not nearly as much as anyone else would.
I even sent Silver to stay with them both while I had to work—meetings with Ross’ contacts in the city to make sure we had supplies and the right people in our back pockets.
Silver and Alley became close, and Alley managed to convince her to cooperate in ways I couldn’t.
And I had another set of eyes to help look out for her.
A hand clamped down on my shoulder and I nearly jumped out of the chair, to break free.
“Easy, man,” Trent said, putting up his hands. “I was beginning to wonder if you were okay since we’ve been standing here talking and you’ve been off in your own little world.”
“Just thinking.”
“Obviously. You didn’t rip a stitch, did you?”
I felt a twinge in my side, but nothing more severe than I typically felt. “Funny.”
I was sitting in the middle of the room, and yet I was the outsider. Like watching a movie—distant, impersonal, and irrelevant.
Nothing took my mind off Rose long enough to make any sense of the rest of the world.
The next several days weren’t much unlike the days I’d spent in the hospital. I no longer had people prying or poking me every hour, but now I was surrounded by conversation and laughter that was just as difficult to connect with. Even though I refused the pain medicine, everything passed in a haze.
A self-induced haze to protect myself from my own thoughts. Thoughts and memories only brought on frustration, which in turn brought on anger bordering on rage. And I couldn’t afford to be taken over by rage.
And yet my dreams took me there again, and again.
The only thing I knew for certain was that I had to get rid of the war waging in my head.
I craved Rose. Some nights I was convinced that merely the touch of her skin would turn the nightmares away—as if she wouldn’t be enough to drive me to madness herself.
The churning emotions drew a thick chord of tension through my body—one that I wasn’t sure I wanted to pluck without knowing what was waiting for either of us at the end of that coil of lust.
Part of me wanted her spread out and vulnerable for my taking. Part of me craved her obstinate resistance. And all of me wanted to strip her and have my way.
Whatever that meant.
I’d always thought my sexual desires fell somewhere in the average range. If a few years ago a girl had asked me to tie her up for sex, I probably would have. I wasn’t against trying anything new.
However, if someone presented me with butt plugs and clamps and all manners of sexual torture, I might have hesitated. A vibrator was one thing—no problems coming up with some twisted uses for that. It was the toys that ran the gambit between pleasure and pain that once made me uneasy.
Pain and pleasure. The threshold that taunted me.
I had traipsed near the border before—had no problems navigating it with former girlfriends who enjoyed things like fisting. No problem using that skill to give Rose a brief respite from the horrors of the Retreat. Pushing her to trust me as I took her to the brink of pain and pushed her down in waves of pleasure.
But now it was different.
The fantasy wasn’t about what Rose wanted—it was about my own sick desires that I wanted to inflict on her. I wanted it out of my system, every memory of that place purged. Even the most innocent visions turned into something dark and twisted.
I wanted to get rid of the fucking pain, not cause more. But that’s where my mind always went.
Desire. Pain. Ecstasy. Anger. Rage.
It was a slippery slope.
And none of it led to release.
Just more pent up frustration until the cycle built up all over again.
I flopped onto my stomach, my erection pressing painfully into the mattress. Pain—the cycle continued.
Fucking hell.
I dragged myself up, and into the bathroom. Lifting my arm, I stared at the scar stretched across my left side. With the stitches finally removed, I was nearly free again—physically. The splintered bones and muscle damage were going to take a little longer, and the area still ached when I moved around too much.
I turned on the shower and let it run hot, then stripped off my boxers and tossed them in a basket under the sink. My attention-starved cock sprang free, still hyped up by whatever the fuck gave it its jollies of late.
“Is this how you get your jollies?” Silver had asked me when I told her to crawl.
“You’re going to become very familiar with how I get my jollies.”
My cock throbbed as I remembered watching her crawl across the floor. I wrapped my fingers tight around its base, maybe I could just strangle it to death.
Or at least to the point it’d leave me alone and stop planting crazy ideas in my head.
As if I could blame it all on my dick.
I rested my forearm at eye level against the wall of the shower. I told myself to stop fantasizing about Rose—but that was technically easy since I didn’t know who she was. Aside from a few moments of weakness, she’d kept her former life from me. All I knew is that she wore jeans, a T-shirt, and sneakers out to meet her friends, topped off with shiny silver nail polish.
I knew that she couldn’t cook.
She’d had a big fall out with her sister.
And she lived less than fifteen minutes from where I was staying.
Much as I tried not to, with every thought that flashed in my head, I stroked my cock. One time. One release.
Who was I kidding? It wasn’t going to fix anything.
My hips thrust, joining in an agonizing counterpart to the movement of my hand.
Silver. Before her, it was all a job.
Mindless. Torturous.
Fucking was fucking.
And once I was done. I could leave it all behind. Kirk would disappear.
I knew that was too easy. A false hope of salvation after everything I’d done and given up. It likely would have shattered to the floor once I got out anyway. The doubts and guilt were something I came to expect.
This was different. I wasn’t struggling to leave it all behind. I was struggling to hold on to individual threads of a rope that couldn’t be undone.
Threads that wound through my chest, up to my brain, and down my spine, right to my cock. They were mixed with shards and thorns that I’d come to grapple with every day as they shifted inside me creating new wounds and aggravating the old ones.
Silver was the worst thing that could have possibly happened to me while I was inside—all because she was also the best. She went from contingency to ally. Her will stronger than I could have imagined, and yet willing to bend—to bind her purpose to mine. All without ever giving in.
I stopped, moments from orgasm as my cock pulsed—tingling ripples waited at the base of my spine for their release, but instead I pressed my hand into the porcelain tile of the shower wall. Reminding myself that this wasn’t my home, and a hole through the wall probably wouldn’t be appreciated.
Especially at four in the morning, when the sound would undoubtedly wake everyone up.
At least there wouldn’t be anyone waiting on hot water anytime soon.
I held her against the refrigerator, nothing under her long soft robe, except the angry stripes of skin left from the punishment I was forced to inflict. Yet she continued to goad me, to pull me deeper into the fantasy—to solidify my role as her Master.
For that, I guess I should have been thankful, but it ti
pped me over the edge. Every cell in my body seemed to spring free, coming to life as if they’d seen the sun for the very first time. I yanked open the robe, pressing my fingers against her smooth hot skin, tasting her lips as my knee parted her legs.
At that motion—of all moments—she laughed, pulling me back to reality.
“I think I just figured part of you out,” she said.
The feeling of freedom slammed to a halt, leaving a block of concrete where my heated blood ran cold. I saw fear cloud her features, but instead of backing down, she held my gaze and explained.
“The only time I really get a rise out of you is when I stand my ground.”
A deadly mixture of bittersweet poison for both of us. “Standing your ground is dangerous.”
“You’re the only person here, and it seems like the only thing I’m in danger of at the moment is—”
I sealed my lips to hers before she could continue. No more chipping away at the façade. If she got much closer—God, I couldn’t even think of what I would do. “Quiet, Silver.”
For once, she did as she was told. Letting me guide her quietly away from the cold refrigerator backward toward the couch. The soft robe dropped away from her shoulders, leaving her bare skin and taut breasts mine for the taking.
She shuddered and pressed against me as my lips explored her neck, taking in her taste and smell. “You’re strong,” I whispered, pinching her tender flesh between my teeth. “Hold onto it, but be careful about who you let see it.”
I shed my pants and followed her down onto the couch, taking her mouth and her breath until she gasped for air. The sound may as well have been her hand, clenching around my cock, dragging me toward a prison I’d never escape.
But I wasn’t quite convinced that it wasn’t all an act until I slid my hand between her thighs, to meet her hot, wet pussy.
If she was faking, she was a better actor than me. No need for further warm up, I lifted her hips and slid inside her perfect depths. Stroking her clit, I thrust inside her, every cry, gasp and whimper inching me closer.
My body bucked and my teeth sunk into my forearm, muffling my groan as I milked the last bit of cum from my cock. I slumped against the wall, the hot, humid air filling my lungs with every heaved breath, while the water washed away the evidence.
Although the strain in my muscles and the load on my mind felt significantly lessened, I knew it wouldn’t last. It never would until I got what I wanted.
I was obsessed, but it didn’t help matters that I didn’t have much else to think about. I needed something to do. I was used to being active, being the doer and the problem solver. But my current condition and status put me on the outside of everything I once knew.
I couldn’t return to my job until I was medically cleared—mentally and physically. I couldn’t even go to the gym or participate in my old hobbies—since most of them weren’t compatible with my injury—which barely agreed with me leaving the house on some days.
At first, my thoughts focused on just one thing—getting through the next four weeks—the appointments and the painful, awkward discussions, so I could finally check on Rose myself. As I neared the half-way point, I became more enveloped in the possibility that she’d moved on. I also considered that it might be for the best since I wasn’t certain I’d be the best person for her anyway. I’d only serve as a reminder of her pain and torture.
Possibly worse than a reminder, the way my brain was currently functioning.
After I dried off, I crawled back into bed, not expecting to get any more sleep for the night, but somehow a merciful dreamless sleep found me.
Chapter 4
Fighting to Make Peace
With fifteen minutes before Trent was due to pick me up for my appointment, I sat down at the kitchen table to work a crossword. Although I felt better knowing he was looking in on Rose, he wasn’t much help to my current mental status either—holding true to his oath not to play double agent for either of us.
My car was still at his house and there was always one excuse or another as to why I couldn’t pick it up—I’d had my stitches out for nearly a week, and yet for some reason I still couldn’t drive or get clearance to return to work—not that I had explicitly asked for the latter. The only thing worse than not being able to do much was everyone treating me like I couldn’t do anything.
When Trent arrived, he didn’t even bother to knock, knowing that I was the only one there.
“You’re still not ready?” His boot squealed against the floor in protest. “Of course not, because you’re now using the mindset of a stubborn five-year-old to prove your point.”
I filled in the next word on the puzzle and dropped the pencil¸ lacing my fingers behind my head. “I thought you always appreciated a good non-violent protest.”
“Uh huh.”
Opting not to spend the rest of the morning staring him down, I shoved my chair backward and went up to my room to throw on a pair of jeans and a new shirt. I rubbed my hand over the new layer of scruff forming on my face.
I needed to find something to do before I lost motivation to even get out of bed—again.
Trent stayed silent during the drive to Dr. Combs’ office—apparently well aware of my sour mood. I wanted a fight, but I saved it for the doctor rather than my best friend.
“You’re late again,” Dr. Combs said in her usual quiet chastising voice once I closed the office door behind me.
I lifted my shoulders. “If people would let me have my own car, I might get around faster.”
“You’re ready for that?”
“Granted I have a healing wound that vacillates between itching like the canine host of a flea carnival and stabbing pain when I stretch, cough, or roll over on it. I’m fully capable—”
“You keep saying that. I don’t think anyone is questioning your strength, independence, or capabilities.”
“Just my character, then?” I dropped onto the couch, stretching out my legs and crossing my ankles in front of me.
“Of course not. You’ve expressed how much you’re grappling with your emotions and decisions. Are you thoroughly convinced that you won’t do something rash?”
“Yes.” Had I admitted to that much? Most days I rode the sway of emotions from guilt to anger. I’d do what I had to in order to protect Rose—even if it meant staying away. “I want control over my own life back.”
I closed my eyes remembering my promise to Rose. She had wanted the same thing.
I hoped she was enjoying it now.
“Tell me more about Silver.”
Always Silver. That was practically the only issue she was concerned with.
The all-consuming topic.
“Or,” she said. “You can tell me how you feel about going back to work.”
That was the first time she’d broached that topic. I desperately wanted something to do—but I also associated work with my losses and current situation. “Indifferent.”
“Then why are you here?”
To have someone to fight with. The honest answer was a jumbled mix of reasons. The forefront of which was that I wanted to move on, but I had no idea how to do that. Or how to admit my weakness. Instead, I fought everyone’s attempts to help me and put on the façade of only coming in because it was a requisite of going back to work. That was the easy excuse. The one that protected what was left of my ego.
“You’re struggling because you can’t seem to reconcile everything within you. The more you keep denying yourself, the worse it will become.”
“What do you want me to do?” I stood, needing to move, and glared out the window. “You want to hear more about the horrible things I had to do? How some of them got me off?” That was the topic I most tried to avoid. “How I reveled in seeing Silver at my feet? Watching her slowly place her trust in me, even though she didn’t know a damn thing about me or what I intended to do to her.”
I closed my eyes, seeing her stubborn face in my mind. Her soft lips, green eyes, and smooth
cheekbones that turned irresistibly pink every time she was embarrassed.
“You were protecting her.”
“And fighting myself not to enjoy it.”
“So after months of watching girls come and go—girls who had already been broken, who had mastered staying detached and feared the consequences of disobedience—a girl comes in who breaks all of those molds, and you find it odd to have been attracted to her?”
“Attracted to her? No. I didn’t find that odd.”
“More than physically attracted?”
“She was everything I wanted.” Still is. “But that made it more dangerous for both of us. I lost control around her. Ross knew it, too. He pressed it at every opportunity. He had a special room beneath the main room where he conducted business meetings. There were glass tiles in the floor overlooking that lower room. Ross sent us down there, where there was nowhere to hide. He could even listen if he wanted—”
Immediately upon entering the Overlook, we’d been directed toward the stairway, and I felt my insides rearrange in some anatomical game of Tetris. I’d just gone from predator to prey.
Ross wanted to watch—to see how I handled the situation. He got off on watching people squirm. I had played his games countless times before, but this was different. This time I may as well have dropped a firecracker into my pants.
The night before, she’d thrown a fit in my apartment—she threw a cushion across the room, breaking a picture frame, and smacked me. Stupid me, let her get away with it. I shut down, stunned into silence by her reactions and my own guilt. That was the first night I’d taken her in front of everyone in the middle of “The Outlook” during one of Ross’ dreaded “business dinners”.
The Outlook was Ross’ pride and joy, and I have little doubt that Ross loved it more than his own children. He certainly spent more time there than he did at home. The two floors were set up like the swankiest nightclub and lounge with little to decorate the glass-enclosed spaces except scantily clad women. Sex slaves who were subject to the whim of every man who entered the building.
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