Somewhere around the word sucking it had happened: she’d begun to move her hips along with his hand. There was a rhythm there, a build. More, please, yes.
“I’d open my mouth and reach for your nipple, blindly because they’re so dark. Rosy now, but black in the night. Your breasts would bounce against me, and I’d follow, turning my face, feeling with my tongue until I latched onto one and sucked.”
There was the word again, different slightly but the same response. Sucked. She’d sucked a million times, hundreds of faceless cocks, and it hadn’t meant a thing, but then he spoke the words. Soft, husky. Imbued with the promise of pleasure she felt now at her core. In her cunt. She tightened there, and his hand sped up, purposefully rubbing her clit. No pain now, no pinch, just relief.
“But here’s what I really want to know. When I’m ready to come, I’ll grab your hips and start thrusting up inside you. I won’t be able to help it. And you’ll grunt every time I do it, just a quick exhale. All automatic. And it’ll hit a spot inside you so perfect that you won’t be able to help it. You’ll come around me. Gripping me, spilling your liquid all over my cock and down my balls.”
She gripped him now, his fingers in her cunt. She spilled over him now, wet and needy. Faster, almost.
“But what I want to know is, will you cry out when you come? Would you speak for me then? What would you say?”
She came, she rocked, she lost her breath and found it again. She’d been given a gift, ungrateful. There was pleasure there and pain. Sweetness and betrayal. She bore witness to it all and mourned in silence.
“Shhh,” he said. “Shhh.” And she realized she was shaking. There were no words for it.
She’d never… she’d never…
“It’s okay, little girl. I know you can talk.”
She shook her head, her eyes shut tight, her head tucked into the crook of his neck. She’d never be normal again.
“I know you can talk because I heard you do it. When I found you, you spoke to me. You said you wanted to go home.” He gave a rough laugh; it vibrated through her. “I tried to send you away, but damn you. I couldn’t.”
He crushed her to him tightly. “You’re not going anywhere now.”
Chapter Four
She followed the sound of destruction to the shed. Everything out here seemed rustic, though in truth it was sturdy and sleek to the touch, the shed almost as big as the house itself. She stood outside the door and stared at the sliver of light at the edges. She could return to the house, and he would never know she had strayed from his orders. But if she obeyed him, he would send her away. He’d already told her so.
Dust wafted in front of her face, making her sneeze. The buzzing sound stopped.
Master appeared at the door. He did not look pleased. “I told you to stay inside.”
She looked down at her bare feet, coated with dust from the walk.
“Maybe you can come in. As long as you stay where I put you and don’t ta—” He chuffed a small laugh, and something inside her relaxed fractionally. “Okay, girl. You can stay.”
He opened the door wide to let her in. Orange glow suffused her vision, slowly sharpening into piles of furniture filling the room. There were tables, chairs, bookcases, and desks. As she looked closer, she could see that each piece had a small amount of engraving drawn into it. Somehow, the carvings didn’t take over the piece—they looked as though they belonged there.
He pointed at a stool. “You can sit there.”
She climbed onto the stool, running her fingers along the side, where vines were worked into the wood, complete with roses and thorns that pricked her. Beside her was a vanity with a carving at the base of the mirror.
There was a woman on a cliff, forlorn and haunting. Then out at sea, a ship caught in the storm with a single man at the helm. Penelope and Odysseus, she waited for her husband while he fought magic and nature to return home. Her throat felt tight. Her master’s hands should terrify her, with their ability to hurt or restrain, but those hands had made this.
He returned to the worktable and began sanding a large contraption. At first she wasn’t sure what it was. Her mind flew to some old style machinery for weaving, but that didn’t make sense. She examined the lines across, the padding on the bottom rung—oh. It was meant to restrain a woman. She swallowed hard.
What would he do to a slave he bound there? There was so much she didn’t know about him. Everything, really. She knew he ate sparingly for his size, he lived simply. She knew his hands were coarse but precise when they carved into wood, when they held her body down.
She knew he wanted her.
He said he didn’t. It had almost seemed as if he hadn’t known she was a slave. As if he hadn’t purchased her and brought her to his home. He promised to send her away every time he spoke, but still he hadn’t. Even though she had asked to go home, he had kept her.