chapter 24
The aroma of greasy food followed Van into the room. Josh’s mouth watered. He couldn’t stop the growl escaping his stomach, but he kept his lips clamped, his eyes down, and his knees on the floor.
A takeout bag dropped within grabbing distance, not like he could steal a lone French fry. The rope-entwined straight jacket held his arms firmly around his torso.
Van’s ratty sneakers paused in the space between Josh and Liv, and the toes turned toward hers.
Without moving his head, Josh strained his upward line of sight, marking the tension in Van’s legs as they flexed against the denim.
The man’s broad shoulders curled forward, his hand lifting her chin gently. “Liv.” His whisper was strained, presumably from the sight of the bruises on her neck.
The distraught reaction set Josh’s blood afire, considering the yellow-purple marks around her eye still lingered.
“Don’t.” She stepped back and turned away. Good girl.
Van stood motionless for a moment. Then he reached for her hand. She pulled it away before he made contact.
“What can I do to fix this?” Van gestured between her and himself.
She was impossible to read with her body turned away and her voice so damned wooden. “You could’ve warned me what he was planning before you left me unconscious, bleeding, half-strangled.” Van kept his back to Josh, his fingers flexing at his side. Seconds passed, indicating some kind of deliberation. “You’re right, Liv. I f*cked you over, and I hated every f*cking minute of it.” As much as Josh didn’t want to believe him, his voice cracked with soft-spoken guilt.
Eyes on the floor, Josh held his spine straight as Van shifted and sat before him.
He pulled a paper-wrapped burger from the bag. “Sorry about the gun thing last night. That was a dick move on my part. We cool?”
Was this guy for real? If he glanced up, he’d probably get nicked by the sharp silver gaze of crafted bullshit.
“She’s starving you, isn’t she?” Van held the burger beneath his nose, taunting him with the heady fragrance of grilled meat and ketchup. “Go ahead. It’s yours.” Not gonna lie. It was going to chafe like hell to eat from that hand, but he needed energy more than his pride. He opened his mouth.
“That pleasure belongs to his Mistress.” Liv’s bare feet moved into his periphery.
God love her. He would thank her later. With his mouth. On her satiny skin. Something to anticipate. His penis jerked.
Van lingered, the burger hovering before Josh. The hesitation produced a burgeoning hum that dragged beneath the skin. Unable to see their expressions, Josh was excluded from whatever unspoken communication passed above his head. Not peeking was torture.
At last, Van relinquished the food and traded places with her.
The soft curves of her bare breasts filled Josh’s view. The impulse to reach out and run a fingertip over one of those pink nipples was consuming. Good thing his arms were restrained.
She took two bites for every one she gave him. From the unhurried offerings she placed on his tongue to the possessive hand curled on the juncture between his shoulder and neck, she radiated an aura that compelled lowered eyes, humbled gratitude, and an unquestioning desire to please her. No wonder the girl, Kate, had fallen so spectacularly into her subservient role.
But he was not a terrified slave, crawling to compliance to escape the bite of her whip. Initially, he was supposed to be emasculated, hopeless, empty. Mr. E changed the game when he threatened Liv. Now he was supposed to be the slave so consumed with fear that he would risk his life to make sure nothing happened to his Mistress. Instead, his heart drummed with faith in the power of God, in her courage, and in his ability to save her.
As she fed him, Van perched behind her on the mattress, hands clasped between his bent knees.
“How did you get him to hold still for rope bondage?”
She brushed a thumb over the corner of Josh’s mouth. “You may speak. Tell him how I did it.” They had discussed how the questioning might go. Since their plan didn’t extend beyond surviving the buyer’s meeting, they’d agreed honesty was the best approach.
He swallowed the fry she’d placed in his mouth, savoring the fried, salty taste. “I trust her.” Oh, how he wanted to meet Van’s eyes when he said that.
“Really?” Van’s voice punched in disbelief.
“And I don’t want to see her harmed again.” His words, though rehearsed, came from an empowered place inside him. She’d already been hurt so much, but she was not beyond saving.
“You and me both, buddy.”
His veins heated with rage. Did the hypocrisy burn Van’s mouth as it huffed out?
The conversation fell quiet as she kept the food coming, brushing his lips under the guise of catching crumbs. With the hard floor grinding into his knees, he wanted to remove the distance between them, wanted to strip the kerchief that covered her nose and mouth, and plunge into her eyes.
He wanted to be alone with her. Hell, he yearned to speed forward into the future. A future free of shackles. A future with her in it. He dared God to challenge his desires.
Two burgers, a cola, and a bag of fries later, his stomach settled.
Van lifted a foot and nudged her back. “Let’s see what he’s learned, Liv.” She stuffed the trash into the bag and set it aside. “Say the requirements in order with an eagerness and accuracy that will please your Mistress.”
While Van made a decidedly sucky buddy in this ridiculous game, he seemed to have his temper under wraps. In fact, he was shockingly passive. Why?
Josh’s shoulders stiffened with realization. If he messed up the buyer’s meeting, if Liv was killed, Van would suffer the loss. The volatile bastard had just as much at stake.
He exhaled, “Yes, Mistress,” and recited rules one through ten slowly and carefully, imagining himself performing each one for her, trusting her not to use his obedience against him.
Her finger caressed a warm path over his knee, her body blocking her affection from Van’s predatory eyes. She removed her hand.
“Impressive.” Van rose. “Show me how he will service his Master.” A flinch jerked Josh’s insides, but he remained outwardly still on his knees. He knew this moment would come and told himself if she could endure Van’s touch, he could, too. He waited for her command.
She reached back toward the mattress, but he couldn’t see what she grabbed. She touched his jaw. “Look at me.”
With pleasure. Connecting with her, by any means possible, would make this more bearable. As he raised his head, he leaned forward, subtly, into her personal space, inhaling the peppermint and lavender scent of her shampoo. Peering over the black kerchief, her magnetic eyes pulled him in further. Her pupils widened with an indiscernible emotion.
She held up the butt plug. “Requirement number eleven. Slave will wear and accept toys Master chooses to adorn him with.” She paused, seemed to wrestle with her words. “You can open your mouth to Van’s kiss or spread your ass for the plug. Both prepare you for your Master tomorrow, but which would please your Mistress now?” The movement of her mouth paused beneath the cloth as if she were considering the answer, but he suspected her diabolical mind had already choreographed the proceedings from beginning to end.
Van crouched behind her, his eyes alight with interest, his toothpick seemingly forgotten as it lolled in the crook of his lips.
Josh’s breaths quickened, his eyes searching hers. One flawless eye, one bruised, the surrounding skin furrowing as her eyebrows drew together. In the complexity of her gaze, he saw concern, a sense of responsibility, and maybe even possessiveness. If he read her correctly, she didn’t want Van near him. Or maybe he was just projecting his own desire.
The kiss would be the least intrusive, and if it were with any other man, it might’ve been his preference. She’d warned him the plug would be used eventually, and he’d resolved to accept it eventually.
“The plug for now.” Her tone was bored, bordering cruel, but the gentle look she shared with him helped smooth the tumble in his gut. Meanwhile, his nerves were shrieking in horror.
With a strong voice and an open expression, he embodied his consent. “Yes, Mistress.” She and Van rose, and she angled her mouth toward Van’s ear. Whatever she whispered sent him bolting to her cabinet of tools.
Minutes later, Josh lay face down on the mattress, knees on the subfloor, arms roped around his torso, backside in the air. Shifting into his line of sight, she squirted gell from a tube over her fingers, making sure he saw her apply it to the plug.
He wished he had the tennis ball to slam against the wall and distract his impulse to scream and fight. Instead, he focused on something more soothing. Like the tender touch of her hand as it eased between his crack. The measured caress around the entrance she’d only ventured in the one time. And the fact that it was her pressing against the barrier and not the man climbing onto the mattress and reclining beside him.
Face-to-face, Van stroked the back of Josh’s head. “Relax your rectum and push against the plug.
I know it’s scary, but you’re in good hands.”
He flinched inwardly, burning to crack the guy’s skull. The cold hard tip of rubber pressed against the ring of muscle. He tensed instantly then forced his butt and legs to loosen. It must’ve been the work of God that kept his heart from tearing out of his chest.
The plug inched in, stretching, burning, building a terrifying pressure. He slammed his teeth together, his breath hissing, loud and fast.
Van released a long exhale. His eyes glazed over, and the torment etching his face was startling.
“I bled a lot my first time. I was young. He was…huge.” His hand cupped Josh’s nape, twitched, his gaze refocusing on Josh. “My mom didn’t keep good company. She was too blitzed to notice her companions’ interest in me.” His voice was soft, horrifyingly serious.
A sudden burn sparked in Josh’s anus, followed by a dull fullness. She rubbed his gluts as his body adjusted to the intrusion. Breath by breath, his muscles relaxed.
Her footsteps retreated, and the bathroom faucet sputtered on. His legs trembled. With relief that it wasn’t as bad as he’d expected. With Van’s revelation.
Josh met his eyes and willed himself to listen if the man wanted to talk about it.
“You probably want to counsel me, yeah?” Van leaned up on his elbows and watched Liv’s approach. “She’s dragged all the messy details from me over the years. No counseling needed.” That was debatable. She’d said there was no relationship, but they shared a history, an intimate one. Hell, they had a child. The thought turned his stomach. He resented their bond, whether or not it was fused in tragedy. Remembering them together made him sick with jealousy.
The direction of his thoughts was ludicrous in his trussed up position, face in the mattress, his rear plugged and clenching. Didn’t he have enough to worry about?
Van moved to sit on the edge of the mattress. “I think my girl’s going to put on a show for us.” My girl. Jealousy burned anew, hot and painful. But she didn’t want Van. She hid in her room to escape him. The reminder cooled his blood but didn’t extinguish the nauseating pang.
She snapped her fingers and pointed to the rug by the mattress. He’d told her he trusted her intentions. Still did. He scooted backward on his knees, the plug both discomforting and oddly stimulating.
Standing before him panties gone and feet spread, she rested her hands on his shoulders. “Your eyes stay on my p-ssy.”