Her stomach bucked. Did he live? Was he angry at her for lying to him? Would she ever feel the tenderness of his touch again?
Finality coiled around her, constricting and choking. Her life with Noah was over, an unanswered wish. She couldn’t think of him. Not in this place, where no one would be looking for her. Longing for him would destroy her.
“I’m talking to you. I expect an acknowledgement.”
Smack. Smack.
“Unh.” Fuck. Her armor shuddered beneath the sturdier strike, the lingering bite. The fucking paddle. She flexed the muscles in her backside, longing to rub out the sting. “Y-yes, Sir.”
Smack. “Yes, Sir, what?”
He wanted her to say she missed him. Not just reciprocate but put her heart in the words. She could do it. She could look into his vile eyes and impart the words. She coughed, tried to clear the panic amassing in her throat. “May I…may I look at you, Sir?”
Einstein claimed that physical concepts were creations of the mind. The brain was power. She tried to focus on that, on her shield, and not on his shadow moving over her, around her.
Then he was there, nude from the belt up with his wool-stretching arousal an inch from her face. She’d watched clueless fucking women stare at his beauty, flock to him with ignorant desire. They wouldn’t salivate over his strength if they were trapped beneath it.
The musculature in his torso stretched as he crouched to eye level. Despite the brawn on display, the pasty complexion gave him a sickly appearance. His eyes, violet in daylight, were as dark as the energy emanating off him.
Her armor rose from her skin and outlined her body. She kept herself safe beneath it where he couldn’t see her or hurt her. On the outside, she arranged her mouth into a smile, her cheeks shaking with the effort, and held his gaze. “I missed you, Sir.”
His pupils dilated, and his hands swung up, caging her face, fingers pressing into her temples. Then his mouth was on her, tongue knifing its way in, slashing, impaling. She held stock-still, mouth agape, and let his teeth scrape and pierce, his lips suck and yank. Puncturing her shield. Stealing her breath. Taking, always taking.
The kiss broke and his chest panted. “I own you. Say it.”
Rehearsed and executed endlessly, she delivered. “You own me, Sir.”
He jumped to his feet, hands tackling his belt buckle. Oh God, she wasn’t ready. The shield. Harden the shield. It wavered around her, clinging, but not thick enough.
How had Jay survived his pain? If he were hanging in irons, what would he have done to guard his mind from splintering apart? How resilient he must’ve been to carry the weight of so many wounds. She wanted to borrow his strength, imagined it plated over her skin.
Roy’s pants dropped. Boxers followed. His inflamed erection grazed her lips. Rigid fingers raked over the crown of her head, twisting and yanking the short strands. “I love this length.”
She would never cut it again.
The fist in her hair tightened. The metal collar around her neck held her immobile. He punched his hips forward and slammed the head of his penis to the back of her throat.
Deep breath. No air. She gasped. Shit! No air. Relax the throat. Stretch the tongue. Swallow the thrusts. Not working. Her eyes burned and her gagging was loud and sharp.
His pelvis rotated, burrowing in. Wiry hair scrubbed her face. “Oooh…Hot damn, Charlee. Mother…fuuuuck.” Then the pounding began.
Tears clogged her nose and spasmodic bursts of air, noisy and wet, escaped her lips between pumps. She swallowed, slackened her throat, and fought for every shallow breath. Please hurry. Oh Jesus, be done already.
“Do you know how long it’s been?” He panted and plunged.
No, no. Stop talking and finish. She shook her head, as much as his stabbing allowed. The metal bands around her ankles, wrists, and neck dug in, suffocating. Tears flooded her vision and seared her cheeks.
His pace intensified. “Four years.” Thrust. “Two months.” Thrust. “Seventeen days.” He drove into her and held fast. His head fell back, and he roared to the ceiling, erupting down her throat. She choked, swallowed the bitterness of his release mixed with the salt of her snot and tears.
He pulled out, and she felt the relief in the sag of her body. He kicked off his shoes, the clothes at his ankles, and squatted to capture her eyes. “Last time I fucked you was in the backseat of the Expedition outside of Benu. Do you remember it, Charlee? Yeah, of course you do.”
The restaurant. The night she escaped. Dread crept over her and raised bumps on her skin.
“I trusted you. I gave you that unsupervised moment. A gift.”