My phone dings with a text message. That’s another thing that I tried to tell Matthew was ridiculous. The only people I talk to are him, Hannah, Slade, and Kisten. I don’t need a cellphone to do that since I’m never truly alone. Matthew shut down my argument quick by threatening to take me over his knee and spank me into submission. He immediately apologized, thinking that he scared me… he didn’t.
After spending so much time at the club, seeing how devoted dominants are to their submissives, it’s hard to not want that level of devotion for yourself. Matthew gives me all the devotion a good dominant gives, but none of the physical stuff that goes along with that kind of dynamic. I don’t know if it’s that he’s basically cut off our physical relationship other than innocent kisses and cuddles or if it’s something that’s broken inside my psyche, but I ache for him.
On nights that I’m not haunted by nightmares, I dream of Matthew. I dream about the things I’ve seen at the club. Of being spanked, then caressed and brought to orgasm. I dream about him licking me all over before fucking me senseless. I always wake up from those dreams covered in sweat with drenched panties.
Luckily, Matthew just assumes I’ve had another bad dream. I wonder what he would think if he knew the truth. How would he react if he knew I was having erotic dreams about him?
The text is from Matthew. I’m going to be late for dinner. Go ahead and eat without me.
I shake my head. I’ll wait.
His response is instant. Stubborn.
I miss you.
I can picture him letting out an exasperated sigh but smiling because he likes that I miss him when we aren’t together. I miss you too, love. I’ll be up as soon as I can.
Take your time. xo
The penthouse is quiet. Today is the first time that I’ve been left alone. Hannah had a doctor’s appointment, and Slade refused to let anyone else take her. Not that I’m surprised. He denies it, but he’s just as obsessed with her as she is him. I debate on what to do while I wait and decide to use the quiet time to read.
Book in hand, I curl up on one of the plush sofas and cocoon myself in a fluffy blanket. Within minutes, I’m transported to a fantasy world full of sexy vampires and werewolves. I lose track of time while I read, and it isn’t until my phone rings that I realize the sun has set. I answer without looking at the caller id, only one person actually calls me.
“Hello, handsome,” I greet Matthew with a smile.
A dark chuckle meets my ear and goosebumps prickle along my skin. “Glad you still find your old man attractive,” Mr. Perfect says. “I’m disappointed in you, Tessa. Do you have any idea how worried I’ve been about you?”
I’m shocked speechless. I let out some kind of inarticulate noise, but as always, he doesn’t actually want a response to his question. In the back of my mind, I wonder how he got my phone number.
“Mr. Brown is willing to forgive your absence… for a price. You need to be smart and come back with me before the price is too high for you to pay.”
My breathing becomes ragged as Mr. Brown’s face swims in front of me. He’s the cruelest of all of my clients. The one who gave me the scar on my thigh, among others. To all of them, I was a toy to be played with then discarded once I was used up. Most of them were cognizant of how far they could take things without breaking me… Mr. Brown pushed those boundaries every time. Sometimes it took weeks for my body to heal after a session with him. Mr. Perfect never complained, though, because Mr. Brown compensated him heavily for the privilege of trying to break me beyond repair.
“It’s time for you to come home, Tessa.”
I try to form words, but my mouth won’t cooperate. I’m frozen.
“It’s okay, Tessa, you don’t have to say anything. I can hear that sweet panic bubbling up inside you.” Hot tears spill over as he talks. “There’s just not enough oxygen to fill up those precious lungs of yours. I bet your heart is fluttering like a hummingbird’s wings.” He pauses briefly as if he’s savoring the sound of my terror. “My cock is hard just thinking about how sweet you smell when you’re scared. I’m coming for you, Tessa. Soon.”
The line clicks, and the screen turns black indicating the end of the call. I stare at the phone in my hand like it’s a live grenade. I wonder again how he got my phone number. I know for a fact none of the four people who know it would ever give it to anyone, let alone Nelson Grant.
My panic and fear morph into rage as the reality sinks in. Mr. Perfect knows where I am, and he’s coming for me.
“No!” I scream into the empty apartment, throwing my phone at the wall. It makes a satisfying crash as the screen shatters.
The anger doesn’t subside. It grows and grows into a monstrous thing that can’t be contained. I pick up a lamp and throw it against the wall. I don’t stop with that. Everything in my path falls victim to my rage. I’ve felt many negative emotions over the years, but nothing like this. I’m out of my depth and losing control.
My voice grows hoarse from screaming, but still, I rage on hellbent on destruction. I overturn the coffee table and a chair. I fling another chair at the TV and find satisfaction in the chaos I’m creating.
I’m so caught up in the madness that I don’t hear the elevator ding, nor do I hear Matthew calling my name. When his strong arms wrap around me from behind, I scream and fight against his hold. I kick him and buck against him. He grunts when my elbow makes contact with his gut, but he doesn’t release me.
Matthew is easily twice my size. There’s nothing stopping him from overpowering me and holding me down. He could use his size and strength in any manner of aggressive ways to stop me, but that’s not his style. He’s a dominant through and through. He might keep that side of himself locked down around me, but it’s always there simmering under the surface.
I fight against his hold like a hellcat determined to break free and continue my rampage. He wraps one arm around my upper arms, pinning my back to his chest. I kick out with both legs trying to dislodge his hold, but he doesn’t release me. When I try to headbutt him, he grabs a fistful of my hair and pulls until my head is forced back and to the side. The bite of pain snaps something inside me, and the fight drains from my muscles. Matthew doesn’t stop there. Using his hold on my hair, he pulls me down until I’m kneeling in front of him, his arm a steel band around my torso.
Somehow, everything in my head is calm. The riotous storm of emotion has evaporated. That one bite of pain brought me back from the brink of insanity.
“I’m going to release your arms now, and you will be calm. You will not move from this spot. Do you understand?” Matthew’s words are full of command and send electric shivers throughout my body.
Oh, my God.
“I asked you a question.”
I try to nod, but my head is held in place by his firm grip. I swallow thickly. “Y-yes, I understand.” The words are barely whispered through my savaged vocal cords, completely raw and abused from my screams.
Slowly, he loosens his grip on me. First, he releases my body, then the punishing bite of him pulling my hair lessens, though he doesn’t release it completely. As soon as the bite of pain disappears from my scalp, the energy drains from my body. My bottom falls heavily onto my feet, and my shoulders hunch forward. The only thing keeping my head up is Matthew’s hand still tangled in my hair.
Using one finger, he tilts my chin up, forcing me to look at him. “You care to tell me why you destroyed our home?”
Our home.
Not his home.
Ours.
Tears blur my vision, and a vise squeezes around my heart. What have I done?
Matthew’s grip in my hair tightens in warning. He wants an answer, but I can’t settle my thoughts enough to tell him what happened. I look around at the utter destruction surrounding us, and hot bile rushes up my throat.
“Sick…” I whimper.
Thankfully, Matthew has quick reflexes. In seconds I’m in the bathroom, my head over the toilet as I empty the contents of
my stomach. I retch until there is nothing left, and even then, I heave more as if my body is trying to cleanse the darkness from my soul.
The whole time, Matthew kneels beside me, holding my hair, whispering soft platitudes that are meant to soothe. I sit back on my heels once it has passed. Without a word, he wets a washcloth and wipes my face. He helps me to my feet, but when my knees give way, he lifts me in his arms and sits me on the counter.
I feel apart from myself. Almost like when I would find that dark safe place inside my head and disappear but different. Numbness permeates my body and mind.
“Open,” Matthew commands.
I blink at him slowly and then realize he’s holding a toothbrush to my mouth. I mechanically follow his instructions and open my mouth for him. He never looks away from my eyes as he brushes my teeth. He looks worried… scared even. I want to erase that look from his face. My Matthew isn’t afraid of anything. He’s strong and powerful. He’s my hero.
“Spit.”
Again, I do as I’m told. He puts a cup to my lips and tells me to rinse my mouth. After I’ve done that, he fills the cup again and makes me drink. I take a few sips, but don’t dare to take any more in case my stomach decides to revolt again.
“Good girl,” Matthew praises. He kisses my forehead, then lifts me into his arms. I hide my face in the crook of his neck when he walks us through the main room. I’m so ashamed of my behavior. I can’t stand to see what I’ve done.
When we get to our bedroom, he sits on the bed, cradling me in his lap. “Rosie, love, can you tell me what happened?”
I fist my hands in his shirt and keep my face buried against him. I want to crawl inside him and hide. He strokes my hair and back until bit by bit, the tension leaks out of me.
“I— He—” My mind can’t seem to pull together a coherent thought. My breath shudders out of me as the numbness starts to wane, and the anxiety starts to build.
Matthew turns my face so I have no choice but to look directly at him. His eyes are black pools of burning lava as they bore into me. “Slow down, sweetheart. Just breathe.” He’s using that dominant voice of his again, and my body responds. My breath evens out, and my mind slows enough to make sense of my rushing thoughts. “Good girl.”
“Mr. Perfect… h-he called me. I froze.” I try to look away, not wanting to see Matthew’s judgment of my weakness, but he doesn’t let me hide away from him. He holds me with gentle, yet firm hands so that I have nowhere to look other than at him. “He said he’s coming for me. I wanted to yell at him… I-I just froze, Matty. Why did I freeze?” I don’t give him time to respond before continuing. “I got so mad…” My voice breaks on a sob. “I’m so s-sorry.”
“Shh. It’s okay, love. You’re safe.” Matthew repeats the pretty lies over and over as I cry a lifetime’s worth of tears. He’s wrong. I’m not safe, and it’s not okay. I’ll never be okay again.
I lose myself to the sadness. At some point, Matthew shifts us so that we are laying down with me stretched across his chest. Eventually, I cry myself to sleep. I welcome the sweet oblivion.
20
Matthew
That motherfucker is going to die.
I’ve already plotted his death a dozen different ways, but the most painful death isn’t enough for Nelson fucking Grant. I’m livid that he somehow managed to get Rose’s number. He called my Rose and made her afraid. The hunted look had just started lessening in her eyes. She laughed more. She was finally finding her footing in this new life of hers, and now all that progress has been lost.
When I think about the crazed look in her eyes as she tore through the living room dread settles in my gut. I’ve seen that kind of rage before. It can destroy a person if they aren’t capable of controlling it. I lived that life for a long time.
At first, I drown it with alcohol. I spent the first two months after Rose disappeared drunk. Then I got my shit together and started searching. My search led me deep into the underbelly. That’s how I found the underground fights. I found a new outlet for my rage.
I channeled my anger into fighting. I became the one to beat in the underground ring. I met Kisten during that dark time in my life. Like me, he had a lifetime worth of rage to work out. We were both undefeated until we came against each other. I was the only one that came out of that fight undefeated. I left Kisten a bloody heap on the mat.
We became friends after that. Once I had enough money, I opened up my first club. I’d like to say I always knew I was a dominant, but that’s not the truth. I spent my childhood being beaten down by one circumstance or another. It wasn’t until the underground fights that I realized the truth about myself. And the rest is history.
I bury my nose in Rose’s hair, breathing her in. I worry that my girl won’t know what to do with this newly awoken anger. She internalizes everything. Years of abuse have forced her to seek solace inside herself. After losing control tonight, I can see her forcing that anger down until it darkens her soul.
I won’t let it happen. I tighten my arms around her. I’ll protect her from anything that comes against her. Even herself.
We’ve tiptoed around the whole dominant and submissive thing since the day she kneeled at my feet that first time. Neither of us willing to rock the boat as we fumbled our way through the emotional landmines, but now I realize what a mistake that was.
Rose isn’t the first damaged submissive I’ve taken. In fact, all of the women who have come to me have been broken in some way. They all needed to be healed, and I did that for them. Kisten, Slade, and I rescue slaves. Some of them can’t wait to go home to their friends and families. Others are so utterly broken they can’t function without a master to tell them what to do.
Those are the women I’ve taken. I help rehabilitate them. I pull them back from the brink and give them their lives back. Slade and Kisten never fully understood my reasoning. Hell, I didn’t either at the time, but now I know. I did it all for her. For the beautiful perfection sleeping in my arms. She’s broken on the inside, but not for long.
“It will be okay, love. I’m going to be everything you need me to be. I’ll help you through this.” I just hope you’ll forgive me for what it’s going to take to help you heal.
21
Rose
It’s two in the morning when I wake up, my heart pounding. I try to figure out what woke me—a nightmare? A noise? I reach out toward Matthew’s side of the bed, and the sheets are cold. A pang of hurt knifes through me at being left alone. It’s irrational, but I can’t help feeling abandoned.
I listen carefully, trying to figure out what startled me from my sleep, but everything is quiet… too quiet. I strain in an attempt to discern even the slightest sound, but there is none. The penthouse is eerily quiet.
The silence is deafening, reminding me of being locked in the box at Red House. If we got out of line, we were punished. Since only the clients were allowed to mark us, they found more creative ways to punish us. I shudder in remembrance at being locked in the box. We called it the box because it’s a room smaller than a broom closet with barely enough room to stand up straight. It was so small that you could touch all four walls standing in the center, and there was no way to comfortably sit without cramping up from the tight space.
If that weren’t bad enough, the room was pitch black and completely soundproof. You could scream yourself hoarse, and no one would hear. Likewise, no sound got in. Sensory deprivation is a terrible punishment and especially awful for someone with anxiety issues like me. If given the choice, I would’ve rather been beaten bloody than be locked in that room for hours or days, depending on how mad Mr. Perfect was.
Why is it so quiet? There should at least be the hum of the air conditioner, right? I try to recall if I’ve ever actually heard it before but can’t. I waffle back and forth between calling out to see if someone is here or not. My mind starts playing tricks on me the longer I lay here in the utter silence. What if I’m not alone? What if it’s Mr. Perfect? He got my phone num
ber, it’s not irrational to assume he knows exactly where I’m staying.
Oh God, if he is here, where’s Matthew? Slade and Hannah should be home too. I picture them broken and bleeding, lying in the other room dead or dying while Mr. Perfect bides his time waiting for me to come out and see the carnage before taking me.
My breaths saw in and out of my lungs painfully as anxiety flips to full-blown panic. I can’t get enough oxygen. Dark spots fill my vision, but my mind doesn’t need to see to fill itself with all the possible horrors that could’ve happened while I slept.
Then I hear it. Quiet footsteps just outside the bedroom door. I whimper pathetically, knowing that this is it. He’s come for me, and there’s nothing I can do about it. I’m trapped. Trappedtrappedtrapped, my mind repeats over and over, fueling my panic further.
The door clicks open, and I sit on the bed frozen as I wait for my fate to come through the door. My heart stops as Matthew’s familiar silhouette fills the doorway. Relief floods me, and the panic slips away into an unknown yet overwhelming feeling. I fly off the bed and run to him. The moment I’m close enough, I jump on him, causing him to stumble back a step. He quickly rights himself and engulfs me in his strong arms. I cling to him, my arms and legs wrapped around his body as I hold on for dear life.
“Are you okay, love?”
“I woke up, and you were gone. I thought…” I can’t even put it to words it’s so awful. Thinking it is one thing, putting the words out there into the world seems like daring fate.
“Shh, you’re safe, sweetheart,” he croons, holding me close.
That overwhelming feeling that I can’t identify grows, morphing into heat at being reunited with Matthew. I don’t think I just act. I press my lips firmly against his. I peck his lips in soft teasing kisses until he’s had enough. I groan when he buries his hand in my hair, tilting my head at the perfect angle so he can devour my mouth. He doesn’t ask for permission he takes. Gone is the controlled man who has kept his distance these last weeks.
Unforgettable (Black Rose Doms Book 1) Page 15