by Raven Dark
Hawk breathed deep, in and out in long breathes. The kind of long breathes a man was trained to take in meditation. “I’ve never thought to use nicci this way.”
While he inhaled the nicci, I rubbed his temples and his forehead until he relaxed into the mat. Then I had him roll over on his stomach and lie flat.
“I need this off you, Master.” He mumbled something I couldn’t hear as I took off his cut and his shirt. Once he was stripped to the waist, I moved his arms down at his sides so he lay flat, the best position to help him. Then I knelt at his side and began rubbing his nape, his shoulders, his back, massaging every muscle until they were like clay under my fingers.
Holy Light, this man was incredible to look at. Every inch of his skin was a smooth tanned hue, like he’d been dipped in honey. And the skin covered layers of thick, rippling muscle, sculpted, no doubt from years of training with the weapons on his walls. Hawk’s body was a temple of discipline and power, and I hated that he had to contend with such horrible pain.
“Talk to me,” he ordered softly as I worked the last of the tension from his neck.
“Now you want me to talk, Master?” I half teased.
“I want to hear your gorgeous voice.”
“What do you want me to say?” Why, now that I had the chance to ask anything I wanted, was I at a loss for words?
“Tell me about you.”
“Um…” Nervousness ate at me.
He lifted his head.
“No, don’t move. Not yet. Sorry, it’s just, any time anyone asks about me, it’s always to get information.”
“About what you are? Because you’re a Violet.”
“Yes.”
“That makes no difference to me. I too am…different. Tell me about your family then.”
I wanted to ask what he meant about his being different. Other than his eyes, which always looked like the eyes of his namesake, he didn’t seem different from any other man in the Grotto. Well, not in appearance, at least.
Then I registered what he’d said. He wanted to know about my family. Well, that wasn’t any easier to talk about. I sighed and focused my nervousness into working the tension from his impressive back. The last time someone had asked about my family, it had been Damien’s people, wanting to know everything they could about my mother, my lineage as a Violet. They’d dug, and I’d told them nothing that would lead them to my mother, nothing that hinted that I even had a brother.
The thing was, I was Hawk’s now. He wanted to know about my background, and perhaps I was foolish to believe it, but somehow I knew he had no genetic interest in my family.
“My mother was taken by road warriors when I was six. Days before I was found by the Road Dogs at the Gate to Hell’s Burning. I don’t know what the crew was called, but they wore a skull with two swords crossed under it.”
“The Death Blades,” Hawk said softly. “Their General is a man named Kyle Reap.”
I let the name percolate. It meant nothing, but already I felt anger build in me for this Kyle Reap, knowing what he’d probably done to my mother and my brother Dax.
“I remember someone they called ‘General,’ tying her hands and then dragging her onto his bike. I’m guessing that was him. She screamed at me to run. The last thing I remembered was seeing one of his crew knock my brother out, and then they were chasing me. I dove into one of those old motorized pods. They couldn’t find me, so they left. But when they road away… I’ll never forget the way my mother looked. I could see her through a slit in the door of the pod’s undercarriage compartment. She looked so terrified. I could literally see the hope in her eyes that they’d never find me…”
The memory of my mother’s fear, eternally vivid in my mind, tightened my chest. I shook myself and looked down at Hawk’s back, where my hands were splayed. I’d stopped massaging him without realizing it.
Hawk lifted his head again, turning partway toward me. My eyes lifted to see his watching me.
“Sorry, Master.” I started kneading his back muscles. “I’m getting all emotional again, I guess. Lay back down and—”
“Don’t do that. Grief is a natural part of being human. I’ve lost enough to know this.” He rolled over onto his back and stilled my hand with one of his. When I rested it on his arm, he traced my mouth with his fingers. “I’m sorry about your mother.”
My heart squeezed, seeing his compassion for me. “Master, you’re headache—”
“My head is much better now.”
I opened my mouth, then closed it. The hunger in his eyes scattered my thoughts, sending heat across my skin.
“You should never have touched me, Kitten.” All of these names I now had—Kitten, Princess, Petal—said more about being these men’s property than anything else ever had. His gaze burned a path from my exposed shoulders, the place where my frock stopped below my throat, down to the skirt, where it barely reached to my thighs. He looked like he was trying to imagine what lay beneath the cloth, eyes fixed on the junction between my legs, before they went back up and locked on my lips, my purple eyes.
I licked my lips, my whole body heating under that demanding gaze. He’d said it was too easy to damage me. Why would he have said that? My thoughts whirled as I tried to imagine what he’d do to me. My muscles tightened deliciously.
“I can think of a much better way to relax a man, Kitten.” He sat up, one of his hands slowly sliding around my waist, massaging the muscles there and turning them to putty at his touch. He drew close until his lips hovered inches from mine, close enough that I could feel the heat of them on my skin, but they didn’t touch.
“Am I safe with you, Master?” I half teased, trying for a smile.
“No. But it’s too late to stop me now.”
The inescapable implication in that should have scared me, and I suppose it did on some level, but it also made my core clench. The image of Hawk, this gorgeous, powerful, dark-haired warrior of pure restraint and control, bending me over his bed and losing himself in me filled my thoughts, and the ache between my legs turned almost painful.
“I thought you didn’t want me, Master,” I said shyly.
The hand that had been massaging my waist moved up my side until he cupped my back, the other one running up along my other side. The way his palm splayed across my back, almost covering the whole lower half of it, made me feel incredibly fragile and small.
“There is no word for how much I want you.” His head bent then, and his mouth teased the sensitive place where my neck met my shoulder. “If I told you what I wanted to do to you, it would send you running.”
The tip of his tongue left a trail up along the hollow of my throat and back down, then licked pure, burning heat across my collarbone. My head fell back of its own will, and his hand cradled my nape, holding me in place while he licked and nibbled my neck, my throat, my shoulders. The hint of whiskers on his chin and jaw scraped my skin, making me wonder what it would be like to feel them scraping at the sensitive skin between my thighs.
I panted, blood pumping in my ears. My fingers threaded through his dark, silky hair.
Right then and there, I should have wanted to be away from him, should have tried to talk my way out of his grasp. He wanted to do things to me I should have been afraid of, but I couldn’t think past the way he made me feel or the curiosity of what those things might be. My other hand ran up his chest, loving the feel of his powerful muscles bunching under my palm.
“You got under my skin, little slave. Now you will take what I give you.”
Oh, Maker help me. He didn’t ask, he just knew I was his and he’d take what belonged to him. The notion made my hands tremble and my head feel light, as though drugged. Still, something I remembered from earlier nibbled at my self assurance and I couldn’t stay silent.
“Um. Master?”
He rumbled, a deep, disapproving sound, almost threatening. His teeth grazed my neck, making me whimper.
“Pretty Boy said…” I licked my lips again, unsure
why it was so hard to go on.
Hawk stopped, his gaze pinning mine. “Kitten, unless the man you name is taking you at the same time as I am, any sentence that starts with a name that isn’t mine is a statement I don’t want to hear.”
I gave a trembling chuckle, loving the possession there. “Okay…I was told…you have some peculiar needs.”
He made a deep sound in his chest as his palm moved over my stomach up to my throat. He cupped my throat, his fingers adding a hint of pressure, suggesting something that made my breathing speed up.
“I require complete control in all things.” His fingers tightened a little more and my breathing stopped, the start of panic welling up. He inhaled deeply through his nose as if he could smell my fear, my excitement. Then his hand loosened and he ran his hot palm over my chest, my shoulders.
“Control over my men. My life. My women.”
“Women?” Jealousy stupidly pricked at me.
A smile played with his mouth, but he didn’t explain.
“Discipline is essential with me, and I will teach you how to behave in all things. Obey, and I’ll reward you. Disobey and pay the price.”
“The price?” My head swam, trying to understand what he was telling me. On the surface, his words sounded no different than any other slave/master relationship. A master had the right to command a slave in all things, and yet, I could feel it, what he wanted went beyond that. It frightened me, but it also sent a thrill through me.
“Disobey, and you’ll see.” Once more, his lips hovered over mine while his fingers cupped my jaw in a firm grip. “I will do what I want with you now; nothing will get you out of that. I want to hear you beg for it, Kitten.”
Everything in me hummed with awareness of him, begging for his touch. How in the Maker’s sweet name I could want him, I didn’t know, but I did. But telling him that…
“Master…”
At that word, he groaned deep in his throat, and then his mouth owned mine.
Oh, help me, what had I gotten myself into?
Chapter 11
Hawk’s Game
Make no mistake, Hawk’s kiss wasn’t gentle or giving. It was deep and hungry and possessive, every bit as much as Pretty Boy’s or Steel’s. He devoured my mouth, owning it the way a man owns a slave’s body. But there was a self-control in it, a patience the other two had never shown me.
His tongue pushed past my teeth, thrusting and swirling around mine. His hand imprisoned my jaw, holding my head in place while his mouth and tongue swept over my lips, devouring them.
My head swam, senses reeling. His scent, a mix of sandalwood and the nicci oil I’d used on him, filled my nose, intoxicating. Kneeling beside me, his other hand slid down the curve of my back, his palm running over my ass, massaging, then gripping each cheek. Making me rock toward him.
Never taking his lips from mine, he slowly dragged the bottom of my frock up to my waist, then ran his palm down over my backside, over the silky fabric of the panties that covered it.
For some reason, his mouth slanted in a smile against mine. He lifted his head, but said nothing, sliding his hand inside the back of the panties and running his warm, calloused palm over every inch of my cheeks.
“Cherry give you these?” He snapped the back of the panties, making the material around my waist crack against my skin, bringing a faint sting.
“Ow. Yes, Master.”
“You didn’t have permission to wear them then.”
“No, but—”
He pulled the back of the panties down, baring my backside. “Take them off.”
Throat dry, I stood and slid the panties down my legs, stepping out of them.
“Give them to me.”
The hardness of his tone, however quiet he kept his voice, jolted me out of the daze his kiss had put me in. “Master, are you angry with me?” My voice shook.
“Control your emotions, Kitten.” He stood. “When I am angry with you, you’ll know.”
Somehow his words didn’t make me feel better, but his command made sense. I was far too easily given to my anxiety. I forced my nerves to calm and handed him the panties.
Circling in behind me like a wolf, he lifted the back of my frock and swatted my backside once with the panties, a single, stinging slap of the fabric. I winced.
“Painful?”
“A little, Master.”
“Good.” He circled me again, this time stopping when he stood in front of me. “From now on, you will not wear anything I don’t tell you to wear. Not these.” He showed me the panties in his fist. “Not this.” He plucked at the frock. “When you are with your other masters, you do and say what they tell you, but with me, only what I tell you goes. Understand?”
Well, as far as orders went, this didn’t sound too bad, but something about his tone told me he wouldn’t merely stop at dictating what I wore. He had much more in mind.
Hawk put the underwear in his pocket and circled me slowly again. I wasn’t sure if it turned me on, knowing he had them, or made me a little sad, knowing he’d taken something from me someone else had given. Suddenly those underwear felt like a gift from Cherry, and all the more so when I knew what they cost a woman like her to give.
“Lift this up.” He tugged on the front of the frock. “I want to see you.”
He wanted to… oh Maker. Wetness coated my sex. I lifted the skirt of the frock up to my waist, leaving my sex bared for him.
Two days it had been since I’d been shaved for the auction, so now a dusting of hair grew there. Hawk drank me in, then closed the space slowly between us. His eyes were on mine, but I could feel the effort it took to keep them there.
“Spread your legs.”
I did.
Hawk’s fingers slid down my stomach and then slowly between my legs, finding my folds, gliding through the wetness there. Except for the need in his eyes, his expression was incredibly stoic, disciplined even as he ran his fingers over my clit. I inhaled, rocking my hips toward him, seeking more of his touch.
“Stay still.”
I froze.
“Don’t move. Take only what I give you.”
I remained motionless, but when his fingers made slow circles around my clit, then slid down to my core, it took everything not to rub against him.
“That’s better. See how easy that is, kitten?” His fingers slowed, two of them teasing my opening until my whole sex throbbed.
I panted up at him. His mouth hovered so close I felt the heat of it, but he never let our mouths touch.
“You have such a nice pussy, Kitten. So wet. What do you want, slave?”
“I…I want you to take me, Master.”
He dropped his hand. “No. You want what I give you. Nothing more.”
“I…I want...” Oh, what had I gotten myself into here?
“Say it, slave. I want to hear that you understand.”
“I want what you give me, Master.” The words sounded like the seal on a trap. A delicious trap.
“Good girl.” His fingers stroked through my folds again, once, twice. I put all my effort into not moving, though every touch made my body tremble with need.
“Do you want me to fuck you, Kitten?”
“I…” I paused and licked my lips, catching it just in time. “I want what you give me, Master.”
His mouth turned up. “Very good.”
Hawk stepped back a pace. “Take off the frock and lie down on the mat.”
To keep my mind from racing, I focused on the task, removing the frock, letting it drop, then laid on my back across the mat while he stood with his hands clasped behind his back.
His eyes darkened, smoky. “Perfect. So perfect. Put your hands together above your head.”
Self consciousness toyed with me, tearing apart my resolve, but I clasped my hands and put them on the floor above my head. Hawk watched me, the picture of cool and self-control.
He drew the knife at his hip out of its scabbard and showed me the long, six-inch blade. My eyes w
idened. The blade glinted in the firelight.
I tensed. “Oh, Master, I don’t think—”
“Do I hear panic in your voice?” He knelt beside me. Above me, the knife in his hand looked huge and dangerous.
My heart hammered. Strangely, shame bit into me for the ease with which I let myself become afraid. “Yes, Master.”
He reached over to the table and grabbed a binacca. He held it like he had before, and the fear seeped out of me until I relaxed on the mat with relief. “Panic is good. So is fear. They let you know you’re alive. But you have to learn to manage both, not to let them control you.”
As he talked, he started pealing the binacca, carving the skin off once more in a single long strip. His actions were so benign, I shouldn’t have been afraid, but my breath sawed in and out. I closed my eyes and tried to get a handle on the panic sweeping through me. There was something so soothing, so calm about his voice, I couldn’t tell if that made him more dangerous or less so.
When I opened my eyes again, Hawk paused for an instant, assessing something in my expression. Then he finished peeling and the long coil of pink binacca skin dropped between my breasts. Dribbles of the juice dropped on my skin, the coolness of them making me flinch.
He turned the knife in his hand, causing the blade to gleam. Then he lowered it slowly, and placing it so that the sharp edge was slanted against the skin and didn’t directly touch, he dragged it through the drops of juice between my breasts. With my head positioned as it was, I could barely see what he was doing, but I could see enough. He added so little pressure, the blade didn’t break the skin, but left a shallow red welt deep enough for the strong, acidic juice to sting.
“Keep your hands where they are and don’t move. I won’t break the skin or draw blood, but if you move, you will bleed.”
The words washed over me, coiling around my heart in a near-frozen fist. If I couldn’t move my hands, I couldn’t stop whatever he did with that blade. Even breathing too deeply could be dangerous. I’d have to trust that he knew what he was doing and wouldn’t change his own rules as he went.