Claimed Possession

by Cari Silverwood

  The collar on her neck had metal reinforcing and the lock was unpickable.

  “Fuck you, JI. Fuck you to the stars.” Head in hands, she cursed him for a while before lying back and staring at the pockmarked ceiling.

  She’d taught a mech how to betray. That wouldn’t look good on her grave marker.

  Sawyer would not be happy.

  She couldn’t sleep when her nemesis was coming, but she daydreamed – of her freedom, which was perhaps a form of torture... She’d come so near to her goal only to be halted by a moralizing mech.

  Hours later...

  The noises of the maneuvers of Sawyer’s body, as he clawed his way to her level, betrayed his arrival. She sat up. A lump of rubble lay beside her hand. If she threw it as he levered himself over the edge...

  The closer he came, the more her excitement rose. No denying that. Fear, excitement, all rolled into one. Her monster was coming. That bizarre link between them had awakened.

  This was why she couldn’t kill him – because she wanted what he brought with him – those hands of his that could flip her over so he could fuck her, those hard eyes...that male, unyielding, six-feet of muscle-wrought self.

  She put her hand between her legs and found what she thought was there. Her clit had risen. Covering herself with her palm, she summoned a familiar and delicious pressure, which made her sigh. She didn’t know what was wrong with her. He was going to hurt her, and she had no idea what he would do, except that, in the most roundabout and subconscious way, it enthralled her.

  Maybe she’d wanted him to catch her all along.

  No. No she hadn’t. She wanted to run, just, when brought to the brink of this – the precipice of who-knew-what – she was trembling thinking of what he might do to her.

  His hand appeared, then his head, then his other hand.

  Now. Throw now.

  If she couldn’t shoot him, she couldn’t kill him with a rock. Wide-eyed, she waited.

  Breathing fierce, harsh lungfuls, Sawyer dragged himself over the lip – an ogre from the catacombs. The chain that ran from the pole to her neck had never been as powerful a symbol of her captivity and submission as it was now. She ran her fingers down the length, feeling the cold metal swellings of the links. Despite the attraction he aroused, she found herself backing away. Grit dug at her knees, at her already stinging palms. Using what was left of a wall, he pulled himself upright then he strode to her. Wordlessly, he shoved her backward with his foot and stood on her neck, his foot pressing on her hard enough to make her cough.

  The middle of his forehead was red and furrowed. “I am angry. Very angry.”

  Mouth open, trying not to wriggle, she waited...

  “What did you think would happen when I caught you?” From his back, he unslung a pack that he dropped to the floor. “JI told me of his intentions. I see he succeeded.”

  Sweat darkened his pale brown shirt, sticking it to his torso. Warily, she put her hand up and touched the side of his boot, tracing along where it rode her skin.

  Why did this darkness lure her?

  Sawyer reached back and hauled off his shirt – revealing all the swells and ridges of his muscles.

  Chest slick with sweat and heaving, he studied her and saw where she’d placed her hand. Then he lifted his boot and used the toe to scrape her skirt to her waist.

  “I brought things with me to curb your rebelliousness. You’re supposed to be marked badly when I bring you down. Yet, I understand why you are here, why you run. This would be me, if I were you, except that I’d have been gone hours ago. You stopped to rest. I would not have stopped until I’d reached the top. I’d also have shot my pursuers.”

  Well then, she was schooled. She said softly, “So, I should’ve killed you?”

  His lips pressed in a straight line. “Spread your fucking legs.”

  What price defiance. Immeasurable pain? She only wanted the measurable. After swallowing once, she opened her legs.

  He shifted his boot to her neck again and pressed down with the toe. Gods. The boot on her and him standing over her. She had to clamp her jaw to stop herself moaning.

  For several seconds he studied her opened legs. “Well. Your training has produced results.”

  She knew what he meant, how wet and swollen she must be. That he was looking made this worse for her, more excruciatingly arousing. Her hips wanted to squirm.

  That she’d switched from determined to escape from him to this, in such a short time, confounded her.

  “I’ve brought a small whip,” he said idly. “To mark you. Not just for them. Not simply as punishment, though it will be that.” For the first time in a long while, he smiled at her, a menacing smile. Then he took away his boot and kneeled to put his finger in the middle of her lower lip and curl it outward. “You haven’t moved at all. The reason for this is that you want to be my slave.”

  If she only said one thing to him, refuting that, saying no, should be it.

  She thought that and thought it and said nothing, her mind screwing her agenda to a futile, silent death.

  He pulled down the fragile material of her top, exposing her breasts, then encircled an areola as he spoke. Her nipple poked itself upright, as if to greet his caress. “You will stand with your hands clasped high on the pole, and you won’t move while I whip you. I won’t bind you there, and the reason I won’t is because we both know you want this.”

  He stood.

  “Now, my girl.”

  Doing what he asked would seem to acknowledge his words were true – a petrifying thought. She stalled, licked her lip where his finger had been. She could taste him.

  He was wrong. He had to be.

  Unsure of anything she did or why she did it, Ari rolled to her side then rose, aware how naked she was and of the vileness of his assumptions. When she walked, her newly sensitized nipples seemed to lead the way to the pole.

  If she spoke, he’d only whip her harder. As an excuse, it was valid.

  She raised her hands to wrap them about the rusted pole.

  “Stop. Show me those hands. Hold them out, palm upward.” He frowned at the sight. The scratches were a stark red. “Your legs are scratched to hell and back too. You damaged my property. Why?”

  Explain? She closed her eyes. “I –”

  “Look at me.”

  The hardest thing of all but she looked, found his eyes. She’d never noticed the color before or how strong a brown were his irises.

  “Just say the truth.”

  For once he waited patiently. A few deeper breaths calmed her. “I hit the chain with the canteen. With a rock too.” She glanced to where the battered canteen lay. “To try to get loose.” He waited still. “The rest of it, the cuts on my legs, I got those climbing.”

  “Do you still want to escape?”

  “Yes.” The right answer had come out solid. Bang. Lying would’ve been wiser.

  There was her mystery, wrapped in a few words.

  The whip was in his hand. He tapped the handle on his thigh. The evil end of it writhed in the dust.

  “Take off your shoes.”

  She shucked them using her toes.

  “Reach up and grab the pole.”

  Chapter 24

  Ari wanted to escape from him. That wasn’t news.

  None of this was. And still...

  He curled his fingers up into his palms, clenched them there, hard and tight, until knuckles cracked.

  A day hiking through those dingy, dark caverns under the city to get a bunch of freaky blue crystals – one man killed by falling rubble, one bitten and badly hurt by something unknown – and he came back to this.

  Watching her walk to the pole with those dainty bare feet, the brown of her soles contrasting with the whiter arches, then raise her hands and wrap those hurt palms around the metal... That was as brilliant to his eyes as the very first time he’d fucked her, or kissed her, or seen her obeisance to him.

  Was he smitten with some disease that he saw th
is as special?

  His cock was stiff. Perhaps today was the day she failed to raise her power. Perhaps he could fuck her without hurting her.

  Perhaps...if he wanted to, but he didn’t. Whipping her back and that fine ass would make his day far more outstanding after climbing up a few million stories to catch this escapee.

  JI had turned into a great conspirator. Getting a little too human maybe. Getting a little too...malicious. Next they’d be sharing drinks, swapping dirty stories.

  He twitched the whip, let it curl in the dust at his feet.

  “Very good,” he purred, circling her where she stood with her hands high. He pulled her dress down to her feet, left it there, a potent reminder of her surrender.

  Pure adrenalin coursed through him seeing her in position.

  What Ari didn’t know was that Zarr had changed his mind and asked to see serious damage to her. He wasn’t doing that. He’d even considered keeping going with her to the surface and fleeing. Osta was coming though, soon. Sassik and Dayne were sure.

  Run with her, and he’d lose credibility with the Scavs.

  He stepped up until positioned behind her, raised the whip, and drew back his arm. “Count for me, darling.”

  The first strike made her hiss.

  Ten had her flinching and giving little cries, but she brought herself back when instructed.

  He could’ve stopped now. He’d made his point. Could’ve continued with lesser punishment and he was sure she’d already have lost her power to affect his dick. He replayed those almost sub-vocal cries, studied the depth of her breaths, and how her shoulders rose and fell, and he adjusted himself through his pants. She could take more.

  Sawyer smiled. He could take more.

  Twenty and the red whip lines crisscrossed her so many times that aiming for a new place became difficult.

  He leaned his shoulder on what was left of the column and observed her closely, running his gaze over her front, over those breasts and her nipples that’d scrunched tight with the tiny bumps around the areolas. She’d slumped into the pole, mouth slack, her forearms leaning in, her fingers holding the chain.

  “Stay.”

  “As if...” she slurred, “I can go anywhere, you bastard.”

  Still calling him names. He let it pass, considering where he had her.

  He wet his finger and reached across, pinched a nipple, noting how she couldn’t help arching.

  “You like it when I do this. Why resist?”

  “Because.” She shivered and her fingers clenched and unclenched on the pole.

  Nervous girl.

  “Because?” He circled the other nipple with the very tip of his finger pad, slow and sure, watching for her response. “Tell me how you don’t want me to suck on this. You going to lie, girl?”

  She pouted, peeking past her upraised arm, and he laughed.

  Laughing was new for them both.

  Ari had made him climb and chase her, had shot at him, and he was laughing? Something wrong there.

  He carved his finger lower, indenting the under-curve of her breast. Her warm flesh gave, and she arched some more when he traced across the curve of her belly to her mons then to her slit. Where he delved and played. Her wetness, her scent, and that open moaning mouth enticed his dick to greater efforts.

  “Tell me you don’t like this...” He almost said ‘Ari’ but that was wrong.

  He’d never used her name, and now he felt he was on the brink of some revelation, that possibly she liked being his anonymous slave – the slave he ravished and whipped when he wished to.

  Her eyes were riveted to his as he stroked her below, teasing her clit to fullness – her big beautiful eyes caught by his, and she was silent.

  As the pleasure affected her, her eyelids dipped.

  “Such a good girl. Keep still. When this is done, you will be rewarded.” With a hand to the pole, he pushed off and went behind her again. “Say the count.”

  His dick was still hard. He smiled. Yes.

  He drew his arm back, aimed for that gorgeous target – the swell of her butt...and with more strength than before, whipped her.

  “One!” She gasped several times in quick succession, her face screwing up, yet when he waited and waited, her butt gave a wriggle – this was pain that sent a message both ways.

  He continued: He counted in his head; she counted out loud. Then he stepped in, smoothed his hand around her breast, her ass, kissed her nape, bit her.

  The pauses in her breathing, the shivers, the little gulps as he claimed her with his teeth...these weren’t imagined.

  At thirty and she sagged and trembled. “Gods,” he heard her whisper.

  “You can rest.” She caved, lowering herself to her knees, her arms wrapped around the pole. Her entire upper back, and the tops of her thighs, were colored red, pink, and a little purple.

  If he kept going, he’d gouge pieces from her traumatized skin, make her bleed. Already, she bruised. If he kept going, it would be for Zarr.

  Hell, no.

  This was for him.

  He squatted, balancing with his arms on his legs. How much longer would she keep doing this? Until he had to kill her to stop her from escaping? Until she hurt someone else? He had to admit he admired her perseverance, and that she actually had compassion. The note to Keera had bemused him. When Largo had said that she’d healed Keera too, and that doing that meant she’d be weak, when she was trying to run from him up a mountain of rubble?

  He ran his hand into his hair, thinking. She had a heart.

  So did he. And limits. He’d had his revenge, and he was feeling a little guilty. This world... He wasn’t sure he was the same person anymore. He had this desire to keep her, but not when she hated him day after day.

  “You were bad, weren’t you? Shot at me. Thought about doing other things too. Like rocks.”

  “I could’ve killed you.”

  “I doubt that. Why’d you try to have me castrated that day?” he asked softly.

  She sniffled. “Because you scared me. I didn’t know what else to do.”

  “Huh.” He shook his head. “You threaten everyone like that?”

  She turned and looked at him then said, with eyes deadly focused. “No. You were particularly scary.”

  “Still wish you’d succeeded?”

  She seemed to consider his question. “Sometimes.”

  He bit back a laugh. Little bitch. She was right about the scary. Guess he’d been scared that day too, from the other side. Fear begat anger, and might wasn’t right, but on Aerthe it was often the best solution.

  Maybe if he let her go, he’d decide she was just another grain of sand on the beach. Maybe. Maybe not. He would do this. Free her. If he freed her then managed to reel her back in, that would cancel out.

  Catch and release, and if she came back to him, she was his. Not an excuse, a justification.

  On Aerthe, he was a whole level of assholery past what he used to be.

  He smiled to himself. He’d cope.

  But first...

  From his pack, he pulled the mittens and the clothespins, the string. Nothing heavy, because he’d aimed to sprint up the collapsed slope – at least he had until she rained bullets down on him.

  “Hands.” He waited with the mittens, twisted his mouth when he held up the clothespin and opened it, closed it. “Then clit.”

  Now that made her blink.

  “Such pretty eyes, you have.” And a body to die for.

  If she ever touched another man as he had her, he’d kill him.

  Catch and release? Was he wrong? God, he wanted to put hooks in her.

  Chapter 25

  The bastard had her kneel on a folded cloth with her hands in the leather mittens and cuffed at her back, then he clipped the clothespin to her clit. Though Ari squirmed and swore, he only laughed. He led string from the clothespin to her collar and knotted it there under tension.

  “Don’t move too quickly or you might rip it off.” He wi
nked at her then undressed, to stand before her with his erection in hand, as if he was wondering where to put it.

  She could’ve told him, and it wasn’t somewhere pleasant.

  “This is what you will do for me. Feel how you are now. You know what you do. How you stop men from desiring you.”

  Through the fresh leak of tears she nodded.

  “It’s gone now. You are going to remember this moment, how you feel. Reach inside yourself.”

  Though she could define this more by a presence than an absence of anything, still, inside her was a quiet place.

  “You have it?”

  She nodded again, though thinking was not her primary need when her clit was being savaged by a clothespin.

  “Hold onto that. I expect you to learn this, to be able to do it for me without me needing to whip you. Understand?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good.”

  Her ass still buzzed with pain, throbbing as if bees had taken up residence. She moved to look up as he came to her and the jerk below felt as if she had almost pulled off her clit. That it also created a resonance of pleasure, once the hurt died, preoccupied her as he shoved his cock into her mouth.

  His thrust rocked back her head and again pulled on her clit – a direct line from one to the other as he rocked in, slid out. Her burbling gasp when he exited turned into a squeak, because he’d grabbed a large portion of her hair and used it to tilt her head. Not much but enough to make her try to rise, except almost every shift and twist of her body placed horrible pressure on that precious nub.

  “Wait, wait, wait.”

  “Not nice? Poor thing. I might be truly ripping off your clit if you hadn’t tried to heal Keera.”

  His grip shifted to her breast as he went behind her. He stuck his moistened thumb into her ass, then his cock into her pussy, with little more preamble than a “try not to come.” She would have thought that impossible as it slid into her, inexorably, as if his cock were a foot long. It seemed forever before his body jammed against her. The whip strikes pulsed to life.

  “In,” he grated. “If you come, I get to lead you naked, down the tower.”