by Linnea May
It’s impossible to tolerate.
She’s right; I can beat her all I want. And I’m sure it wouldn’t get me anywhere, not like this, not now. She’s stronger than I thought, feistier and more stubborn than I could’ve ever imagined.
And it plays havoc with my mind.
But I’m in control. I can do whatever I want with her. I can beat her, choke her, torture her. She’s mine to play with, mine to train, mine to break, and mine to rebuild.
I can take from her whatever I want.
And so I will.
Chapter 11
Petal
His lips connect with mine with such abrupt ferocity that I don’t stand a chance. I tense in his vigorous embrace, unable to grasp what’s happening to me while his unexpected attack robs me of my ability to move.
But as vicious and unyielding as he was when he started the kiss, it soon softens, melting into an affectionate peck that is not nearly as invasive as his first motion suggested. He decided to take something from me, invading my space like he hasn’t before, but once he’s there, it seems he’s no longer interested in torturing me any further.
His hold on me is strong and adamant, but the way his hand moves along my spine with a gentle caress tells a different story. So do his soft lips on mine. He kisses me, carefully tasting my reaction while his mouth moves on top of mine, his lips never parting enough to make room for more.
I’m too stunned at first, but once I’m lulled into a possible false sense of security, I allow myself to give in to him.
I can’t believe what I’m doing. I’m kissing the man who imprisoned me, the man who robbed me of everything and locked me away in a dark cell, leaving my questions unanswered and my pleas for help unheard. Instead, he has punished me for not obeying his strict commands, he’s beaten me until I cried, and then he left me alone with my pain and tears.
And now he’s kissing me, and I’m kissing him.
And it doesn’t feel all that bad.
What the fuck is wrong with me? I should stop this, or at least try. I should attempt to get away from him, to free me of his unwanted touch and this invasion of my privacy. I should yell for help, I should hit him, kick him. I should do anything but this.
I should not kiss him.
Yet I do. And when he withdraws his lips from mine, I can feel myself lingering on, swaying toward him instead of away from him.
There was something familiar in this kiss. A sense of security, a pleasant smell and intimate warmth.
Do I know this man? Do we have some kind of history that has been erased from my memory just like everything else?
“Look at me.”
I didn’t even realize my eyes were closed until now. I’m met with his dark gaze as I open them, scared of what might happen next—and even more confused than I was before.
The expression on his face is welcoming at first, but hardens a moment later, as if he’d remembered something.
“I’ll make you an offer.”
My ears prick up and my eyes widen with anticipation. An offer. This is the first time he’s given me a promising word.
Will he finally give me the answers I so desperately need? Will he end this hell and bring light to the black hole that is my mind?
My heart sinks when he adds, “You clean up this mess, and you’ll get a treat.”
I furrow my eyebrows. “A treat?”
What the hell is he talking about? Why does he insist on treating me like a goddamn zoo animal?
“Yes, a treat.” He nods. “But you have to clean up this mess you created. Right now.”
He lets go of me, leaving it up to me how much distance I want to put between the two of us after he so violently took any choice about this away from me. I hesitate before I take a careful step back, away from him, while my eyes never leave his observing gaze. It’s only the second time we’ve faced each other—as far as I can recollect—but already he has such a fierce hold on me, making me feel like nothing I say or do is up to me while he’s in the room. He could decide to punish me any moment, even for something as mundane as backing away from him.
But nothing on his face shows any dissatisfaction with my motion and he leaves me be, expecting only a reply to his proposition.
“What kind of treat?” I ask, tilting my head to the side. “Will you answer my questions? Will you tell me who I am and why you’re keeping me here?”
“No.” He responds without hesitation, extinguishing any glimmer of hope that sparked in my heart before.
“Then I don’t want it,” I retort, crossing my arms in front of my chest to put emphasis on my words, even though I’m not quite sure if I really mean them.
He shakes his head. “Fine. If you prefer to rot in here, that’s your choice, Petal.”
My heart stalls when he walks past me, heading toward the door.
“Wait!” I call out. “What do you mean? You would let me out? Is that the treat I’d get?”
He stops mid-motion, and even with his back turned to me, it’s not hard to imagine the triumphant smile on his face.
“Maybe,” he says, turning back to me.
“Maybe? Why would I lift a finger for ‘maybe’?”
The dark chuckle that escapes him sends a cold shiver down my spine. I hate the condescending undertone of it. And the look on his face only makes matters worse.
“You have a point,” he says, much to my surprise. “But I can’t give you more than that, Petal. You misbehaved.”
He pauses and points at the mess on the floor. The letters have been destroyed by his negligent steps when he marched inside the room, but the remnants of my misdeed are still sprawled out on the floor.
“I gave you food, and you played with it like an ungrateful brat,” he assesses. “You’ll have to even the score before I can even begin to think about giving you something in return.”
Frustration boils hot within my chest. I want to object to him, to yell at him, tell him what a sick bastard he is for doing this to me.
I want to be strong. I want to fight him on everything he asks of me, because his demands are insane. This whole situation is insane. Everything about this is wrong and sick, and he acts as if I owe him something. As if I have to make amends for anything.
But if I do play along? What if it really is my only way out? The only way to get answers?
What if being strong means obliging to his commands, if only to receive what I deserve.
Answers. Clarity. Freedom.
My knees bend before I can stop myself, before there’s time for me to question. I’m not giving him the satisfaction of a verbal agreement, but I am willing remove the mess I created. One by one, I pick up the messy crumbs, crawling on the floor in front of him while his watchful eyes rest on my every move.
The humiliation is sickening, and I make sure to keep my head down, not as a display of submission, but to avoid the disgrace of meeting his elated grin above me. I couldn’t stand it. I wouldn’t be strong enough. Facing his triumph would stop me in an instant and bring back the unruly child that fights him with every breath.
I’ve realized I can’t be that person if I want to get out of here alive, if I want to reclaim anything of what I have lost. Every single crumb of that dumb sandwich I pick up from the floor will me get closer to that goal, back to that mysterious life which has been taken from me.
I’m not sure how to proceed once I’ve gathered all the pieces from the floor, so I just pile them up as neatly as possible before gathering the ripped-up sandwich in my hands and placing it on the little plate on the tray that it was brought on. Dust and dirt have gathered among the ingredients of what was once a decent snack, making my stomach turn just looking at it.
“I should make you eat that,” he says, as if he could hear my disgusted musings.
I’m still on my knees, my head tilting back as my shoulders tense up.
“Please,” I utter. “Don’t make me. I did what you told me to.”
He’s standing tal
l before me, his hands buried in his suit pants pockets as they almost always are, slowly shaking his head while his dark gaze rests on me.
“Oh, Petal,” he says. “Don’t underestimate the weight of your debt to me.”
I shiver when he lowers himself down on his knees right in front me, bringing himself closer to my eye level while still hovering above me. His mere presence is so intimidating and mesmerizing at the same time. How can a man be so handsome, yet so cruel?
I don’t shy away when he moves his hand below my chin, pinching it between his index finger and thumb while studying my fearful expression with a benevolent smile on his face.
“We’re only getting started,” he says, uttering a promise that chills my blood.
Chapter 12
J
“Please. Don’t make me.”
Her words are music to my ears. But they don’t have the effect she desires.
On the contrary.
“This is not about what you want, Petal,” I tell her, still holding her pretty face locked in place with just the tips of my fingers. “It only matters what I’m willing to offer. Do you understand?”
There’s only one correct answer to my question, but judging from how she’s fared so far, I don’t expect her to be able to remember it.
She proves me right by pressing her lips together and refusing to answer anything at all.
That’s okay.
She’ll learn.
“What did I tell you?” I probe, giving her a chance to correct herself. “How are you supposed to answer me?”
Confusion flickers across her expression and a slight crease appears between her eyebrows.
“You really don’t remember?” I want to know. “Or are you just stubborn, Petal? Which one is it?”
She bites her lower lip as if to prevent herself from speaking. I wish I knew what’s going on inside that beautiful mind of hers. It angers me that there’s no way for me to access her thoughts. All I’m left with is eradication. I can empty her mind, but I can’t read it.
“I can’t remember,” she whispers eventually, her eyelashes fluttering nervously. “I can’t remember anything.”
Her body tenses up, trembling in fear as she awaits my response. She doesn’t know the difference between disobedience and incomprehension yet. The latter won’t get her punished, and if she’s telling the truth, that’s the one stopping her right now.
She could be lying. Even in her weakened state, she could be lying to me, because she’s too proud to bend to my will. But I want to believe her. I want to believe that my Petal is merely lost and not a stubborn brat.
“When I ask you a question, you’ll respond with ‘yes, master.’ That is all,” I lecture her. “Do you understand?”
Her face is blank, hiding whatever emotion my explanation might have evoked from her.
“Yes, master.”
The words are forced, and her voice so feeble that I can barely hear them. But for now, it will suffice.
“Good girl,” I praise her, noticing the praise doesn’t elicit the reaction I hope to see from her one day.
Elation. Pride. That flicker in a girl’s eyes when she pleases her master.
It will look divine on her, but I know I must be patient until she reaches that place.
I let go of her chin, observing as her eyes immediately rush to the floor, away from mine. For a few moments, I just look at her, taking in the sight of my little Petal as she tries to cope with this place of potential. Her struggle is obvious, even without her speaking to me. She’s beginning to understand that rebellion won’t get her anywhere, but I can’t tell what conclusion she might draw from this.
Will she just give up entirely, or will she try to play me? So far, I have reason to believe that she opts for the latter. What she did with the sandwich was unlike anything I ever anticipated. It’s the reason why I’m here with her right now. I went against plan by opening that door and marching back inside after Malia left the basement. And I hate that.
She made me do that. Petal has so much more power over me than she’s aware of.
So much more power than she should have.
Her eyes wander across the floor, eventually finding their way back to the tray where she piled the ruined food in a messy heap.
“I won’t make you eat it,” I promise, addressing the unspoken concern that’s evident in the way she regards the pile of wrecked food.
“Then what?” she utters. “What will I have to do to get out of here?”
She lifts her gaze up to mine, worry and dismay lacing her features as she looks at me. My good little Petal. I can’t wait to see the look on her face when I tell her what she’ll have to do to meet her part of the deal.
She inhales audibly when I place my hand on her shoulder, slowly traveling down the side of her arm, my fingertips barely caressing her pale skin. Her body spasms in small shivers as I make my way down to her elbow, her wrist, her hand, her delicate fingers. It takes everything from me to contain my excitement for her, to silence those greedy screams deep within my chest.
I want her so badly. I want to do unspeakable things to her. I want to hurt her. I want to own her. I want her to call out my name when she explodes in climax after climax, losing all control as she’s overcome with gasps of pleasure that know no equal.
Fuck.
Even this whisper of a touch is enough to call my cock to attention. Blood is rushing into places where I have no use for it right now. I’m not sure if she can tell, but I wouldn’t care if she did.
I should retreat. I should stop touching her. It’s obvious that even this hint of warmth radiating from her fair skin is driving me mad with desire. I should stop it while I can.
But the allure of her is too strong. I know I have the power to restrain myself. I’ve done it before, and I’ve done it with her when I brought her down here, carrying her limp body in my arms with nothing but the barely-there white gown protecting her. I was strong then, and I can be strong now.
Still, my hand wanders further, finding the soft skin on her upper thigh as I move the hem of her gown upward.
She gasps, only adding to my arousal.
Fuck this.
I know what my Petal has to do for me if she wants her desired treat.
“It’s simple, really,” I say, enunciating every syllable. “I only want one thing from you, Petal. One small deed, and I promise I will let you out of this cell.”
She swallows dryly, curling her little hands into fists while her eyes are glued to my hand on her thigh.
“What?” she asks. “What do I have to do?”
I take a deep breath before I manage to finally withdraw my hand from her seductive body. Instant relief washes over me, accompanied by a sense of loss. There’s nothing I want more than to touch her right now, but resisting that urge is the most important thing if I don’t want to ruin this.
My Petal needs to be trained, to be shaped according to my wishes. Only then will she become everything I want her to be.
“What do I have to do?”
She’s looking at me now, her eyes narrowed with tense determination as she expects a response from me. In a way, it’s the first time she’s actively asking for her next task, though she may not realize that yet.
She expects a command. She expects to know what it is that she can do to please me.
I’m more than happy to tell her.
“I want you to come for me, Petal.”
Chapter 13
Petal
There’s a new tray with food waiting on the bench, with the lid still hiding whatever it is she brought me this time. It was the same girl as before, wearing the same outfit and the same uncertain expression on her face. Her dark locks were a little more ruffled this time, partly hiding her face as she tried to avoid eye contact with me at all times. Neither of us said a word. I waited for her to look at me, to say a word, a greeting, anything to acknowledge my existence while I was sitting on the soft leather bench when she ca
rried in the tray, which she placed right next to me.
But she gave me nothing, not even a quick glance. She seemed afraid of me even, retreating as quickly as possible once she’d delivered the food and taken the old tray with her. My eyes were glued to her sad face, waiting, hoping, searching for any kind of human interaction she was willing to give me. But my unspoken wish remained unanswered. Her fear was palpable in every motion, every breath she took. It was odd, to say the least.
Why would she be afraid of me? Why would she not even look at me this time?
Is it him? Did he say something that makes her act this way? Who is she, anyway? And what is she doing here?
Going down the rabbit hole, again.
Who is she? Who am I? Why are we here?
A cloak, heavy with terror and sorrow, wraps itself around my shoulders, lowering my gaze as it pushes down every single part of me. It happens every time my mind wanders to these nagging questions, and it does that a lot while I’m alone.
I’ve lost all sense of time. I don’t know how long I’ve been down here. I don’t know how long it’s been since he phrased his despicable demand to me. I don’t know how long it’s been since he left me alone to think about it, not saying when he’d come back to hear my answer. Even if he did say, how would I know? There’s nothing in here that could help me tell time, no clock, no window, no light from the outside that could tell me whether it’s day or night. Nothing.
The single light bulb has been set to the same setting ever since it was first switched on, not indicating any passing of time either.
It’s wearing me down. Being down here by myself with nothing but my emptied mind to occupy myself is grueling.
And I’m sure that’s exactly what he wants. He wants to wear me down, to weaken me and make me defenseless against his strange intrusion.
He wants to control me, but I won’t let him.