The water scalded my skin a little when I stepped in and I loved every burning inch of skin. It relieved the soreness I felt. The heat made me feel clean in a way just water never could have. This was the first time I had been permitted to bathe in hot water. It felt decadent.
He had said I wasn’t broken. Something, maybe it was pride, grew in me a little. I knew what broken felt like. Broken was when your fiancé tells you he never loved you. Broken is having to go to your parents and ask to move back in because you couldn’t keep a man. Broken was having your fantasies thrown back into your face for being too demented.
Grif had made those fantasies real. And I hadn’t broken. This situation was far worse on so many levels than being left at the altar by Matt. Yet I felt more myself than I had in a long time. More concrete, sure of the decisions I made, the emotions I felt. How could being captured make me feel so alive?
I dunked my head under the water, holding my breath and my eyes squeezed shut. My hands scrubbed at my immersed face. I stayed under until my lungs began to scream. Hands smoothed down my shoulder blades, lifting me out of the water.
“Trying to kill yourself again?”
Grif was beside the tub. Despite having rolled up his sleeves, his shirt was now wet and clung to his strong chest. His closeness, his touch, caused ripples of pleasure. The water made me feel heady and languid, more vulnerable to his proximity.
“No. Just trying to find a moment by myself.”
He frowned a little. “Renee. All of your moments belong to me now.”
He washed my hair, his fingers scrubbing the shampoo and conditioner in. He used a washcloth to fully clean my face. I didn’t fight him, feeling too soporific for another fight.
He reached into the tub, soaking the rest of his shirt as he pulled the drain. Helping me up, he wrapped me in a towel.
“Grif?”
“Hmmm?” He carried me, enshrouded in thick Egyptian cotton, out of his bathroom and room.
“I’m not going to stop fighting. I can’t.”
He sighed. “Renee, when you say thing like that, it is the ultimate temptation for me. I want, no, I need the training. To see the moment when you cave. Your fighting makes it worse. It escalates things.”
“Will you hurt me?”
He paused. I realized we were heading back to my room. “I want to hurt you.”
Oh.
We went into my room and he laid me on the bed.
“What would it take for you to stop fighting me?”
Nothing. He couldn’t understand that, I knew. But I would never stop fighting him. I would never stop looking to escape. If I couldn’t escape I would try to end my life. To choose between slavery and death… death would always win.
Still, this seemed like an opportunity for something he had only just started to give me: answers.
“I want clothes. And I want to ask questions.”
Grif’s broad shoulders were tense, the muscles so tight I thought they might tear. He grimaced.
“One night. You get dinner tonight. In clothing. You may ask questions during dinner.”
“And after?”
“We do whatever I please and you will obey.”
There was an undercurrent, a threat he was making. Take this, he hinted, and know it is poisoned.
But the reward was too tempting.
Better the enemy I knew than the one I didn’t. I would sacrifice a lot to find a chink in his armor to exploit.
“Deal.”
* * * *
One of his servants had brought up my clothing. It was more than clothing, though. A gown, silk and beautiful, was in her hands. She helped me into it. The silk felt incredible on my skin. The dress left little to the imagination, clinging to my breasts and hips, accentuating curves that barely remained after my hunger strike.
She also styled my hair, sweeping it into an elegant twist. If I didn’t know where I was I would almost feel as if I was preparing for a date. Grif’s voice, his subtle threat, still rang in my head.
We will do whatever I please and you will obey.
I remembered when he had made me suck him. How I should have felt. How I had really felt. It made me a little sick to know that Grif could make me feel more alive, more sensual than Matt had ever been able to do.
When I looked in the mirror, I didn’t look like a slave. I looked like a goddess.
Nervous and hands sweating, I went to dinner.
Chapter Twelve
Grif was waiting for me at the bottom of the stairs. I’ll admit that I had hoped for a reaction to how I was dressed. Some comment or a look.
His look was black. Don’t get me wrong; he looked amazing. In a tux, his hair artfully styled. The tux was cut to his body, fitted in the shoulders and across the inseams of his pants. It made him look long and lean¸ dashing. His face was dark, though, his eyes flashing with a look that was dangerous.
Scowling, he grabbed my arm as I came close.
“We have to talk.” His grip tightened and I winced from the dig of his fingers into the muscle.
He yanked me into a small hallway. I tripped over my feet and cried out as he jerked me upright.
“Hssst,” He silenced me. “Be quiet!” His voice was a low growl, barely above a whisper.
“I don’t understand, what’s happening?” I kept my voice down, matching his pitch. He pushed close to me, the press of his body intimate; the silk allowed me to feel every crisp line of his tuxedo. His thigh moved between my legs. He encircled my wrists above my head. I was pinned to the wall, his breath hot on my collarbone.
“We don’t have a lot of time, so I need you to listen.” There was an edge of panic in his voice. It was tight, lower than usual, and it cut through me. My heart started to race, though whether it was because of his closeness or the change in his demeanor I couldn’t say.
“Tonight’s plans have changed. If you trust me at all, hear me now. My brother is here. You must act like my slave. Obedient. He is not tolerant of misbehavior.”
Like you are?
It was hard for me to imagine someone worse than Grif. Handsome, dashing… and a slaver. If anything, this was a mind-game of his. His brother might be able to save me. My heart felt jittery as I realized that this might be the chance I had been looking for. The chance to run away.
I nodded, letting Grif think I understood. His grip on my wrists loosened, but he didn’t move back. I began to plan, to think of how I could get his brother alone. Tell him what was happening.
And then I wasn’t planning, because Grif was kissing me.
I’ve been kissed before, sure. Those kisses, though, had only been exciting because I thought I was earning someone’s attraction. This kiss was something wholly different. Feral. Grif possessed my mouth. His tongue pushed in, sweeping my teeth.
I couldn’t help it, I groaned.
My body responded, my slit becoming wet and my breasts aching, pressing hard against his chest. In that moment he wasn’t my captor; he was the man I knew could fuck me the way I had dreamed about. Hard and rough. I wanted it, oh god, I wanted it.
His hands released my wrists but he didn’t break the kiss. One hand held my neck; fingers curled around my nape, his thumb pressed across my windpipe. The pressure was subtle. I could still breath, but it felt uncomfortable. Intoxicating. His other hand grabbed my breast, squeezing it roughly.
I whined and ground on his thigh, trying to quell the pressure building between my legs.
Grif growled as he broke our kiss, leaving me panting and aching for more. My cheeks were pink and I knew my hair was disheveled. He, of course, still looked perfect. His eyes caught mine and I saw something in them I hadn’t seen before: possessiveness.
“Remember what I said. Obedience.”
* * * *
I’m not sure what I had expected from my soon-to-be rescuer. Grif’s fear over me exposing his plot to break me to his brother made me assume his brother would be like he was; suave. Sophisticated.
&nb
sp; The man who met us was neither of those things. Grif’s brother was dressed in overalls and a flannel. He had a toothpick hanging out of the side of his mouth. He was just as handsome as Grif, but he looked so out of place in the elaborately set dining room that it was almost comical.
“Isaac, this is my pet.” He didn’t give Isaac my name. Fearful of exposing my plan to Grif, I bowed a little toward Isaac. Grif had not fully explained what obedient meant. I could only hope he would give hints. I’d behave, fooling him, until I could get Isaac alone and beg for help.
“My god, Grif, she’s stunning.” Isaac whistled. Whereas Grif had worked to remove the Southern accent from his speech, Isaac made no effort to hide his thick drawl. It was heavy and lilting. He walked around me, slowly. I could feel his gaze as it raked up and down my body. When he reached my front he used his fingers to tip my face up, making me look in his eyes.
It was like a knife plunging into my stomach.
This man wouldn’t save me. Suddenly Grif’s fear made sense. He wasn’t afraid of Isaac saving me. He was afraid of Isaac hurting me. I could see it. He shared his brother’s green eyes.
Isaac’s though, were barren. Zero kindness, but a cruel delight that chilled me.
His brother sounded like a gentleman, but he was all predator.
“Just stunning,” he repeated. His smile was cold. My chin trembled a little at his touch, which only made him smile larger.
“Isaac, please don’t touch my merchandise.” Grif’s voice was unflinching. The panic I had heard in the hall was gone. He was so good at pretending it bolstered me. I could pretend, too.
The hand dropped from under my chin. “Don’t be like that, Grif. We used to share all the time. Brotherly love, and all that.”
So Isaac knew about Grif’s work. I had a difficult time reconciling the look of Isaac, all country farm boy, with the elegant speech and ruthless demeanor. Who were these men, that could so effortlessly camouflage their true nature?
“Why are you here, Isaac?”
“Just in the neighborhood, brother. Wanted to see what you were up to. I hear you had retired.” Isaac’s eyes never left my face. “Seems I heard wrong. So, what’s for dinner?”
Grif stalked over to me and placed a possessive hand on my shoulder. “You weren’t invited. It’s rude to just show up without calling.”
This did make Isaac look away. I saw it, a flash of confusion on his face, as he turned to his brother. “It’s not rude if its family, Grif. Besides, it would only be rude if you were entertaining. Since when do pets eat at the table? Who is the client?”
“I don’t discuss that and you know it. She’s in training.”
“Something I’d like to see. Surely your methods haven’t changed that much since you left home.”
Grif gave up. “Fine. Come to dinner.”
“Why thanks, little brother. So kind of you to ask.” Isaac leered at me, completely ignoring the deadly look on Grif’s face. For my part, I was suddenly feeling very much the rabbit, surrounded by wolves.
* * * *
The table was beautifully set. We weren’t in the kitchen. Grif had a large, elegant dining room. The table was reclaimed wood, looking effortlessly classy and rustic. The dishes were white and pristine. What shocked me most, though, was the food.
There were courses. Courses.
The only course I had eaten was a cheap appetizer in family chains. Despite Isaac dropping in, there was already a table setting for him. Grif’s staff were efficient, I had to admit that. Still, I realized that this night had been planned with me in mind. He had this fabulous dinner, the dress, everything… for me.
We had eaten escargot, a salad with pears and candied pecans, and were waiting on our entrees when my servitude was first put to the test.
“Renee, please refill our wine.”
Nervous, I found the open bottle. Going to Grif first, I began to pick up his glass to pour. He reached up and pinched my nipple through my dress, twisting it hard. I almost dropped to me knees from the pain.
“Always guests first, Renee.” His glower was enough to make my blood run cold. I remembered the fevered kiss in the hallway. It was so difficult to reconcile Grif the trainer with the man who fed me broth, bathed me… who kissed me like he couldn’t breathe without me.
Making my way to Isaac, I took his glass and began to pour. Isaac’s hand shot out and grabbed my wrist. He squeezed hard enough I dropped the wine glass. The delicate glass shattered and the red stained the wood, looking almost like a blood splatter.
“You’re clumsy.” Isaac’s voice was icy, but his eyes were alight with amusement. “Clean it up.”
I grabbed a plate and placed the shards of glass on it. My eyes stayed focused on the task at hand, trying not to acknowledge Isaac. Grif was my captor, but I was beginning to realize that Isaac was the truly cruel sibling.
When I had collected all of the glass, I started to mop up the wine with a napkin when Isaac scowled. “No, you stupid bitch. Clean it like the slave you are.”
Helpless, I looked at Grif. There was no solace to be found there. His eyebrows pressed together, he said nothing.
“I-I don’t know how a slave cleans.”
Isaac’s hand flashed out and he hit me. It was an open palm strike, but he had cupped his hand, hitting the side of my head, causing my ear to start ringing. I dropped to my knees, stunned.
“Sir. Jesus, Grif, have you trained her at all? A slave licks up her messes.”
He wanted me to lick the wine off the table. Tears in my eyes, I started to stand, but his hand on my shoulder forced me to remain on my knees. His fingers dug in, twisting, causing electric pain to shoot down my arm. It was excruciating. “On your knees.”
It was a struggle to reach the table top on my knees, so I lapped slowly at the edge of it, the cold wine dripping down my chin. Isaac took his other hand and smoothed the wine toward me so that it spilled onto my face, my hair getting wet and sticky. He then took his hand and wiped the crotch of his pants.
I sat back on my heels, unsure.
“You aren’t done, slave.”
His eyes pierced through me, his leer full of dirty promise. I gagged a little, realizing what he wanted me to do. Surely Grif wouldn’t allow this? I thought he had wanted me for himself?
His kiss replayed in my mind. The way he had possessed my mouth, my body. He wouldn’t make my lick his brother in front of him.
But there was only silence. Isaac growled, low and menacing, in his throat. He grabbed my hair and twisted, the act familiar. However different the brothers were, they had the same teacher. Isaac forced my face into his crotch. He rubbed his erection over my cheeks.
My cries were muffled in the denim of his overalls, my tears further dampening his pants.
“You dumb whore.”
He unbuttoned his overalls and let them fall down, standing for a moment. And then he was there, in my face again, his underwear scarcely containing an enormous erection.
“You’ve missed a spot. I want you to clean me until you choke on my big dick. If you don’t do a good job I will piss in your mouth, do you hear me?”
No. I couldn’t. Not to him. Grif had made me suck him off, but that had been different. Reluctant as I had been, I had at least enjoyed it. It had been like my fantasies. I had relished his hand in my hair and the rough way he took my mouth. There had been something deep, something primal in the act.
This just felt dirty. Horrible.
When I didn’t move, Isaac struck me. He slapped my face. He began to punch me, jabbing at my breasts, my sides, painful hits to my back and kidneys. There was pain, and there was fear. Isaac was going to kill me, and Grif was going to let him. I had been fooling myself to think Grif cared. This dinner was probably planned, even down to Isaac showing up.
If Grif had thought me a challenge, then this was his way to strike me down. To break me.
It was working.
Please Grif. Please… please. If I mean anything
to you, save me. Save me and I’ll be yours forever.
It shocked me, this silent prayer, but I meant it. I would be his if he would just save me from his brother. It was a desperate plea wrought from paralyzing fear, but it was true; I would choose Grif. His moods. His cruelty and exquisite pain. Him in all his fucked up glory. Just don’t let me die.
Isaac crawled on top of me, straddling my chest, his legs painfully digging into the soft flesh of my inner arms as he held me down, defenseless.
He pulled his cock out.
“Get ready, bitch. I’m going to piss all over that pretty face and you’ll know who your master is.”
I gagged, my sobs choking me.
Chapter Thirteen
“You will not.” It was spoken softly, but the weight of the threat in Grif’s voice gave Isaac pause.
“Are you telling me no?” Isaac hovered above me. My whole body was screaming in pain, but my heart felt sick, waiting to see if Grif would actually save me. Hoping he would. Dreading he wouldn’t.
“I’m telling you to get off of her. Now.” Grif had risen from his chair and was stalking over. His shoulders were tight, his fists clenched. My heart soared.
Isaac got off of me. I rolled over and tucked my knees to my chest. My whole body ached, sharp pains ripping through me, but I felt nothing but relief.
“Grif, what the fuck are you doing?”
“Protecting what’s mine.”
Mine. It was enough. He said I was his. Through the haze of pain, I felt something wash over me like… like joy. It made me feel elated. It made me feel sick.
“She’s not yours, though! You’re selling her, right? Dad says we don’t get to keep them.”
“Get out of my house, Isaac.”
“Is this because of your pathetic-ass ‘sickness?’ Because you’re too chicken shit to leave the house and find a girl?”
“Shut up, Isaac.”
But Isaac laughed. “Oh god, it is. You act like you’re better than us. Some big bad who left his family and made something of himself. Well guess what, dickhead? You’re pathetic. You live out here all alone because you get too scared of people. Of all those big open spaces. What the fuck kind of fear is that? So you stay locked up here--”
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