Sweet Jayne

by K. Webster

  A familiar rage, one that’s always been pointed her way, blooms inside of me. But once again, I’m angry for her. She’s really messing with my goddamned head.

  “That motherfucker did this to you.” My eyes go back to probing hers. For a brief moment, I’m seeing the all too familiar look. A look Mom gives me when she’s trying to protect Dale. I know abuse. It’s been a part of my life for far too long. My boss, a man who I sort of looked up to and who I thought I fairly knew, is nothing but a damn deadbeat. It’s a fact now.

  She chews on her plump bottom lip. “It’s no big deal and—ah!”

  I push the other side of her dress down to look at her other arm. Gently, I run my thumb along the purple welts and grit my teeth. A wave of fury surges through me and I resent it. I hate that I have the urge to protect her.

  I’m supposed to be punishing her.

  Making her pay for what happened to Kasey.

  But all I can do is think about slitting Logan’s goddamned throat.

  “What happened?” I hiss out, my furious glare meeting hers.

  A single tear darts down her cheek. I swipe it away with my thumb and then suck on the salty flavor.

  “He’ll be here soon. Please,” she begs and tries to wriggle out of my grasp, her full tits all but spilling from her bra. “Let go of me.” The fear in her eyes is bone chilling.

  “Tell me what the fuck happened and I’ll leave you alone,” I lie. I’ll never leave her alone. My black heart beats only to tarnish hers. She’ll never be left alone as far as I’m concerned.

  With a shaky sigh, her teary eyes meet mine. “Donovan. He did this last night because of Donovan.”

  I glare at her, my brows pinching together in confusion. “I don’t understand.”

  “Donovan hugged me. Twice.”

  She must sense I’m about to fucking blow up because she hastily pulls her dress into place and stands on her toes to meet my gaze.

  “Listen to me, Kasper,” she says evenly, her face morphing from fear to determination. “I know what I’m doing. I can handle myself.”

  I blink at her in confusion. What the fuck is she talking about? This isn’t the sort of response I was expecting. Mom never acted like this about Dale.

  Sliding my fingers into her hair, I tilt her head back so I can peer into her dark orbs. So I can understand what’s going on in that head of hers. The way she darts her gaze all around, I know there are a million things going on inside her mind. I don’t miss the fact that she’s holding something back. Just out of reach.

  I will find out what it is.

  This time, I kiss her because I fucking want to. Her perfect pouty lips screamed to be caressed by my powerful ones. With every taste I get of this woman, I lose my sense of reason. It quickly becomes evident that she has a way about her—a way that allures every goddamn man she comes into contact with.

  I’m not an exception.

  She lets out a small moan that has me wanting to push her against the wall and fuck her brains out. Tearing away from our hot kiss, I peer down at her and try to figure out her angle.

  “Why stay with him?”

  Her eyes blaze with a passionate fury that makes my heart gallop in my chest. This is most definitely not the same fearful way my Mom looks at me when she defends Dale. “You do crazy things for love, Kasper.”

  Slipping my fingers over her jaw, I run my thumb over her bottom lip. Her words make no sense. I want to shove them back into her mouth and make her chew them up instead.

  “You don’t love him,” I accuse. “He fucking abuses you.”

  Before she can reply, the front door swings open and slams against the wall in the living room. She pulls away from my grasp and pushes the button on the icemaker to fill the glass. I pull out my notepad from my pocket and peer down at the measurements. A few moments later, Logan storms into the kitchen, his dark eyes ruminating with jealousy.

  “Hey Chief,” I say and nod my head to him, careful to keep my voice level. “Want to run up to the hardware store with me and we can get a head start on picking the supplies up? I could come over Saturday and get to work.”

  His chest is heaving and he stalks over to Nadia. I clench my fist when he grabs her ass from behind rather forcefully, causing her to yelp out.

  “Oh,” she squeaks. “You surprised me. I was getting Ghost here a drink of water.”

  He pulls her possessively into his arms and makes a great, showy display of kissing her lips—lips I was just tasting—in front of me. Once he’s done mauling her like a starved man, he zeroes in on me with a coldness in his eyes I’ve not ever seen before.

  “Why don’t you go on ahead and pick up the supplies?” he says with a growl and nips at her neck. “I’ve missed Nadia today and would like to spend a little quality time with her.”

  Anger washes over me knowing he’s probably going to fucking hurt her again. “Sure. See you tomorrow.”

  I make it out to my car but not before hearing a bone-chilling scream.

  Her scream is one of pain and hate.

  A wounded warrior’s cry, not a victim.

  It doesn’t make any fucking sense.

  I should run back in and try to help her like I always used to try and help Mom, but something, one of those tiny details I rely on so heavily, tells me she’s got this handled.

  Eventually, I’m going to find out what’s going on in her pretty little head.

  And what the fuck is she protecting?

  Shit!

  I didn’t mean to scream.

  Logan’s wild eyes meet mine and he’s stunned into silence. Both of us stare at the door as if we expect Kasper to come raging back in here. Deep down, I sort of wish he would. I would love for it not to have to be me who has to deal with Logan, just for once. But, I also know that would be the worst possible thing to happen. I’ve made progress with Logan and I can’t fuck that up.

  “I’m sorry,” I tell him and wipe away the blood trickling from my nose with the back of my hand. “I didn’t mean to scream. You surprised me.”

  His eyes fixate on my blood like a shark in shallow waters. He wants to devour and own me. To decimate my soul.

  “Things are slipping out of my control,” he hisses and runs his fingers through his dark hair, messing up the gel that had been holding it in place. “You’re fucking this all up for me, Nadia.”

  I wince at his tone and meet his fixed look with a determined one of my own. “Maybe I like provoking you. Maybe I like being punished.” My voice wobbles unconvincingly and I hate that I don’t have more control over it.

  “Is that so?” His eyes travel along my face and over my breasts. I can tell he’s thinking up new and depraved ways to abuse me. The evil wheels in his head are turning rapidly.

  I bite my lip and nod, this time feeling a bit braver. “Yes. Hurt me, Logan.”

  Because I can take it.

  I’m the only one who can take what Logan so viciously administers.

  He takes a step toward me and I prepare for him to hit me. But he doesn’t. Instead, he drags a fingertip gently between the swell of my breasts. “Maybe you bore me these days as my fiancée,” he tells me coldly. “Maybe I should have some fun in the basement. You know I like it down there.”

  I swallow and force my terrified heart to slow its thundering beat.

  Not the basement.

  Not the fucking basement.

  “Bring the guillotine up to your room,” I tell him fearlessly. “You haven’t used it on me in a while and I kind of miss it. Most of your other toys are up here so it makes more sense to do it up here.”

  He knows I despise that fucking contraption.

  But the glimmer in his eyes tells me it excites him too.

  “Fine, doll,” he says with a predatory grin. “I’ll bite at whatever it is you’re feeding me. Until then, cook us some dinner. I’d like to eat downstairs tonight before we play.”

  I press a palm to his cheek and kiss him softly on his savage lips. “I’l
l whip up something quick,” I say with a hint of sauciness. “Déjame servirte.” Let me serve you.

  His eyes darken at the innuendo. He plants a quick kiss on my forehead and then stalks out of the kitchen, no doubt eager to terrorize my mind and body all night long.

  With shaking hands, I pull out the big container of leftover carbonada. I pour some grease into a pan and heat it up while I prep some premade dough for quick carbonada-filled empanadas. At one time, I’d had dreams of cooking professionally. It isn’t what I’d gone to college for but it’s a great love of mine. Logan can take away a lot of things from me but this is something I secretly hold on to. He doesn’t fully realize how much I enjoy it, otherwise he’d probably use it against me as well. Thankfully he is clueless and the man doesn’t complain a bit when I try new recipes out on him.

  While I cook, and I’m relaxed in my element, I let my mind drift to places that make me happy. I don’t let my mind linger on what’s to come. That’d be dangerous to my mind. I’m in control here and I need to remember that.

  Once I’ve fried the empanadas to a beautiful golden brown, I serve them up on a plate. The savory scent of meat and vegetables fills the air, reminding me of my mother who is where I learned to cook from. God, I miss that woman.

  I climb onto the counter and find a bottle of red wine in the cabinet. Tonight is going to be a doozy. The least I can do is indulge in something to calm my nerves and dull my senses.

  Hopping down to the floor, I pop the cork and pour the crimson liquid into two wine glasses. I guzzle down a glass before filling it up a second time. After I’ve managed to down another full glass, I close my eyes and smile.

  “Logan, darling,” I call out in a singsong voice. “I’m ready for you.”

  And I am.

  Game on, asshole.

  “This fucker weighs a ton,” he complains as he wrestles the big wooden contraption into his bedroom.

  I chew on my lip as my eyes graze over the dark stained wood. It’s solid and heavy. From experience, I know that the part that rests over my neck and wrists is unmovable even without the locks he always fits it with. There’s a small step behind it that sticks out just far enough and is just wide enough to put my knees on it, leaving my ass sticking out in the air. The wine from dinner has long left my system as adrenaline chased it from me. A shiver courses through me as I realize I did this to myself. Sometimes I wonder if deep down I really am a masochist. I taunt and tease the most hellish sadist into torturing me on a daily basis.

  All so I can keep him out of the basement.

  The basement is where he becomes the king of darkness.

  Where he’s not afraid to crush my soul.

  I’ll keep him out of there at all costs. At least up here, he’s more manageable. Even with all of his torture devices.

  He eventually finishes setting it up and stands. For a brief moment, he seems exhausted. A flicker of uncertainty shines in his eyes, almost as if he wonders if he should continue. But when I latch on to that gimmer of humanity and plead with unspoken words via a quivering lip and teary eyes, the flicker is snuffed out. Almost immediately. He clenches his jaw, gives a slight shake of his head, and I watch with mixed awe and horror as any compassion and normalcy and kindness left in him drains away. Those penetrating dark orbs he loves to intimidate me with are on me in a flash and he takes his time running them over my face, searching for weakness. Weakness he can taste through salty tears and devour. He’s once more a predator. The predator whose life revolves around stalking me—his favorite prey.

  “Naked. Now.”

  The beast inside him is most certainly starved for me. His mouth is probably watering just thinking about how he’ll tear my soul apart.

  “I said now,” he seethes.

  His order jolts me to attention and I quickly tear off my dress. I must still have a small buzz because I stumble a bit. Once I’ve removed my bra and panties, I step toward him, awaiting his next instruction.

  “You know what to do, doll,” he says with a growl.

  I nod and make my way over to the device. Resting my knees on the step, I wait for him to lift the top half of the mechanism. Eventually I’m settled with the front of my throat on the curved wood and have given my wrists to the contraption as well. I swallow down my anxiety as he lowers the top part over me, effectively trapping me in. He tugs my hair out between the slats and gathers it in a messy ponytail. With quick fingers, he ties it up and out of the way. When he steps away, I close my eyes knowing what comes next. The snap of the padlock clasping into place sends a rush of anxiety galloping through me.

  Go to a happier place.

  I don’t have to see him to know that he’s walked around behind me. Rubbing my thighs together, I attempt to turn myself on some in hopes it’ll make the whole process easier to endure. When he touches my ass, I squeak out in surprise.

  His laugh is cold and cruel. “You act like you’ve never done this before, doll. And while I appreciate your attempt at feigning innocence, we both know you’re well aware of what’s about to happen. In fact, I want you to instruct me on what to do.”

  Tears threaten but I blink them away. “Uh, okay. Well, you need to apply some lube to the anal hook first.”

  A pop of a cap behind me chills the blood in my veins. His heavy breathing is in cadence with mine. “And then?”

  “Insert it into my ass,” I say in a whisper. “Dios mío, dame fuerza.” Dear God, give me strength.

  “Remember, your God isn’t here, doll.” He’s surprisingly gentle as he pushes the bulbous head of the hook past the tight rings of my asshole. Once it makes it beyond the opening, my body seems to suck it all the way in. I let out a gasp at which he chuckles.

  “Now,” I instruct with a wobble to my voice, “attach the chain to the end and bring it over the top of the guillotine to my hair.”

  The cold, thin chain slinks along my spine and goosebumps rise all over my flesh. He’s not as gentle as he ties the chain around the bun in my hair. It tugs not only my hair but at the hook inside of me.

  “Ah!” I yelp out and then let out a rush of relieved breath when he releases the chain. “Uh, then, well, what do you want to do with my mouth?”

  “Hmmm,” he says thoughtfully and rounds the contraption so that he’s standing in front of me, still in his work slacks. “I feel like gagging you. What do you want to be gagged with today?”

  He starts undressing and I attempt to come up with the least brutalizing answer.

  “Your cock. Fuck my face with your cock,” I suggest, a little too eagerly.

  As if answering me, his thick, proud dick bounces heavily from his boxers as he shoves them down his thighs. Once he’s completely naked, he strides over to me. With no warning, he pokes the tip of his cock against my parted lips and then shoves himself all the down my throat.

  I gag and fist my hands but I’m helpless against his assault. I’m trying to relax my throat to take his enormous size when he grabs on to the chain in my hair. A scream hums through me around his thick length as he jerks at the chain over and over again. It’s not that it necessarily hurts, but I hate the fact that I worry about what sort of damage he could inflict if he pulls too hard.

  Instead of focusing on what I can’t control, I close my eyes and focus on the past.

  Go to him.

  To your mental safety net.

  “I need to see Donovan.” My tone is clipped and cool. Darcy—with her platinum blonde hair, red razor claws, and long legs—is a real irritant. Every time I come to visit him, she has trouble keeping the plastic smile on her face.

  For me, she sneers.

  For me, she glares.

  For me, she lets the ugliness hiding under the pretty façade show.

  She clearly has other thoughts about her boss—my stepfather—besides those that include employee and superior. And it pisses me off more than I care to admit. Not because he belongs to Mamá. Not at all. In fact, I’m quite frustrated with my mother’s beha
vior since her marriage to Donovan. Even though I was shocked at their sudden nuptials, I soon realized he was simply a placeholder. Someone to fill a spot so we wouldn’t be lonely. They slept in different bedrooms from the beginning. And while they never argue—they actually seem to like each other, often tag-teaming against me when they think it benefits me to do so—they’ve not once been intimate or affectionate around me. Mamá’s never gotten over my father and quite frankly, I don’t think she ever will. That’s what’s so unfair to Donovan and why I attempt to fill the void of her mental absence.

  But even if their marriage was on the fritz, I wouldn’t approve of Darcy’s blazing red fingernails anywhere near Donovan’s firm chest or broad shoulders. Darcy is a bitch with ulterior motives. And my stepfather deserves better. He deserves better than my mother, too, but I’d never voice that one aloud.

  “He’s in a meeting,” Darcy sneers.

  Yep, saves all of her catty bitchiness for me and me only.

  “I’ll wait. It’s important. I’m leaving tomorrow and I need to talk to him.”

  She rolls her eyes and drags her attention to her computer monitor. Her gaudy nails tap away at the keyboard as she ignores me.

  Since she chooses to pretend I don’t exist, I give her the same treatment and make a beeline for Donovan’s office door. “Miss Jayne!” I hear her protesting in my wake, along with the sound of her chair scraping against the marble floors, but she’s too slow. I shove through the double doors to his office, abruptly turning and clicking the lock in place behind me.

  “—the fucking mountain to its goddamned knees for all I care. The resort is mine, not theirs, Dan,” Donovan snarls at the man from across his desk as I enter, interrupting a meeting indeed.

  I let out a sigh of relief to see it’s his CFO, Dan Reed. Donovan’s steely glare snaps to mine and for a moment, I freeze. He appears furious. But as soon as he registers it’s me standing in his office, the anger melts away like butter and a smile tugs at his lips.

  “Hey,” I say with a wave. “I wanted to talk to you before I have to leave tomorrow.”