Cleave (Cutting Cords Series Book 3)

by Mickie B. Ashling

  “I will do anything to make you see me in a better light.”

  “Even being a slave?”

  I lifted my gaze. My warm and sexy Highlander, the easygoing man I’d come to care for over the last many months, had disappeared, and in his place was a frigid stranger―someone fiercely determined to assert his control. I wondered if we would ever be able to recapture the warm and fuzzy feelings. “What does it mean to be your slave?”

  “For one thing, you don’t ask questions. If I tell you to jump, you do. If I forbid you to come, you don’t. When I ask you to lick my boots or kiss my ass, you happily obey.”

  I sucked in a shocked breath. “That’s what you want?”

  “Not on a permanent basis, but you need to learn some humility, boy.”

  “I can grovel with the best of them.”

  “We’ll see,” Trent scoffed. “I’ll give you five minutes to make your decision. You are under no obligation, so don’t feel you owe me anything. What I’m asking of you must be completely consensual, or it’s not going to happen. Leave your key on the table by the door if you decide not to do this. There will be no hard feelings on my part, but whatever we have will end tonight. However, if you choose to stay, it’s with the understanding that you remain on my terms.”

  “How long am I expected to be your slave?”

  “As long as it takes to convince me you’re sincere about wanting this to work.”

  Trent must have sensed my alarm and said, “Don’t look so horrified. I won’t be asking you to do anything I wouldn’t do.”

  “What about work?”

  “What about it? Life goes on, Sloan. You’re not going to be walking around with a ball and chain around your ankle. Whatever I demand will be within the confines of our respective apartments.”

  “That’s a relief.”

  “It doesn’t mean I won’t send you off to work without a cage around your cock or a vibrating butt plug rammed up your ass. You will do and wear anything I ask.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Count on it.”

  “Oh. My. God.”

  Trent arched a brow, but he didn’t relent. He walked out of the bedroom without another word.

  I slumped down on the floor with a sigh. So much for honesty… if I’d said nothing about my encounter with Cole, I’d never be facing such a momentous decision. And it was huge, to my mind. Maybe Trent was right, and I was merely dabbling in BDSM because the sex was out of this world. The few times I’d needed to be cut had been intense and the high so very, very high. I would have stripped naked and crawled around Times Square barking like a dog if Trent had asked me to do it.

  But this wasn’t a game to Trent, and I was finally beginning to realize what I was getting myself into.

  It had been easy in the beginning of our relationship. Being compliant when we first hooked up was a no-brainer because I’d been in the throes of despair over my breakup with Cole. Trent offered comfort, hot sex, and an ego boost unlike anything I’d find in a psychiatrist’s office. His acceptance of my cutting had been another plus, and the rush I’d felt the first time Trent had guided me into subspace was worth its weight in gold. But Trent had just reminded me this dynamic wasn’t about sex. It was about power, and handing it over without question wasn’t something that came naturally, contrary to what I’d been led to believe. Trent and Max had both convinced me I was submissive by nature. But I really wasn’t. I submitted to the strong men in my life because it was my choice, not because I automatically fell into the mindset. It was a conscious thing I did to please them. Did that make me an imposter? Was I a Dom in a sub’s disguise? There was really only one way to find out.

  I stripped. Long ago, when Max had introduced me to the world of BDSM, he’d mentioned the reason subs were usually naked while their masters were fully clothed was to establish the hierarchy of power. Prisoners of war were routinely stripped before an interrogation. It put one in a vulnerable state, and the chasm between Dominant and submissive was never more apparent when viewed in terms of clothing. The classic black leather favored by most masters was a throwback to the days of the cavemen when people wore skins as a sign of their prowess as hunters. Now it simply evoked power. There was a reason behind most of the rituals common in the scene. They were necessary tools to get people to fall in step.

  I walked out of the bedroom and headed for the kitchen. Trent was standing beside the sink, drinking something out of a cup. He put it down when I approached and knelt in front of him. “Please, let me stay. I will be whatever you want me to be.”

  The bulge in his trousers signaled a positive reaction to my humility. “Are you one hundred percent sure?”

  “I am.”

  “You do this freely and give full consent?”

  “I do.”

  “Do you remember your safeword?”

  “It’s Queen.”

  “You give me your word that you will use it as soon as you deem it necessary? You won’t hold back or try to act like a martyr because you feel you have to atone for any transgressions?”

  “I give you my word.”

  “Thank you, Sloan. You’ve made me very happy.”

  “Would you like me to make you even happier?” I asked, burying my face against the outline of his cock.

  “Go ahead,” he said, “but don’t touch yourself. You’re not allowed to come.”

  “Yes, Master.”

  I released his cock from the tight confines of his pants and slid it down my throat expertly. I gave my master the perfect blowjob, ignoring my massive erection. It wasn’t easy, but I resisted. By the time Trent unloaded down my throat, I was shaking from the effort of controlling the urge to come all over the floor. Moments after, my phone rang. It was the ringtone identifying Cole. Trent turned hostile and shoved me away, glaring as we listened to the sappy lyrics.

  “If you don’t delete that ringtone, I will take a hammer to your phone.”

  “I’m sorry. I’ll do it right now.”

  “Stay.”

  I sank back down on my knees and cringed when the phone rang again. “He’s calling because I promised I’d go to see the twins.”

  “I forbid you to see him or the children.”

  “But….”

  “If you pick up the phone, it’s over.”

  “I won’t.”

  “Good. Get up, turn the damn thing off, and get a cock cage out of the bureau in my bedroom.”

  “Which one?”

  “I don’t care. Make sure it’s something you’ve used before so it fits.”

  “How long am I going to wear it?”

  “Until I decide to take it off.”

  My boner wilted exponentially. I left the kitchen reluctantly and went back to the bedroom. The bureau Trent used to store his sex paraphernalia stood against one wall, and I rooted around for the hated chastity device. After choosing the most harmless cage amongst the bunch, I dragged myself back to the kitchen and handed it over to Trent, who was sitting on a stool.

  He manhandled my flaccid cock dispassionately and stuffed me into the black rubber-coated metal cage, then locked it in place and pocketed the key.

  “There you go,” he said, satisfied with his handiwork. “Safe and secure.”

  “Yes, Master.”

  “Behave and I may let you take it off tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow!” I squeaked in alarm. “What if I have to pee?”

  “Tell me and I’ll remove it.”

  “That’s inhuman,” I sputtered.

  “Are you questioning me?”

  “No, sir,” I said, backpedaling furiously.

  “Get dinner started. I’m going to take a nap.”

  “Dinner? What shall I make?”

  “Nothing Japanese.”

  Chapter 9

  Although fully stocked, Trent’s refrigerator didn’t inspire me in the least. Perhaps it was because I wasn’t a cook to begin with, but standing naked with a chastity device guarding my virtue, or lack there
of, was such a buzzkill. Clearly this humiliation was part of my punishment, and I was to be on display and subjected to Trent’s iron rule until he was ready to forgive me. At the moment, he was royally pissed off, and who could blame him? It was amazing he’d even let me touch his cock, considering I was soiled from my recent encounter with Cole.

  In hindsight, I wished I’d followed Max’s advice and said nothing. Did I confess because it was the right thing to do, or was it some Freudian slip, hoping Trent would break it off with me so I could go back to Cole? Was it the unvarnished truth behind the infamous fuck, or was it really an impulsive act? I’d never expected a resurgence of old feelings, but there was an emotional connection between Cole and me that was downright disturbing. I’d hoped the link had been severed by his poor choices, but seeing Cole for the first time since our breakup had been more traumatic than I’d anticipated. Worse, if you consider what happened.

  Was it force of habit, or did I still love the guy, even while I was “in love” with Trent? I’d always felt protective about Cole because of his disability, and seeing him in such a helpless state had awakened the guardian angel in me. I worried about him, plain and simple. How could I abide by Trent’s rules and still help Cole? Right then, I wished I’d been wrong about Noriko. If they could work out their differences, I could walk away from the sorry mess without feeling like I was abandoning him. And honestly, what could I possibly say? I’d been completely out of the loop for nine months. If the court found out the births were surrogate but cloaked in a legal marriage, there might be repercussions. At the very least, they would award Noriko joint custody. Worst case, they’d slap Cole with horrendous fines and give her sole custody. All the money in the world wouldn’t help him if he was found guilty for breaking the law. The sympathy of the court would be on Noriko’s side.

  Trent walked into the kitchen and glared when he saw me standing in front of the refrigerator. “Can’t make up your mind?”

  “What do you want?” I said, with a little more venom than I’d intended. He picked up on it immediately and hauled me up to within an inch of his face.

  “You got a problem, boy?”

  “I’m sorry… It came out wrong.”

  “Put a lid on it, Sloan, or I’m going to rethink your punishment.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “There are a couple of steaks in there. Stick ’em on the broiler pan and be done with it. I’m not expecting a four-course dinner.”

  “You want sides?”

  “Doesn’t matter,” Trent said, leaving the room.

  Max had warned me that Trent could be a badass if circumstances warranted it. Suddenly my master’s darker side was emerging, and I had no idea if I could endure it. At least I’d been spared the traditional methods of punishment. Being flogged or spanked in a public scene would have pushed me into using my safeword, and Trent knew it. Despite his anger and disappointment, he was in complete control and more than aware of what did and didn’t work for his sub.

  Early on in our relationship, when we’d discussed the BDSM lifestyle and negotiated our arrangement, I’d been very clear on my hard limits. Public scenes and instruments of torture, such as bullwhips, riding crops, and nipple clamps, were not my thing. I could withstand humiliation in a private setting and was more inclined to be cooperative with edge play than anything else. Bondage was tolerated, so long as it led up to sex, but knife play was my preferred kink, and thankfully, Trent was a master with a blade. I enjoyed playacting as well and participated wholeheartedly in scenes, especially anything involving marauding Scotsmen in kilts.

  Trent was far more versatile when it came to likes and dislikes, but titles were paramount. He insisted on being called sir or Master, even though I felt a little silly using the words. They didn’t come naturally, and I had to make a conscious effort not to say them with any hint of derision. Trent had not pushed, letting me get comfortable within our relationship before he’d exerted his will, but once he’d determined I was ready, it became a requirement. Because I’d had a bad experience with Max and my initial forays into BDSM, Trent had been patient and accommodating as hell. He’d taken the time to initiate me little by little, always having a conversation before and after a scene to determine what did and didn’t work. Trent could be as gentle as a newborn kitten, but underneath his sexy exterior was a warrior who’d put himself in harm’s way for his country, and his underlying strength was easily apparent.

  There were certain rules governing his world, and I chafed at some of them, but there was also a part of me that needed the discipline, especially when it was offered with a loving hand. He respected me and was far less judgmental than Cole. I could speak my mind and was free to eat, drink, or smoke wherever and whatever I wanted. Trent treated me like an adult and enjoyed almost everything about me. Knowing I was appreciated, on top of the outstanding sex, made up for most of the things I couldn’t stomach about BDSM.

  We’d had a honeymoon for the last nine months, and this situation I’d created through my own poor judgment was a real wake-up call. The price of being treated like an adult was paying for my mistakes like a man. Trent wasn’t going to pat me on the rump and send me off to a corner for a time-out. In all fairness, I considered my punishment to be reasonable. I only hoped it would be short-lived. There was no one to blame but myself, but when Trent used the word “forbid,” I wanted to tell him to fuck off. Nothing could prevent me from seeing Cole or his boys if I wanted to, but I swallowed the words, convinced it would be the end of our union, however tentative it might be.

  I grabbed the tray of New York strips and turned on the broiler. Sprinkling the meat with a generous amount of Lawry’s steak blend, I waited for the oven to heat up properly so I could sear both sides and serve them medium rare, the way Trent liked. Instant mashed potatoes and some frozen peas and carrots would complete the meal. Glancing down at my cock cage, I wondered how long I’d be able to tolerate it. Patience wasn’t one of my virtues, and I had a terrible time obeying mindlessly, but I wanted this relationship to work, and if this was the price I had to pay, then so be it.

  My phone was within reach, and it would be easy to listen to my messages if I really wanted to. No doubt, there would be several from Cole, but suspending all contact with my ex was the smarter choice. I had no desire to remain on Trent’s shit list, and one whiff of defiance would most likely push my master’s patience to the limit.

  I prepared the mashed potatoes by following the directions on the box. Waiting for the milk to boil, I reflected on this morning’s incident. Why did I still care about Cole after everything he’d done?

  Sighing, I moved the pan off the range after the buzzer rang, threw in the bag of potato mix, and stirred it up with a fork. I kept telling myself to quit fretting. Cole was no longer my problem. One fuck would not erase the emotional trauma he’d inflicted before our break up. I needed to get past this disaster and all the feelings it had revived. I reached for my phone, and instead of deleting his number, I edited. The original ringtone was switched to a discreet buzz. I also changed his name. If my former partner persisted in trying to get in touch, and Trent happened to look on caller ID, he’d see the name Freddie. Hopefully, it wouldn’t arouse any suspicions. Trent wasn’t the kind of person who’d stoop to monitoring my phone calls. He’d never done it in the past, and I was pretty confident he’d never do it in the future. My Dom believed in the honor system, and although I was completely dishonorable for doing this, I couldn’t help myself. I had to be available to Cole in case of an emergency. If, God forbid, Trent ever found out, I hoped he’d understand my compassion for Cole was as much a part of my personality as my desire to see our fledgling D/s union thrive and take root.

  After cleaning up the dinner mess, Trent asked me to join him in the living room. He was sitting in his favorite easy chair with a brandy snifter in one hand, looking quite pensive. I knelt at his feet and waited to hear what he was about to say.

  “Thank you for dinner, Sloan. It was
good.”

  “You’re welcome, sir.”

  “I’d like to talk about what happened between you and Cole.”

  “Do we have to?”

  “I think it would be beneficial to our relationship.”

  “What can I say?” I shrugged helplessly. “I let my emotions get the better of me.”

  “Do you still love him?”

  “I’m not in love with him, but yeah, I feel something for the man.”

  “You’re obviously still attracted.”

  “I’m not sure, sir. It almost felt like revenge. Hearing him beg and nailing him with hardly any prep was exhilarating.”

  Renewed anger sparked in Trent’s steely gaze. “You miss that part of sex, don’t you?”

  I shrugged and bowed my head.

  “Answer me.”

  “I can’t deny it, sir, but I’m okay with what we do.”

  “Is this your way of punishing me for holding back?”

  “No, sir!”

  “Are you sure? Have you examined your motives?”

  “I’m very satisfied with our sex life.”

  “But you’d prefer to top me occasionally.”

  “If it pleases you, sir.”

  “Spare me the bullshit.”

  “Master, I’ve begged you over and over. I don’t understand why you’re so reluctant. Do you think it’s beneath you?”

  Trent’s composure snapped and, for a second, I was sure he’d punch my lights out, but he managed to curtail his natural instincts. Although when he replied, he was practically vibrating with tension. “What I think is none of your business. When I’m ready to share my thoughts, I will, but unfortunately, your recent actions have disturbed me greatly. I’m not sure we have a future together.”

  “But I said I was sorry.”

  Trent stood abruptly and put his glass down on the table beside the chair. “I’m going to get ready for bed. You can sleep on the sofa tonight.”

  “Do I have to?”

  “Grab a blanket out of the closet and get comfortable.”

  “What about the cage?”

  “Deal with it.”

  “I have to pee.”