Cleave (Cutting Cords Series Book 3)

by Mickie B. Ashling

  Trent must have sensed my mood because he reached under the table and slid his hand dangerously close to the hard basket still covering my dick. He squeezed me gently and gazed into my teary eyes as I struggled to find my center amidst the chaotic thoughts. His touch reassured me, and I took a deep breath, focusing on my breathing instead of letting dangerous ideas run rampant―a prelude to a cutting incident. Was I ever going to get over these feelings of inferiority? My entire life had been plagued with self-loathing over one thing or another, and although I was 95 percent cured, the remaining 5 percent was a stubborn bitch.

  I walked into the terminal at La Guardia with Dad while Trent made arrangements for the limo to return in about thirty minutes for the ride back into the city.

  “I like your new man,” Dad said, nodding his approval. “He’s financially savvy, and he knows his sports.”

  “He’s also hot and fucks like a rabbit.”

  “TMI, Sloan.”

  “I’m not with Trent because he knows how to make money or can tell the difference between a slider and a curve ball.”

  “I didn’t think so, but it appeals to me.”

  “Good to know, Dad.”

  “Whatever you’re getting out of this seems to be working. You look happy, kid.”

  “I am.”

  “So something good did come out of your breakup. I never got the whole story. Did Cole decide he wasn’t gay after five years?”

  “He wanted to give Ken grandsons, and I couldn’t get pregnant.”

  “Oh, for Pete’s sake. He knew that from the get-go.”

  “It’s a done deal and not worthy of discussion.”

  “He still loves you, you know. He was hanging on your every word.”

  “Why bring this up now?”

  “Just making conversation.”

  “It’s pointless.”

  “Here’s Trent,” Dad said, abruptly ending our one-on-one. Trent put his arm around me, and we walked with Dad to the security checkpoint.

  “You boys should come out next summer and watch Junior pitch. I can get the best seats in the house.”

  “We’ll think about it, Dad.”

  “Okay,” he said, hugging me like a bear, adding a few extra thumps on the back for good measure. Breaking away, he reached for Trent’s hand and shook it forcefully. “It’s nice to meet you, son. Take care of my boy.”

  “Likewise,” Trent said. “I’ll take good care of Sloan.”

  “Whatever,” I mumbled as we walked away from my father. “Why do I feel like I’m twelve whenever he’s around?”

  “Because he treats you like a child.”

  “Do you think he’ll ever change?”

  “I doubt it.”

  “Christ….”

  Trent pulled me closer and remained silent until we were in the car. After helping me buckle up, he commented. “I’m beginning to understand why you’re so insecure.”

  My eyes filled, and I could feel myself on the edge of the abyss again. It was incredibly disturbing to know my father had so much power over my psyche. His blatant admiration of Junior, while cross-examining me over my relationships, did nothing for my self-esteem. I was horrified when a tear rolled down my face, and I swiped at it angrily. “I’m doing the best I can.”

  “You’ve done a fine job, Sloan. Don’t let this weigh you down.”

  “I’ll try,” I said, looking out the window and effectively putting an end to the conversation.

  When we got back to Trent’s apartment, he surprised me by removing the cock cage as soon as we shut the front door. “Take a shower and come out here when you’re done. Don’t put any clothes on.”

  “Okay.”

  “Okay?”

  “Yes, Master.”

  He blinked slowly, shuttering away the warm man I’d seen at the restaurant and airport, replacing him with a stony replica as approachable as Mount Rushmore. In public, I was allowed to call him Trent, but in private, it was sir or Master. Any deviation merited a punishment, which usually involved some form of humiliation. In the past, he’d had me clean the bathroom tiles with a toothbrush and scour the toilet with a Brillo pad cut into fourths. I had to lick the rim of the bowl when I was done to prove I’d done a fine job. I assumed these methods of punishment were a carryover from his days in the military, but they rankled, and the less frequently I had to do them the better. I’d gotten very good at slipping on my submissive hat the minute we crossed our threshold, but tonight I’d forgotten. And I knew there would be payback.

  I tried to get it together while I was soaping myself, but the emotional upheaval of the last forty-eight hours got the better of me, and I didn’t try to fight the tears any longer. I only hoped they’d dry up by the time I faced Trent. I wasn’t even sure why I was crying, but it felt good nonetheless.

  By the time I stood in front of Trent with the towel wrapped around my waist, I was calm but for the puffiness around my eyes.

  “You’ve been crying,” Trent said quietly.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Why?”

  “I’m not sure, Master.”

  “Come closer,” he said. He was sitting in his favorite chair, and he spread his legs apart to accommodate my body. He yanked off my towel, leaving me naked and vulnerable in every way. He caressed my ass gently, then kneaded my thighs as we talked. I tried mind control to whisk myself off to another planet so I wouldn’t react to his touch, but it wasn’t working. My neglected cock was rising at a frightening rate, and Trent stared at it hungrily. “You have the most amazing prick.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “I’m going to suck you and bring you to the edge, but if you come, the cock cage goes back on.”

  “Master, please don’t.”

  “Why should I deprive myself when I’m not the one who’s being punished?”

  “Let me go down on you, sir.”

  “No.”

  “Please, sir?”

  “Step forward, Sloan.”

  I inched closer, but I wasn’t fast enough, and Trent clenched my hips and yanked me so close my cock was touching his face. “Remember,” he whispered, seconds before sucking me inside his ravenous mouth, “don’t come.”

  I watched in appreciation as his beautiful head bobbed up and down. Seeing Trent lose himself in my body was wildly erotic, but I struggled to keep my orgasm in check. My nerve endings were on fire with the pleasurable sensations created by his talented tongue as it twirled around my shaft expertly. The combination of toe-curling ecstasy and excruciating pain from holding back left me wobbly, and I could barely stand. I held on to his head for support and begged him to stop, croaking out the word please to no avail. Trent was lost in his own world, and I felt my balls drawing up into my body, a second away from exploding when he pushed me away abruptly.

  “Stop,” he said so forcefully he shocked me into submission. Everything was suspended by the power of his voice, and I breathed a huge sigh of relief as my orgasm slid back down whatever tunnel it was barreling through.

  “Good boy,” he said, smiling in satisfaction as my saliva-slicked cock drooped obediently. He undressed while he walked toward the bureau where he kept his “toys.” The shirt flew off, and he stopped for a second to hop out of his jeans and kick them across the room, followed quickly by socks, shoes, and lastly, his boxers. By the time he’d grabbed the cock ring and inclined his head for me to climb up on the bed, he was naked and hard. I whimpered, knowing what was coming next.

  “On your hands and knees, Sloan.”

  “Sir, please don’t—”

  “You’re not coming tonight.”

  “Oh God.”

  Trent snickered when he snapped the cock ring into place. “Might as well pray to Him. That’s always a good distraction.”

  Swallowing my snarly comeback, I assumed the position, and he poured the lube liberally in and around my crack. The familiar sound of tearing foil meant he was another step closer, and I waited to be breached, willing myse
lf to imagine repulsive old men with saggy balls and shriveled penises in the hope of controlling my erection. If I could get through the next ten minutes of my life without blowing, the future would be infinitely better.

  I blanked out all thoughts but one as I felt him thrusting past the tight ring of muscle. Don’t come; don’t come. Fortunately, he was in a hurry tonight, and his movements were rough and unguarded, solely intended for his pleasure. I squeezed my eyes and gritted my teeth. Within seconds, he switched from long strokes to short jabs, and his breath released in short pants. His nails dug into my hips when he finally came and, praise God, I didn’t.

  He pulled out, removed the condom, and dropped it into the wastebasket by the bed. Reaching for me, he crushed my mouth with hungry kisses, murmuring his appreciation for my restraint. “Good boy,” he whispered, holding me close. My cock was painfully distended, and it was excruciating to feel anything rubbing up against it.

  “Master… please.”

  He cradled my face in between his hands, and the look in his eyes had completely changed. The badass was gone, and my Highlander was back, mellowed by my submission. “You’ve been very, very good.”

  “Sir?”

  “And good boys deserve rewards.”

  I held my breath, not daring to hope, but when I felt him reach down and pull off the cock ring, I almost wept in relief. “Come for me, Sloan.”

  I humped his leg, frantic to relieve the ache in my groin. The orgasm was electrifying, and I screamed when I finally crested the wave in an explosion of warm spunk that splattered over his legs and stomach. Trent laughed softly in the background, calmly enjoying the spectacle of his blitzed-out submissive in the throes of a spectacular climax.

  He continued to hold and kiss me as I floated back down to earth, making the orgasm so much sweeter. “Thank you, Master.”

  “You’re welcome. I know it’s been a rough couple of days, and I don’t want to take anything away from your effort, which has been brilliant so far, but I want you to know this was a gift, not a reprieve. You’re still my slave.”

  “I understand,” I said, although I really didn’t. “Why did you let me come?”

  “I’m not heartless. I know what it cost you to face Cole and your father on the same day.”

  “You’re very perceptive.”

  “I’m trying damn hard to understand what makes you tick.”

  “I’m grateful.”

  “I don’t want your thanks, boy. I want your complete and utter submission.”

  “Yes, sir. Shall I start dinner?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did you have anything special in mind?”

  “Anything except Japanese.”

  “Is this a reaction to seeing Cole, or do you really hate their food?”

  Trent shrugged. “I don’t hate it, but I’m tired of it. It seems that’s all you ever make.”

  “I’ll try to be more eclectic in the kitchen, sir.”

  “Before you go, we have one thing to address.”

  “My punishment for not using your title, sir?”

  “Yes. What do you think it should be?”

  “Whatever works for you, sir.” I was too loopy from my orgasm to really care. “Do you want me to bend over for a spanking?”

  “It’s fast and beats cleaning toilets, don’t you agree?”

  “Yes, Master,” I said somberly. Spanking was a dreaded soft limit of mine, and he knew it too. I felt infantilized every time he’d take a paddle to my ass.

  “One swat should do it, and hopefully, the sting will remind you of who’s in charge.”

  I stood and made my way over to the bureau and pulled out the dreaded English paddle. I handed it to him and bent over, bracing myself with my hands on my thighs. Clenching my ass cheeks in anticipation, I exhaled loudly when I felt the god-awful splat.

  “There you go,” Trent said, rubbing my hot cheek. “We’re done for the night.”

  Chapter 13

  Trent inhaled the chicken fried steak I’d prepared, praising my culinary skills. Who knew that watching my mom all those years ago would actually pay off? I’d never had a chance to explore the dishes I’d learned at her elbow when I lived with Cole. He had insisted on preparing most of our meals, taking great pains to come up with a healthy dish I wouldn’t reject. He stressed the importance of presentation, which, to his mind, was as critical as the flavor. It was ironic he’d been so concerned about appearances, but Cole was enthralled by all things Japanese. Part of their esthetic were a set of ancient ideals emphasizing transient and stark beauty, natural patina and aging, and profound grace and subtlety. Trent didn’t give a shit what the food looked like so long as it filled the void. To hear him mumble “this is really good” was deeply satisfying, even though I felt like a Stepford wife at the moment.

  “What type of food did you have at home?” I asked nonchalantly, hoping to gain some insight on my mysterious master.

  “Meat and potatoes.”

  “Care to elaborate, sir?”

  “I’m from the heartland, Sloan. I never heard of sushi until I enlisted.”

  “Didn’t your family worry about cholesterol?”

  Trent snorted. “Are you serious? We raised animals for food. No one in our immediate vicinity was a vegan.”

  “You were raised on a farm?”

  “Pig farm,” he said, shoveling in another forkful of meat.

  “No kidding? What was it like?”

  “Dirty and labor-intensive. I hated it.”

  “Pigs are cute.”

  “No they’re not.”

  “What do you mean? The ones I’ve seen at the Sacramento State Fair were sweet.”

  “Pigs are destructive and only live to eat. If they don’t get their food on time, they turn into wild animals. No way do they resemble sweet Wilbur from Charlotte’s Web.”

  “Aw, did ya have to go and burst my bubble?”

  Trent shook his head and laughed. “They’d chew your leg off if you let them. The few boars we kept around for breeding purposes went nuts whenever there was a sow in heat. Any and all methods were used to keep them away from the ladies.”

  “Like what?”

  “We couldn’t afford the stun guns they used at other places, so we used brute force instead. Elbow grease and barbed wire usually worked to keep them under control.”

  “Sounds terrifying.”

  “I was scared of them when I was little, but I got over it very quickly. I had no choice, Sloan. They were my family’s only means of support.”

  “What else did you do?”

  “As soon as I got older and stronger, I learned the more delicate job of castrating.”

  “Jesus,” I gasped. “No wonder you’re so good with a blade. How does it work?”

  “It usually involves two people. Initially, I’d hold the piglet while my father did the cutting, but soon the roles were reversed, and I did all the castrations until I left the farm.”

  “Barbaric,” I muttered.

  “Not at all. It’s a necessary part of animal husbandry, and I became as proficient as a surgeon. My father insisted I master the fine art of cutting before I learned how to drive. I realized early on that I had an ironclad stomach and felt no remorse when I loaded the animals into the truck to take them to the butcher. They served a purpose, and it was my obligation to do my job well and bring it to a satisfactory conclusion, from birthing the little bastards to frying them up for breakfast.”

  “You’re heartless.”

  “Nope, just a pig farmer. If I had cried over every animal, I’d never have survived.”

  “I like hearing about your childhood.”

  “There wasn’t much to it, Sloan. I worked my tail off until I left for West Point, where I worked even harder.”

  “When did the fun start?”

  “Getting away from the pigs was plenty fun.”

  “I’m surprised you took so well to the military life. I would think a person like you would have trouble
taking orders, sir.”

  “Not when it’s part of a structured society. Everyone has a place and a purpose in the military. I had no trouble fitting in as soon as I learned the hierarchy. That’s not to say I didn’t prefer giving the orders instead of taking them. I worked damn hard to become the person in charge.”

  “How long were you there?”

  “Almost ten years.”

  “Wow. What countries have you been to?”

  “Afghanistan, Iraq, Saudi Arabia, Pakistan―most of the Middle East.”

  “What was it like?”

  “Hot and dusty.”

  “Did you ever get hurt?”

  Trent looked up sharply with his fork suspended halfway to his mouth. There was something in his eyes I’d never seen before. For one second, I saw beyond the veil, but he quickly shoved it away with the wave of a hand. He stood and tossed his napkin on the table. “We can play twenty questions another day. I’m going to go downstairs and have a cigarette. When I get back, I expect you to be done in here. Take a shower and wait for me in our bedroom. And Sloan?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Don’t bother with pajamas.”

  I watched him walk out, and I was more curious than ever. The little glimpse I’d had of a childhood I would never understand was enlightening and made me realize what an extraordinary man he was. Rising from such a humble background couldn’t have been easy. On the surface, Trent was pretty straightforward, but I knew there were layers I’d barely uncovered. Finding out more would be as challenging as learning how to be the perfect submissive. That being said, I was a little reluctant to turn over my heart to a virtual stranger until he was willing to share himself completely. What if it all blew up in my face? How did I know he would stick with me through thick and thin? I wasn’t exactly a sure bet either. If I were a horse, the odds would be off the charts.

  Part of my role as Trent’s slave was to make sure all his physical needs were met. This included feeding him when he was hungry and being his sex toy when he was horny. I was his to use and do with as he wanted, within the parameters of our original agreement. It had been over forty-eight hours since we’d embarked on this new arrangement, and so far, my suffering had centered around the dreaded cock cage, which had been washed and put away after my earth-shattering orgasm. Since Trent had taken the edge off, my attitude toward servitude was much improved.