by Skye Warren
She knew he wanted her.
He said he didn’t. It had almost seemed as if he hadn’t known she was a slave. As if he hadn’t purchased her and brought her to his home. He promised to send her away every time he spoke, but still he hadn’t. Even though she had asked to go home, he had kept her.
Possession. Servitude. This was what she had trained for, and he was a kinder Master than she would have thought possible.
His eyebrows drew together as he worked. His movements grew slower, more careful. The hard planes of his face had softened in the glow of the lamp, a lock of black hair fell over his eyes. He raised a different sort of awareness in her than obedience, as well, one of a woman to a man.
The way he focused on it was the way he focused on her, and she longed to see the outpouring of his intensity. In the same way she would trace any marks he granted her body, she wanted to see the wounds he cut into the wood.
He straightened and stretched his arms. His eyes caught hers.
“Bored, are you?” He swung his arms down, tilted his head from side to side as if to loosen tight muscles. “Told you to stay in the house. There’s books at least, if you like reading about metalworking.”
It almost sounded like teasing, the way his voice lowered. She cocked her head to the side.
“Come here.” He stepped aside to make room. At her hesitation, he said, “Don’t worry. I’m not planning on using this.”
She carefully stepped down from the bench and approached him. Truly, she knew better than this. A master was capricious, unstable. Harsh on the best days, but oh, there was worse. But his quiet intensity was a balm to unseen wounds. His stark kindness more seductive than the painful vibrating wands they used to induce her orgasms.
Looking down at the contraption, she tried to ignore his size, his heat at her side. At first it seemed that this piece had no carvings, until she cautiously circled the bench and saw the markings on the bottom rung. And they were upside down. She tilted her head, so that she could see the scene the same way a woman who was tied down on the bench would see it.
Another scene from The Odyssey. This time a woman with long golden hair stood naked on the beach while Odysseus was tied to the mast of his ship, desperate and wanting.
“Do you like it?” There was an uncertainty in his gruff voice that said this mattered.
It wasn’t simply the artwork that was beautiful, it was the reverence to the person who would be imprisoned here, hurt here. I’m just as much a slave as you, this said. She nodded.
He studied her. “I think you do understand. It’s your eyes. You speak with them.”
She stared up into his remote brown ones and wished he did that too. Looking up at him, the way his thick lashes framed his eyes, something stirred in her mind. Something dark and sinister, and she pushed it back where it couldn’t frighten her.
He turned back to the bench. “I’m making this for my brother, for his wedding present. He’d rather have this than a cheese platter. He runs an import/export business, and he already ships most of my stuff between here and the mainland. So there’s no reason I shouldn’t send it.”
He looked at her as if she might object then sighed when she didn’t. “I should be over it by now. Maybe that’s why you ended up here, subby. To teach me about forgiveness, about letting go of all this damned ugly pride. Well, tell me. What’s the secret then?”
Her gaze fell to the floor, demurring.
“No.” He lifted her chin. “There’s been enough looking at the floor. Look at me.”
She tried, but everything was a blur. He wiped a tear from her cheek.
“None of that either. At least, not unless I’m trying to hurt you. Here, give me a few minutes to clean up here and then I want to show you something. You’ve been a good girl. You deserve a reward.”
* * *
She jumped when she saw an iguana, only relaxing when she saw it was as still as the rock it sat on. He shook his head, but she could tell from the curve of his lips that he wasn’t really angry. His whole demeanor had relaxed since she had intruded on his work, and in her relief that she wasn’t in trouble, she relaxed too. The way they walked together was different too. She wasn’t following him, but walked beside. Wasn’t cowed by him, instead adoring. It felt wrong and delicious at the same time. If she suffered later, this would be worth it.
They walked along a well-worn path that eventually turned into rocks. When she winced at a sharp one under her bare foot, he paused. “Damn, I didn’t think of that. Do we need to go back?”
She was out of breath, exhilarated. No. Please.
He grinned, at least that’s what the small curve of his lips seemed like. Even that much seemed blinding. “What are we going to do then?” He didn’t wait for an answer, just pulled off his own boots and socks.
“Come on.” He grabbed her hand and they ran across the beach, throwing up white rocks in their wake. She felt herself smiling, and when he looked at her, she could have sworn she saw awe in his eyes.
They entered a cave of some sort, with a pool of water below and rock surrounding them on three sides. Emerald light streamed inside through an opening in the top and, filtered through the thick mist in the air, cast colors all around. She lifted a hand to touch the green-purple and caught only air. Below, the water sparkled, a melting pot of color, all above a deep black void.
It took her breath away.
“Like it?” he asked, sounding just like he had in his workshop.
What do you want, girl?
She kissed him. His lips were unexpectedly soft. They parted—in surprise, she thought—and then she slipped her tongue inside. It had been forever since she’d done this, never had she done this, but it came to her like breathing. She needed it, and if he took it away, if he stopped her…
He did stop her, but only to reverse everything, changing it but leaving it the same, with only the flick of his tongue and the tightening of his hand on her hip. Then it was him kissing her; it was her sighing. Please, oh please. And he answered her with his heat, his taste, with the pleasure he found from showing her this place of beauty and magic.
No, she’d been wrong. Any price would be too high if she were to lose this after all. Even precious courtesy wouldn’t be enough, compared to this. The world upended around her, from pain to pleasure, from survival to passion. The pebbled beach smoothed to velvet under her feet, the moisture in the air slicked their skin.
An ache started in her sex, and her hips rocked against him. She would have restrained herself once she noticed, but he moaned, and she knew without words that it was good. She was good, and he wanted her to keep doing it. So she let her body lead—strange though it felt, foreign and uncertain. She rolled her body along his, she ran her hands over his skin.
It wasn’t her anyway. This was too much, too fast. It had to be some other woman playing the sensual lover, because she would never dare. And when he said, “God, yes, so long,” it was only a dream.
He broke the kiss, and she sighed with regret. But then he pulled her to the water, where eddies of warm and cool tickled her feet. She gasped in delight, and it sounded sharply even over the rush inside the cave. It had a strange amplifying effect—even the silence was loud, but each small splash or sigh was a roar in her ears.
She looked up to find him watching her with an enigmatic expression. In the shadows, the darkness of his eyes loomed large. She imagined she could see his thoughts, that they swirled like so much smoke: thick bands of lust, wisps of amusement.
Her training wasn’t about how to stand or to suck, not really. She had become an expert at reading expressions, at decoding body language. He was a formidable cipher, but she only needed time.
Meanwhile, she knew well enough what those heavy lids and flattened lips meant. She saw the tinge of red on his cheeks. All of that would have told her, even if she hadn’t seen the bulge in his wet jeans. He wanted to take her and this time, it wasn’t in his sleep. It wasn’t in some awkward moment, born
of pity—no. He had initiated this. He had brought her to this magical place. No dream.
He seemed to like her forwardness, like a release valve to the curious guilt he had about her status, so she tentatively reached up to sweep a wet lock of hair from his forehead. He remained still for her touch, his expression one of approving forbearance. But when she went to stroke down his neck, he caught her wrist.
“I’m going to ask you something, and I want you to say no if you don’t want it too. I’m afraid you can’t. If I were better—stronger—I wouldn’t even make you choose, but I…” He sighed. The moisture in the air beaded on his eyelashes. “It’s been so long. I’ve waited so long.”
He pulled her in deeper, until the water climbed her thighs and lapped at her cunt. They followed the wall of the cave until it opened up onto a small beach that was completely enclosed by cool stone and reflective water. Barely enough place for both of them, but she knew that was the point. Here even the white noise of the water was reduced, and all she could hear was her breath and his.
“I never imagined a submissive as perfect as you,” he said lowly, but the words were as commanding as she’d ever heard him. “I keep thinking you’re not real, that I’ll wake up and find myself alone again. But this isn’t real, is it? You aren’t really like this. They made you this way.”
Don’t make me think about it. Just want me.
“Jesus Christ,” he said. “When you look at me, so damn trusting. It’s not right. I know that, but I can’t stop. Will you let me, subby? Can I hurt you?”
Her only hesitation was how best to answer him—yes, anything, finally—and she slowly left the water, let it fall off her body as she sank to her knees. To her surprise, there weren’t any sharp pebbles here—only silky sand beneath her palms, sliding up between her fingers. Not part of the rough ground outside, this was an extension of the ocean floor, worn smooth from an eternity of ripples.
She glanced back to gauge her behavior; he stared at her body with such blatant appreciation that she felt a flush of pride mingle with the slow burn of arousal.
“You have to promise to stop me.” He gave her a light smack on the flat of her ass. “Can you snap your fingers? Let me see you do it.”
She did, and he hit her again. It was light, more of a promise than a punishment. It bore little resemblance to the spankings she had endured at the hands of other men. She had been cold and shaken, like a cymbal played too loud and too long. But now his hands moved over her skin like a melody long forgotten.
Then she forgot to listen to the slap of his hand on her skin, the gentle backdrop of trickling water fell away. There was only feeling; there was only pleasure. And all of it underscored with the rhythm of her body into his.
She almost didn’t notice when he stopped, because the beat continued in her body. It narrowed in her clit as he touched her there. Her fingers were clenched in the sand, she realized. Her body rocked over his hand, using it for its sweet pressure. This was wanton, it was release.
Despite her nakedness, despite his fingers in her cunt and his hoarse words urging her on, this was the least sexual thing she had ever done. It wasn’t even submission, at least not as she had known it. It was freedom.
She couldn’t think if she was pleasing him. She couldn’t think if he might hurt her. She couldn’t think, not at all. Pleasure sang through her body, spiraled higher and shuddered through her. Her climax came upon her from behind, where he was, murmuring words against her shoulder. Yes, like that, so beautiful.
Aftershocks racked her body, and he held her through all of it. The long weight of his body, his thick arms, were like a cage around her, and yet she felt safe. The hard length of his cock pressed against her ass, and that at least was something familiar. Something she could recognize from the old, but even that didn’t scare her. It would hurt, it always did, and so what?
He waited for her to recover. She knew that from that way he held himself so tightly leashed. Though she was still weak, still tender, she pushed back against him. It didn’t feel strange, giving him permission. Her body gave it for her. But he caught her hip in a tight grip. His fingers dug into her soft flesh.
“Wait,” he ground out. “Damn—I can’t. Just don’t move.”
After a minute he pushed back, letting the moist air mingle with the sweat on her back and her fluid on her thighs. She turned back, expecting to see him unzipping, maybe directing her to her knees, but he had turned away. He was already wading into the water by the time she stood up. He moved too fast through the water, and she couldn’t keep up.
On the other side of the water, he emerged and kept going. It was on the pointy rocks where she finally caught his arm.
He turned back, and she shrank away from the fire burning in them. “Fuck, don’t look at me like that. Don’t look at me at all. Don’t you know what your eyes do to me? And where the fuck are your clothes? No. No, don’t go back and get them.”
He gently held her arms and rested his forehead against hers. The rocks dug into her soles, and that was why her eyes were wet, that was why.
“Damn you, I’m trying to be honorable here.” His breath caught on a laugh that hurt her to hear. “I know I’m failing. That’s why I wanted you to go, but I can’t give you up either. So what are we going to do? Can you tell me that, subby?”
She didn’t have an answer for him. He swung her up into his arms and carried her like the proverbial bride across the threshold, if the bride were a slave of questionable consent and the threshold tore his feet.
Tucking her head against his shoulder, she watched him leave flecks of red on the chalk-white pebbles. He left his own blood behind just to spare hers. He had lied. He’d said he was going to hurt her, but he was the one who was hurt. Her body clenched in a phantom pain, and he followed her glance to see the trail of blood.
His look was wry. “At least it’s distracting me from the other problem.”
She stroked his jaw, where stubble had thickened.
He pressed a quick kiss against her lips. The fullness of his lips against hers was always a surprise, considering how hard they always seemed when he looked at her. “Forget what I said before. Don’t worry.”
It was impossible to obey that order, but at least she could pretend. She could narrow her focus to the practical, so that when he finally relinquished her at the door of his cottage, she ran inside in search of bandages and creams.
At least he let her tend his feet. Kneeling in front of him, she eyed the undiminished rise in his jeans.
He shook his head firmly. “No, subby. Not yet.”
When? she thought, but thank goodness she couldn’t speak.
Chapter Five
She hated waking because of the uncertainty. The fear that this had only been a momentary delusion, the child of a painful subspace coma. She took a moment to convince herself this was real, rubbing the cotton sheets, counting the planks in the ceiling. She would have touched her Master too, but she couldn’t risk waking him. Besides, his gentle snores were real enough. She almost smiled. It wasn’t likely her dreams would have conjured that.
The moonlight shone brightly through the window, illuminating his coarse features. It occurred to her that she could trick him into having intercourse with her. Likely he was already hard. If she touched him now, he might fuck her in his sleep like before. She didn’t feel guilt over what had happened then, it had been purely accidental, completely unexpected.
But if she made any overtures now, it would be willful. A deliberate attempt to make him have sex with her when he had already said no. She couldn’t do that to him. She couldn’t be like the men who had hurt her.
No matter how she tried to rationalize it in her head, the part of her that knew right from wrong stubbornly refused to die. Even though it might increase their intimacy and thus better secure her place here, she couldn’t defile him that way.
A few sips of water might settle her nerves. She would have lapped at her bowl if she were still imprison
ed, but now she could get up and retrieve a glass of water herself. It had been startlingly easy to fall into this new role, one where she made requests, not pleas. One where she did for herself instead of waiting. It made her consider just how long her slavery had really been.
It made her wonder what came before.
Pushing that unwelcome thought aside, she found her way through the hallway. Without the light of the large window, the rest of the house was nothing but shadows. She filled a glass; the splash of water was loud, reminding her of the rushing waterfall from earlier today. The faucet turned off with a squeak.
She paused, staring at the dark ripples in the cup she held. By slow degrees she became aware of an echo of her own breath. The hair on her neck raised. She wasn’t alone in the room.
“What are you doing out of bed?” came the low voice from the corner.
Master!
How had he managed to slip past her without her noticing? It didn’t matter. He was there. His voice sounded different, like the low voice he had used to tease her, but more. As if he knew a big joke that she didn’t. She felt an answering smile on her own face, but it was slanted with her confusion. And her worry. He was kind when stoic, he had spanked her when playful, what did this new side of him mean?
He was closer now. “A pretty little slave knows better than to wander away.”
Then she recognized that tone: cruelty. Just this morning she had marveled at his lack of it. Now it appeared she would see its face, even if it was still too dark to see his.
She had the urge to flee, but where would she go? She had the urge to fall down at his feet, but he had always hated it when she did that.
“How quickly you forget yourself,” he said in a musing tone.
A gasp escaped her, but it was too late. He caught her by the arm and yanked her to him. Off balance, she would have tumbled into his body, but he turned to the side. She landed face-first on the floor with him following close behind, on top of her.