by Linda Barlow
"Yes." She smiled at him. "Yes, Master."'
"Lie down."
Again, he put her in bondage—the cuffs hooked to ropes that were already attached to the bed. But it was non-restrictive bondage with considerable freedom of movement. She still had the ankle cuffs on her feet, but once again, he left her legs free.
As soon as she was secured, he straddled her, sliding up so he was crouching at shoulder level with his cock looming in front of her face. He fisted her hair and pulled her head up. "Do you want my cock in your throat?"
"Yes, Master," she gasped.
"Good." He arched his back and surged roughly into her mouth. "Suck me."
She did, determined to please him with the best damn blowjob he'd ever had. She was licking, sucking and gallantly controlling her gag reflex as he forced himself deep into her throat. Just when she thought he was about to come, he jerked himself out of her mouth and slid down. He produced a condom from she didn't even know where and slapped it on. "Now beg me to fuck you, Viola."
"Please fuck me, Stephen. I mean, Master. Fuck me hard."
He surged into her, his face contorted in what almost looked like pain. For the first time his amazing control faltered. The bad boy master slipped away and he looked awed and delighted. He flashed her his dearest and most genial smile, saying, "It feels so damn good. Wow, love. I wish I could stay inside you all the time."
"Me, too. You are so freaking hot. Where'd you learn all this stuff?"
She could feel his body shaking as he laughed. "God knows. Now stop giggling and fuck me. I've been holding back an orgasm for so long that my balls are gonna explode."
"Aye aye, sir," she said, grinding against him happily. She didn't care if she came again...she was pretty tired anyway. But she wanted him to have his much-deserved release.
Amazingly, he lasted long enough to take her up again. Waves of pleasure filled her when she felt him jerking at her breast chain.
"I'm going to pull these off now," he said in his dark voice. His mouth was at her throat as he plunged inside her once again. She moaned, very close to another peak. "It will hurt," he crooned as his fingers played with the slender chain between her breasts. "The blood will rush back into your nipples and the sensation will be intense for a couple of seconds. Are you okay with that?"
She nodded. Nothing, she thought, could hurt her now. "Do it."
She felt a jerk as he dragged hard on the chain. The nipple clamps came off, and, for a second, nothing, then there were a powerful surge of feeling in both her breasts. She gasped, and her eyes snapped open. It felt as if every nerve ending in her nipples had fired at once.
Stephen's face was suspended over hers, his eyes slits of green, his mouth sensual and cruel. He arched his hips and drove hard into her, his body stiffening, his voice harsh and strange.
"Scream now for me," he said.
Then he closed his eyes and groaned as he reeled into his orgasm.
Viola felt him pulsing, heard his cry of pleasure and satisfaction, but she was losing focus. Something dark had seized her and spun her, messing with her mind. A naked woman stretched on a rack with a monster leaning over her, slashing her howling body with a barbed whip. The image slammed into her mind, and then, in a flash, her body reacted. She stiffened, but not with pleasure. There was something wrong.
Scream now for me.
A red mist descended on her, and she had no idea what was happening. Panic raced along her nerves, sending her heart into a scampering beat and driving cramps through her belly.
She twisted violently, jerking with her arms, which she couldn't free, and her body, which was imprisoned beneath his. She was trapped. Her heart hammered even harder. She vaguely remembered that there was something she was supposed to say, but she couldn't seem to find the word.
"Viola!" Stephen's voice had shifted back to normal. No. Not exactly normal because he sounded alarmed. He knew something was wrong.
"Red," she gasped, remembering her safeword.
"I know. Hang on." He had already pulled out of her. How he regained rationality in the throes of orgasm she couldn't imagine, but he had. "You're okay, you'll be free in a moment."
He loomed up over her, reaching for the place where her cuffs were clipped to the ropes running from the bed frame. She felt the tension ease. "Your arms are no longer bound. I'll remove the cuffs in a moment, but you're free to move. Your legs aren't bound." He stroked her hair very gently. "It's okay, sweetheart. How d'you feel?"
"My pulse," she gasped, frightened by its loud, rapid pounding. Was there something wrong with her heart? She felt as if she was about to die. Whoa. What the fuck was going on?
"Are you in pain?" He had rolled off her. As she got out from under him, she accidentally kicked out at him, one knee striking his shoulder. He ignored it. "What's hurting? Your chest? Your back? Are you having trouble breathing?"
She tried to focus. Figure it out. She didn't think there was any pain, apart from some soreness in her nipples. She shook her head.
"Headache? Is your vision okay?"
"I guess," she managed to say, her voice shaking.
"Have you ever had an asthma attack?"
"Um, no."
"Are you short of breath?"
She shook her head. "It's mostly my heart. Thumping."
"And there's no medication you're supposed to be on, right? You told me you didn't take anything."
"I don't."
"Have you ever had a panic attack? Do you know what they feel like?"
"No. I don't think so." She'd felt panicky a few times during the divorce, but nothing as dramatically physical as this.
"I want you to try breathing from your belly. Can you do that for me? Slow and even."
She tried, but it was difficult to control her breathing when her body was in such a state of high alert.
"You'll be fine, love. I promise. Let me hold you."
At first, she fought him, but he kept talking to her in a low, soothing voice, telling her to breathe slowly. He turned her on her side. The leather cuffs were still around her wrists and ankles, but the ropes were gone. The muscles in her arms felt tired from being held in one position. But she was glad to notice that, since it took her mind off her racing heart.
Stephen cuddled her from behind, his arms around her, his face pressed against her hair. She felt his fingers on her throat, and realized he was taking her pulse.
"Quick but strong. You're sure you've never had a panic attack?"
She shook her head. "Is this how they feel?"
"Pounding heart, feelings of doom, sick feeling in your belly, limbs all weak and floppy?"
"Yes. All those things."
"It's adrenaline that does it. Fight or flight response. It will pass."
It did seem to be passing. She no longer felt trapped now that Scary Stephen had vanished. A panic attack. Okay. Given her past, maybe that wasn't a surprise.
"So it's just panic? If that's all it is, I feel like a wimp."
"You're not. I’ve had a couple of them myself." His voice was low and comforting. "Very nasty. Adrenaline doesn't surge for long, though. When it stops flooding your nerves, your heartbeat will slow. Keep breathing slowly. Let the air out nice and slow. Good girl. You're doing fine."
He was being so sweet! She had ruined his scene, aborted their lovemaking, just as he was coming, too. He must think she was crazy. Was she crazy?
No, she realized, as her mind began to work a little more rationally. She wasn't crazy. He had said the same thing that his horrible character Bartholomew Giles always said to his victims as he tortured them. She hadn't imagined that, surely? He had said, "Scream now for me."
Master Torturer Giles loved those screams.
Her heartbeat wasn't as frantic now, but the thoughts that crowded into her brain were no more welcome. What the hell was she doing in this freaky place? This medieval dungeon. It was just like the one in his books. Bart's dungeon.
But he'd told her he wasn't lik
e his character, right? So what was this place? Kinky was one thing, but this was, well...this was extreme.
Why had she given herself to a man who was capable of looking at her that way, speaking to her that way, taking his pleasure while he hurt her, just as his fictional creation did?
And why had she been enjoying it so much? Not even the panic had erased the liquid feeling of lust that resided in her belly. She had been on the verge of climaxing yet again, and it hadn't been the surge of sensation in her breasts that had stopped her. She had liked that. It had been powerful, but it hadn't felt like bad pain.
No, what had freaked her out had been his voice, reminding her of the reality that she had been endeavoring to forget: men were capable of hurting her. Even men she cared about, men she trusted. What was wrong with her that she allowed them to do it? That she even took pleasure in it?
As these dark thoughts shuffled in, she pulled away from him. She sat up, feeling chilly. She snatched at the sheet and tried to wrap it around herself. The cuffs were still on her wrists. She tore at one of them, trying to get it off her.
"Let me," he said, taking her hand in his.
"Don't touch me," she said, then instantly felt sick for saying it. What a bitch, she thought, as her stomach lurched. "I'm sorry! I don't know what I'm saying."
His voice remained calm. "I won't touch you if you don't want me to. But if you put your wrists in my lap, one at a time, I’ll release those cuffs for you. Can you do that for me?"
She could. One by one, she put her hands in his lap and watched dully as he stripped off the leather cuffs. Her hands were shaking slightly. He rubbed them gently, took her pulse again, and then he drew up the blanket from the end of the bed and wrapped it around her while he bent over to remove the restraints from her feet.
She was shivering all over now, and she felt her throat choking up. For a moment, tears pricked her eyes. Was she going to cry? She hadn't cried since the night Derek had attacked her. No, she decided, rallying her inner strength. Dammit, she would not cry.
She didn't. She stiffened her spine instead. "I'm sorry for freaking out. You told me your books didn't come to bed with you. But you spoke to me in Bartholomew Giles’ voice."
He made a hoarse sound. "I don't know why I did that. It wasn’t intentional." He was shaking his head, looking puzzled. "I’m pretty sure I’ve never done it before."
Her heartbeat had slowed considerably, but she still felt dizzy and a little sick. The aftermath of panic?
"And this place." She flicked her eyes around at the dark dungeon. "It's not just kinky..." her voice trailed off. It's sick, she was thinking. But no, that was too strong. It was intense, yes. "I mean, I didn't know it would be so realistic."
"I'm so sorry, Viola. I didn’t mean to frighten you. I should have trusted my instincts and not shown you my playroom yet. It is realistic, yeah. I used to do theater in college—did I ever tell you that? That's how I met my friends Kate and Jeff. I was into set decoration and design before I turned to writing. I guess I used some of that when I set up the dungeon. I should have warned you."
He paused, and then added, "Role play of this type can sometimes go wrong. There are emotional risks when you allow yourself to feel so intensely. We expose ourselves, our deepest feelings and fantasies, and that can be scary."
It had been scary, all right. What he didn’t know, of course, was that she was sitting on a minefield of explosive emotions linked to the way her marriage had ended. She should have warned him about that.
"It was my bad," he went on. "This kinky stuff is new to you. How are you feeling? A little better now?"
She nodded. Again she thought, he is being so nice. Why is he being so nice? Derek wasn't nice when he hurt her. And unlike Stephen, he didn't stop when she panicked.
He lay back down on the bed and patted the space beside him. "I won't touch you if you don't want me to, but you're shivering. Will you lie down beside me and get warm?"
"You can touch me. I shouldn't have said that. Forgive me. I didn't mean it."
"Come here, then."
She lay back down beside him. He drew her close, and she snuggled into his warmth. She felt uneasy still, but it was undeniable that there was something comforting about being in his arms. Chemistry. Not even panic could dull the physical affinity that made her body want to merge with his. "I’m confused," she admitted. "As if I can’t trust what my own body is telling me. I mean, one minute I’m all—you know, aroused and excited, and the next I’m climbing the walls trying to get away."
"That’s why we have safewords and quick-release restraints. You need to know that you can trust me, even when everything goes to hell."
Keeping up the slow, steady breathing, she tried to relax. "Thank you for responding so quickly. It must have been hard for you."
"If I couldn’t trust myself to respond to a safe word, I wouldn’t play these games. I’m sorry I didn’t notice sooner that you were upset."
"It was sudden. I was fine, until—" she stopped.
"Until I started getting literary? I didn’t realize I took my own silly dialogue so seriously." In a lighter tone he said, "Should I be flattered that you have passages from my novels memorized? How did you even know that was one of Bart’s lines?"
"It was in the scene you were writing last night. And I think he says it in more than one book."
"You're right. He does. It's his signature I'm-going-over-the-edge line."
"Right before he tortures somebody to death."
"Well, yeah." He sounded rueful now. "But I—I wouldn't, I mean, I am never going to—"
"I know," she said, squeezing his hand. "Stephen. There's something I haven’t told you." Her heart started to beat faster again. Was he going to be angry? He had asked her about this, and she hadn't told him the truth. "I should have mentioned it before, but I didn't even want to think about it. I thought I was over it."
He had gone very still. "Somebody hurt you, didn't he? Your husband?"
She swallowed hard. "I thought I'd owned it. Banished it. I guess I was wrong."
"Tell me."
"It was my husband, yes. Derek." Her own voice sounded strange to her, and she realized she was close to weeping. She made an effort to contain it. No self-pity, dammit. "I divorced him because he tried to kill me. That's why Bart's attacks on women freak me out so much."
Chapter 25
I knew there was something, he was thinking, even as he cuddled her closer. He sensed that something had changed in her. "Viola," he said in as gentle a voice as he could muster. "I'm so sorry. I should have realized."
"How could you know? Abuse happens all too often to women, but I never expected it to would happen to me."
He was surprised at the depth of the anger that was writhing inside him at the thought of some fucking bastard hurting his Viola. If he could get his hands on the guy, he'd break him in half.
Deep breaths, Silkwood, he ordered himself. The last thing she needed to hear right now were his own violent thoughts. Cool, calm, and reassuring, that was the ticket. "Your husband was closer to your father's age, wasn't he?"
"Yes. He was controlling like my father, too, although I didn't realize it at first. He was charming—he put on a great act. He even charmed the cops. Even though he put me in the hospital, he got off with little more than a slap on the wrist."
"Where is he now?" Stephen asked, trying not to sound as if he cared too much. He did, though. He wanted to pay the creep a visit.
"I don't know. After it happened, he went back to Australia. I hope he's still there. Sometimes I dream about him coming back."
She shifted restlessly, and he resisted the urge to hug her close. This was not the time to remind her of his fetish for immobilizing his partner.
"What did the bastard do to you?" Should he even ask that? Damn, this was difficult. He couldn't gauge how much she was willing to tell him. "I don't know what you feel like sharing, but you can tell me anything."
"It only hap
pened once. The physical abuse, that is. The psychological abuse went on for a lot longer than that, although it took me a while to recognize it as such. I was stupid in that regard. He Gaslighted me." Her voice dropped, trembled a little. "But I was at fault in some respects, too. I—" She hesitated. "I wasn't perfect, either. It takes two people to make a marriage and two people to break one."
If the physical abuse had only happened once, it meant she had gotten out as soon as the creep had crossed that line. That was a good sign. Healthy. His fingers went to the scar on her throat. "He gave you this, didn't he? This was no accident."
Her fingers seized his, trying to move his hand away from her scar, but he did not permit it. He bent his head and pressed his lips to the scar.
"Yes," she whispered. "I lied to you."
"Never lie to me. Lying is not okay."
"I'm sorry, Stephen."
"What did he use to do this with? A knife? Was he trying to slash your throat?" His own voice was trembling now, imagining it.
"A chunk of glass. At the time, it felt as though he was trying to kill me, but he was out of his head with rage, but he might just have been lashing out. I don't know. I've never known."
"Will you tell me how it happened?"
There was a silence. She shifted again, pressing close to him. "Hold me."
He gathered her close. He could feel her heart beating much faster than normal. "I can't tell you," she said at last. "That is, not now. I will, but at the moment, I need to push it aside. It hurts, Stephen. Help me not think about it." She pressed her mouth to his. "Please."
His body responded instantly—the heat between them was so powerful. As her flesh slid against his, arousal flooded his senses and he turned almost painfully hard.
"The abuse wasn't sexual," she said in a low voice. Her hand moved to caress him. "It was horrible, but it didn't touch that part of me."
He believed her, but he knew it might not matter whether the abuse had been sexual. Where fear was concerned, sex wasn't the issue. The issue was trust.
Chapter 26
Watching Viola run about on the beach with Rusty, throwing the stick and praising him lavishly when he actually retrieved it for her, Stephen felt an upsurge of joy. Her red hair was flying all over the place in the wind, but she didn’t seem to care. At one point, when Rusty deliberately veered into the waves and splashed around, even though his stick had not gone into the water, he ran back to her and dropped the stick at her feet, then violently shook the water off his coat, spraying Viola.