by Sykes, Julia
“Good girl.”
I sighed into him, my muscles going limp with relief. He shifted my body so I was cradled in his arms where he knelt on the floor. We stayed there for a long time as he murmured reassuring words and held me tenderly.
When he finally helped me to my feet, my muscles were still watery from the terror that had taken hold of me at his rejection. He steadied me with his hands on my waist, guiding me to the bathroom. This time I took care of my business without begging him to remain with me. I would be stronger for him. I would be better.
Much of the morning’s tension eased as I cooked breakfast for the two of us. Sweet memories of our laughter the day before buoyed my spirits, and the act of preparing something for Master calmed me. After breakfast, I resumed my place on the couch beside Master. He half-heartedly tapped away at his laptop, but most of his attention was focused on the films we watched.
In the afternoon, Master commanded that I exercise. He worked out alongside me, continuing long after my own muscles gave out. I leaned back against the wall, content to watch his muscles bulge and ripple as he toned his body. Afterward, he insisted that I shower on my own. The prospect made me anxious, but I focused solely on pleasing him, resolutely ignoring my scarred reflection as I went about my tasks.
When I emerged, he rewarded me by holding me close, stroking his fingers through my damp hair as he told me how proud he was. I glowed at the praise.
The next day was much the same. The only difficult part was when my clothes arrived in the mail in the late afternoon. The delivery prompted Master to follow through on his order that I pick out my own clothes. Mercifully, he helped me through the challenge by giving me options.
“What do you like?” He asked as he opened up his web browser. “Slacks or dresses?”
“Dresses,” I answered automatically. Dresses were feminine and flirty. They made me feel pretty. And a cute dress made picking out an outfit ridiculously easy. One article of clothing and I was done.
His approving smile elicited an answering grin from me. Suddenly, I regarded my task with eager anticipation. I wanted to look pretty for Master. I became aware that I felt extremely frumpy in my shapeless sweatpants.
“We’ll have to start at square one, sweetheart,” Master said, his eyes twinkling. “Believe it or not, I don’t often shop for women’s clothing.”
I couldn’t hold back my giggle. Master smiled at the sound as he turned his attention to the computer. A quick Google search for “day dresses” brought up modcloth.com as the first hit. I was instantly in love. An hour later, there were ten items in the shopping cart. I cringed when my eyes fell on the total price.
“That’s too much, Master,” I protested.
He waved a dismissive hand at me. “You’ve been very good; you’ve earned it.”
“But -”
He shot me a hard look, silencing me instantly. “I want you to have these. Are you questioning me?”
“No, Master,” I said quickly. I wasn’t about to defy him again.
Master also insisted on purchasing jeans and a few blouses for me. I was overwhelmed by his generosity, again struck by the disquieting feeling that I didn’t deserve it; he did so much for me, but he allowed me to do so little for him.
Our shopping done, Master closed the laptop and selected a new movie for us to watch, and our pattern from the previous day resumed.
Two more days passed in what was rapidly becoming a predictable fashion: I prepared out meals, Master and I cuddled on the couch watching movies, we exercised together, and I showered afterward. The routine was comforting, providing my life with structure. Master would ask for my opinions about food and the films we watched, but I never had to make any important decisions about what we did for the day. And Master slept beside me every night, holding me close. His hard cock would nudge me awake in the morning, but I never tried to touch him again.
But on the third morning, I was awoken by the ringing of Master’s phone. He retreated into the living room to take the call, but I didn’t fail to notice the bulge of his erection as he quickly walked away from me. His tone was agitated as his muffled words drifted through the closed door.
“Who was that?” I asked when he finally returned to me.
“Just Clayton being an asshole,” he said dismissively. “Apparently I’m not doing enough of his goddamn paperwork.”
I said nothing. Master had agreed to do something he disliked immensely just so he could stay home and look after me. The thought made me realize the impermanence of my situation; Clayton assumed Master would return to work once they found my family.
But I didn’t have a family. The woman who had been taken by that Bastard had a family, but she didn’t exist anymore.
Besides, even if she did exist, I didn’t want to be her. I wanted to be Master’s.
It didn’t matter. Clayton and Reed wouldn’t find that woman, not without my help. And I had buried her too deeply for them to ever find her. I would stay with Master.
Later that day, my dresses arrived. I was eager to try on the new clothes, but I was distracted by the other delivery that came along with them. Master set a gorgeous bunch of deep purple irises in a crystal vase, placing it before me where I sat on my customary barstool. My fingers trembled slightly as I reached out to brush the soft petals, marveling at the cheerful, bright yellow heart nestled in the center of the flower.
“While you were picking out dresses, I noticed that you like purple,” Master rumbled from behind me as I stared at the flowers reverently. “Do you like them?”
I turned to him, blinking away the tears that obscured his visage. “I love them,” I said fervently. “Thank you, Master.”
“You are more than welcome, little one.”
His eyes burned with an intensity I didn’t quite understand. Whatever it was entranced me completely; I couldn’t have torn from his gaze even if I wanted to. And I definitely didn’t want to. I barely breathed as I stared up at him, waiting. For what, I wasn’t sure. But I wanted it desperately.
He blinked, breaking the intimate connection.
“I like seeing you happy, sweetheart,” he said gruffly.
I bit back my instinct to protest when he put distance between us, returning to the couch to retrieve his laptop. I silently followed in his wake and settled down beside him in my usual spot.
After exercising that afternoon, I went to take my customary shower. As I washed myself, my fingers brushed over the fine hairs that covered my legs. I frowned. I was going to wear one of my pretty new dresses for the evening, and I didn’t want to appear at all untidy.
My mind made up, I darted out of the shower, dripping wet, to search for a spare razor. I quickly found what I was looking for in one of the cabinets beneath the sink, and I tore the razor from its packaging before stepping back into the shower. I slicked soap over my legs and meticulously shaved them. I took care of my underarms as well, vaguely disgusted to realize I hadn’t done so in a long time. How could Master have possibly called me “gorgeous” when I was so unkempt?
My gaze fell on the hair that covered my sex. That was all wrong as well. Even though I knew Master wouldn’t see that particular part of my body, I couldn’t resist the impulse to tidy it up.
When I emerged from the bathroom, I was pleased to see Master suck in a breath as his eyes fell on me. I was even more gratified when his gaze fell on my bare legs, roving slowly up my body until his eyes came to rest on my face. I was beaming at him, and he returned my smile easily.
Now it was my turn to inhale sharply. God, he was beautiful. And I finally felt like I might be worthy of him. I was still too thin, but the retro cut of my amethyst dress – tapered to the waist before flaring out to fall mid-thigh – gave a hint of the curves I used to possess.
Then my mind drifted to the ugly scars that marred my skin, and I realized I would never be good enough for him, no matter how much I preened.
He crossed the room in four long strides to gather me up
in his arms. “What was that thought, little one?” He asked.
“My scars…” My gaze fell on my wrist, and I shuddered. I touched my fingers to my throat to reassure myself that the phantom weight of my iron collar was just that: a phantom.
Master grasped my fingers in his, pulling my hand towards his face. His lips brushed against the scar at the inside of my wrist, and my pulse jumped.
“You’re beautiful, sweetheart.” His voice was a low rumble. “That Bastard can never take that from you.”
“Thank you, Master,” I said breathily, stunned by his praise and his intimate touch.
He blinked hard, his expression falling with regret as he slowly lowered my hand from his lips. Still, he didn’t release me even as he stepped away. Keeping his hold on my wrist, he gently guided me to the kitchen so he could help me prepare our dinner.
“We’re running low on food,” he told me after we had finished eating. “Why don’t you make a list of what you want to cook, and I’ll order it.” It was worded as a question, but it was an order.
I happily complied, excited by the prospect of pleasing Master further. He took such good care of me; the only time that I could care for him was when I prepared his meals. While he grumbled over his laptop, I took up the paper and pencil he had set before me.
I paused, frowning. I hadn’t written anything in so long. What if I didn’t remember how?
No. I had to remember. Master had ordered me to do this, and I wasn’t going to disappoint him. I touched the lead to the paper, and the word “eggs” flowed out in cursive. The form of the letters wasn’t perfect, but it wasn’t wrong either. I smiled to myself as I recognized the handwriting as my own personal scrawl. It was yet another thing I had lost that Master had given back to me. The pencil moved across the paper in assured, continuous strokes. I hummed softly to myself as I worked, contented by the scratch of the lead as it left bold charcoal lines in its wake.
“So you’re a baseball fan, then?” Master’s question cut through my reverie. I glanced up at him, my brow furrowed in confusion. “You’re humming ‘Take Me Out to the Ballgame,’” he informed me, his full lips quirked up in an amused smile.
“Oh,” I said, a bit dumbly.
Was I a baseball fan?
Flashing signs emblazoned in blue, red, and white. The roar of the crowd. The scent of beer and hotdogs.
Joy.
“Yes,” I said slowly. “I do like baseball.”
Master grinned as he stood, crossing from the couch to join me in the kitchen. “We’ll watch a game later,” he told me as he approached. “You had better be an Orioles fan.”
I grimaced, and Master laughed. “I guess that’s a ‘no,’ then,” he said. His gaze fell on the list I had been writing, and his eyebrows rose. “That’s amazing, sweetheart.”
“What?” I asked, confused. I glanced down at the paper to find a sketch of an eye staring back up at me. My fingertips were darkened with lead where I had smudged it to add shading to my drawing. I stared at it, bewildered. Had I really done that? I hadn’t even realized it. I gazed up at Master and found the inspiration for my drawing glinting down at me. My sketch didn’t even come close to capturing the multifaceted beauty of his eyes.
“Where did you learn to do that?” He asked, the curiosity in his tone colored by something more inquisitive, incisive.
An elderly woman sat beside me at the dining room table, her wrinkled hand moving with the surety of years of practice as she gave life to a sketch of a pretty little girl with dark, curling hair. A pencil was clutched awkwardly in my own tiny hand, and I tried to mimic her drawing. My efforts were laughably rough in comparison to her masterpiece, but she praised my work, altering my grip on the pencil as she instructed me on how to improve.
Granny.
I shook my head hard. No. Those weren’t my memories. They were hers.
“I don’t know.”
It was the first time I had lied to Master. I knew I was breaking one of his rules, but I couldn’t remember the woman who owned those memories. I wouldn’t. Master wasn’t a part of her life, and I refused to let go of him.
He studied my face carefully, but I schooled my expression to a blank mask. I hoped it would pass for genuine ignorance rather than deceit.
After a moment, the intensity of his stare eased, and I resisted the impulse to heave a sigh of relief at the reprieve. He smiled at me gently.
“Come on.” He took me by the hand and tugged me towards the couch. “We’ll watch a game while I order groceries.” His gaze turned hard, authoritative, but a smile was still playing around his lips. “You’ll learn to root for the Orioles.”
I snorted and rolled my eyes. “So long as you don’t ask me to support the damn Cardinals, we’ll be okay.”
Master’s booming laugh filled the room. “Sweetheart, I think that’s the first time I’ve ever heard you cuss.”
I smirked at him. “I wonder where I might have picked up that habit?” I asked pointedly.
His chuckle held a dark edge as he tugged my wrist hard, sending me tumbling down onto the couch beside him.
“Don’t go getting bratty with me, girl. You won’t like the consequences.” I froze as he paused for a beat, fear and something darker stirring in my belly at the mention of consequences.
“I might have to cook dinner tomorrow,” he threatened.
I laughed and gave a dramatic shudder. “You wouldn’t.”
“Watch me.”
I made a show of pursing my lips, playfully letting him know he wouldn’t get any more sass off me. For now.
He planted a swift kiss on my forehead. “Good girl. I really didn’t want to put both of us through that.”
“You are truly terrifying, Master,” I quipped. “I am thoroughly intimidated.”
He gave a playful growl and pinched my arm hard. He grinned at the sound of my surprised yelp. “Don’t push your luck, girl. What kind of Master would I be if I can’t follow through with my threats?”
My breath caught in my throat. It was the first time he had made reference to his ownership of me aloud since the morning that he had almost rejected me. Rather than quivering in fear at his threat, I flung myself into his arms, pressing my face into the crook between his neck and shoulder, breathing deeply and inhaling his intoxicating scent.
“I’m sorry, Master,” I said, my tone low and husky. “I promise I’ll be good.”
He stiffened beneath me for a moment, but then he sighed, his arms wrapping around me as he tilted his head to rest it atop my own.
“You’ve been very good, sweetheart. I’m so proud of you.”
Unable to help myself, I turned my head slightly so I could press my lips gently against his neck.
Instantly, I jerked away from him, horrified at my mistake. But he held me fast, refusing to release me.
“It’s okay, girl.” His warm breath tickled across my ear as he reassured me. “I’m not angry. Just don’t do that again.”
“I won’t, Master,” I agreed, my voice ragged with relief.
He cleared his throat abruptly, shifting so he could retrieve the remote from the coffee table.
“We’ll watch an Orioles-Cardinals game,” he told me. “That way you’ll have to root for the Orioles.”
I huffed out an annoyed breath, but I couldn’t fully suppress my amused smile. “You’re evil, Master,” I informed him.
He pinched my arm again, laughing when I tried to squirm away from him. He held me firmly to his side. “Watch yourself, girl. You’re on thin ice as it is.”
I sighed happily and snuggled into him, ceding to his beautiful control. I enjoyed this playful side of Master almost as much as I relished his power over me.
Chapter 11
“I have something for you, sweetheart,” Master told me the next day after we had finished putting the groceries away. I had noticed the two extra packages that had been passed through the door, but I hadn’t asked about them. If Master wanted me to know what t
hey were, he would tell me. Now my heart leapt at his words. Even though it made me feel even more unequal in what I gave to him in return for his generosity, I loved how he pampered me.
He opened the first, smaller cardboard box and proffered me the blue velvet-covered box that he retrieved from it. I hesitated. I knew that kind of box meant he had purchased something extravagant for me. He had already spent so much on me, and I was unsure if I should accept more.
“Open it,” he ordered steadily.
I reached for it; I didn’t have an option now. When I snapped open the box, I gasped. Nestled in the silken white lining was a simple tourmaline pendant set in silver. The stone was a gorgeous, vibrant green with a fiery blue heart that flashed elusively when the light played through the gem’s facets.
The heat of Master’s body suddenly washed over me as he entered my personal space. His fingers curled beneath my chin, guiding my face up to his. There was an intense light in his silver gaze. It shone through my flesh to illuminate my soul.
“It reminded me of your eyes,” he said, his voice gruff with emotion.
My eyes?
I thought back to when I had studied my reflection in the mirror. I had taken inventory of my body, but I hadn’t looked myself in the eye. I realized now that I was afraid to see the deadened, defeated flatness of them. The stone I held was vibrant, sparkling as it caught the light. Was that really what Master saw when he looked into my eyes?
He plucked the box from my fingers, carefully extricating the delicate silver chain that held the pendant.
“Turn around and lift your hair for me,” he commanded.
I obeyed with alacrity, eager to accept Master’s gift. It was so much more than just a pretty piece of jewelry.
“I’ve noticed how you touch your throat when you’re anxious,” he said, his breath fanning across the exposed skin at the nape of my neck. I shivered delightedly. “I know you’re looking for that Bastard’s collar.” The silver was cool on my skin as he clicked the clasp closed. “Now you can touch this and think of me instead.”
To my utter shock, his lips brushed against my neck where he had clasped the necklace. I leaned back into him, a small, pleasurable sigh escaping me.