by Sykes, Julia
A strangled cry escaped me when he lightly slapped his palm against my sensitive clit. “Don’t get flippant with me, girl.” It was meant to be a warning, but his playful tone belied the seriousness of his expression.
“Sorry, Master.” My apology wasn’t in the least bit contrite.
His grin held a savage edge. “No, you’re not. But you will be.”
My clit was suddenly caught between his fingers, and his mouth swallowed my shocked shout of protest at the zinging pain. As he had done the night before, he mercilessly wrung pleasure from my body, the sweet sting of his touch on my over-sensitized flesh making me whimper against his lips even as bliss took me once again.
When my body finally stilled in his arms, he released me from his exquisite torment.
“Do you have anything you want to say to me, little one?” His breath tickled across my lips as I stared up into his lust-darkened eyes.
I nodded weakly. “I’m sorry, Master.” This time I meant it. “Thank you.” I meant that too. With every fiber of my being.
“My pleasure,” he rumbled, brushing a sweet kiss on my forehead. Then he sighed, a touch regretfully. “Come on, sweetheart. Let’s get cleaned up so you can have some breakfast. We’ll have to double your calorie count at this rate.”
“I don’t mind, Master.”
He chuckled. “I’ll bet you don’t.” He grinned down at me as he rubbed soap between his hands. His lips were at my ear when his slick hands caressed my breasts. “I don’t mind, either, sweetheart. I can do this all fucking day.”
The renewed hardness of his cock pressing against my thigh let me know it wasn’t an empty boast.
Despite his arousal, Master didn’t take me in the shower. Instead, he carefully, almost reverently, washed every inch of me. And I returned the favor, silently worshipping his body with my hands, my lips.
Afterwards, I cooked breakfast for the two of us, and Master insisted I eat three extra strips of bacon. That was one order I definitely wouldn’t protest. I had discovered that I loved all things pork. Master had grinned and declared me “a woman after his own heart.” The phrase made my own heart soar.
“Why don’t we hang these up?” Master said after breakfast, gesturing towards my sketchpad.
I bit my lip as he flipped it open, revealing the drawing of Lydia standing by Lake Michigan.
Noticing my hesitancy, he reached for me, cupping my cheek and easing my face close to his. “Your drawings are beautiful, Lydia,” he told me, firmly emphasizing my name. “It would make me very happy if they were on display where I can admire them.” He flipped the page, revealing the sketch of the two of us kissing.
Joy welled in my chest. He wanted to admire the image that had once caused him such discomfort? I wasn’t about to refuse that request.
“Okay, Master,” I agreed breathily. “I would like that too.”
“Good girl.” He touched his lips to mine briefly. “I’m afraid all I have is tape for now, but I’ll order some frames for them online.”
He wanted to frame my work to display in his home? I glanced covetously at the blank white wall in his living room, and I suddenly longed to hang my drawings there, to leave my stamp on his personal space.
Our personal space.
I beamed up at him, perfectly content. “Thank you, Master.”
Minutes later, I had carefully arranged minimal strips of tape on the back of my sketches, using just enough to stick them firmly to the wall without causing too much damage when I removed it. I hummed happily to myself while I worked.
“Is that Miley Cyrus?” Master asked, sounding slightly horrified.
I paused, considering the tune. “Party in the USA.” A giggle bubbled up from my chest.
“And how would you know that, Master?” I asked pointedly.
He grimaced dramatically. “Just because I have good taste in music doesn’t mean I live under a rock. I couldn’t escape that fucking song for months. That was what, 2009?”
The light in his eyes was suddenly keener. I realized he was trying to puzzle out when I had last been exposed to the outside world before being taken. Inwardly, I shrank away from that thought.
“Maybe,” I shrugged, as casually as I could manage.
Master’s small frown was quickly replaced by a look of alarm as the front door to the apartment rattled. He spun, positioning his body in front of mine, the exposed muscles of his torso bulging as he flexed. My heart stopped when the lock sprung back with a definitive click. It didn’t start beating again until I registered the familiar face of the man standing in the open doorway.
But the tension didn’t leave Master. “What the fuck are you doing here, Vaughn?” He snarled.
Chapter 15
Clayton’s blue eyes were glacial as he studied us, his gaze taking in Master’s bare chest and my exposed legs that weren’t covered by Master’s huge t-shirt.
“You haven’t called me in days, and I haven’t even gotten an email from you since yesterday afternoon. I came to check in on you,” he said coldly. “Clearly, I should have done it sooner.”
Master’s face darkened to a thunderhead. “So you just thought you could use my spare key and barge in uninvited?”
“Yes,” Clayton replied levelly. He gestured at our state of undress, the movement jerky with anger. “What the fuck is this, James?”
A muscle ticked in Master’s jaw as he gnashed his teeth. “Nothing you would understand, Vaughn,” he ground out.
“The hell I don’t,” Clayton countered darkly as he advanced towards us. “It’s not too difficult to figure out.”
Master shifted his body as his friend approached, careful to keep himself between Clayton and me. Clayton stopped short, his own jaw tensing.
“What the fuck are you thinking, James?” His eyes skirted around Master, searching for me. Instead, they found the drawings behind me. His face twisted to a mask of fury and disgust as he pointed at the image of Master kissing me. “I trusted you to take care of Jane. I covered for you at the Bureau. And all this time, you’ve been holed up here, taking advantage of her? Who the fuck are you?” He was looking at his friend as though he didn’t recognize him at all.
Master opened his mouth to snap a response, but Clayton plowed on over him as his attention turned to the drawing of Lydia. “Chicago? She was in Chicago?” His glare returned to Master. “How long have you known this? You know we’ve gotten exactly nowhere with her case, and you’ve been keeping this from me?”
I stepped forward to come to Master’s defense, but he placed a restraining hand in front of me.
“I didn’t want him to tell you,” I insisted. “Master is helping me. He’s taking care of me.”
Clayton reeled back a step, blanching. “Master?” He repeated faintly, incredulous. He shook his head hard, his lips twisting in a snarl. “What the hell is wrong with the guys in our department? First Santiago, now you? How many times will I have to say this to an agent? You can’t keep a woman locked up in your home as a slave.”
Now it was Master’s face that paled. He glanced back at me, and my heart sank at the uncertainty that flickered in his eyes. I clutched at his arm, desperate for the fierce, possessive light to return to them.
“Please, Master,” I beseeched. “Don’t listen to him. You didn’t do anything wrong.” I tried to reassure him as he had reassured me so many times. “Please. I want to be with you.”
The lines around Master’s eyes tightened with anguish. “Shit,” he muttered. “Lydia, I -”
“Lydia?” Clayton’s booming voice ripped through our intense moment with the force of a bullet. “You know her name, James?”
Master’s attention was torn from mine, and my heart twisted in my chest at the pained expression he turned on his friend. His shoulders slumped, all of the violent tension leaving him. “Fuck. Vaughn, I…” He trailed off. I had never seen Master so unsure. Something akin to shame began to tug his features downward.
I clutched at him mo
re tightly, my fingernails digging into his skin. “No!” I cried, my voice shrill with panic. “I’m not leaving you, Master.” I turned a glare on Clayton. “Leave us alone.”
“Jane,” Clayton began, his calm tone marred by the note of strain that colored it. He shook his head sharply. “Lydia,” he corrected. “You have to come with me. Now.” He took a step towards me, and – to my horror – Master didn’t shift to block his advance.
“NO!” This time the word was a piercing shriek as terror flooded my system. I dropped to my knees beside Master, keeping my fierce grip on his arm as I stared up at him imploringly. “Please don’t let him take me, Master. You promised you would take care of me. Please, Master. Please...” My words were choked off as my fear wound its way up my throat, constricting my breath. Black spots danced before my eyes as I gasped for air, my lips silently forming his title.
“Breathe, girl. Look at me.”
Just as it had done so many times before, Master’s commanding voice penetrated my panic, reaching for me and pulling me out of its cruel claws. Obediently, I drew in a deep, shuddering breath, blinking hard so I could focus on his gorgeous eyes. He touched his fingers to the top of my head, reassuring me of his ownership.
“Don’t worry, sweetheart. You don’t have to go with him.”
My next breath left me on a relieved sob, and I chose to ignore the horror that churned in the depths of his eyes.
“James,” Clayton said sharply, warningly.
Master’s handsome face was twisted as though he was suffering acute pain, but there was determination in the gaze that he fixed on his friend. “Do you understand now, Clayton?”
A long moment of silence passed. When Clayton finally answered, his voice shook slightly. “Yes. I understand. But that doesn’t make it right, Smith.”
“I know.” Master’s words were a low rumble, barely above a whisper. “I’ll see you later, Clayton.” His voice was stronger this time, holding a significant edge. I chose not to contemplate what it meant. Instead, I stared up at Master, all of my focus honing on his perfection.
I was his. He had claimed me. He had marked me. And he wasn’t going to let Clayton take me away. I wrapped my arms around his leg, my tears of relief wetting his sweatpants as I pressed myself into him.
I heard Clayton draw in a sharp breath, but I kept my attention focused on Master.
“Fuck,” Master swore softly. “Clayton…” His friend’s name was a beseeching utterance.
“I’ll see you later, Smith,” Clayton said, his voice heavy with disgust. I didn’t watch him as he left, and I sighed into Master at the sound of the door closing behind him.
Master allowed me to remain at his feet for a while after Clayton left, his fingers trembling slightly as they stroked through my hair. I nuzzled into him more closely, seeking to comfort him by demonstrating my devotion and gratitude. My stomach churned when he shifted uneasily in response.
“Are you angry with me, Master?” I asked quietly.
He sighed heavily, and his knees folded so that he was crouching beside me. His fingers curled beneath my chin, lifting my face to his.
“No, sweetheart,” he said softly. “I’m not angry. You did nothing wrong. I shouldn’t have -”
I quickly pressed my lips to his, cutting him off before he could say something I feared would break me. He was still beneath me for a few seconds, but I anxiously shaped my lips around his, tugging them into my mouth in a cruel parody of a kiss. A pained whimper eased up my throat at his unresponsiveness, but I couldn’t stop my efforts.
The sound of my distress broke him. His hand closed around the nape of my neck, holding me so I was helpless to resist the feverish, ravenous onslaught of his possessive mouth. I eagerly gave him everything he demanded of me, pouring my longing and love into him, inviting him to feast on it.
Love. I loved my Master. What I felt for him was more than gratitude, more than devotion. He was everything to me, my reason for being.
A soft, regretful groan arose from deep in his chest, and he slowly pulled away from me. His expression was clouded with so many emotions that I couldn’t even begin to separate one from the other. The sight of it pained me, and dread settled heavy in the pit of my stomach.
“Master?” I murmured his title questioningly, hesitantly.
He pressed a sweet kiss on the top of my head. “Come sit on the couch with me, sweetheart.” The hollowness in his voice made my anxiety ratchet up a notch.
I pursed my lips against the flood of desperate pleas that were fighting to stream from my lips. Something had happened to Master; Clayton’s words had changed something between us. And I feared I might not be able to make things go back to the way they had been.
I squared my shoulders, steeling my resolve. I wasn’t the same weak, broken woman Master had found at Decadence. He had guided me, healed me, made me strong. He was the one who was hurting now, so I would have to be strong for both of us.
Compliantly, I settled down beside him on the couch, resting my head on his lap. After a moment, his fingers began their usual practice of trailing across my skin, petting me and comforting me. I closed my eyes and sighed happily, letting him know how contented I was in his arms. He had to realize how much his touch meant to me. Clayton had reacted as though our physical connection was something disgusting, horrific. I was determined to remind Master of how his touch had healed me.
There was a soft series of rapid clicks above me as Master composed an email on his phone. I was reassured that we were falling back into our regular pattern: Master holding me while he made a half-hearted effort at getting work done.
Still, he was unnervingly taciturn throughout the day; he hardly uttered two sentences during lunch, and he allowed a movie to fill the silence of the apartment in the afternoon. I had to fight back my distress when he ordered me to change out of his t-shirt and put on one of my less-revealing dresses. There was nothing I could do but swallow back my worry and comfort Master as best I could. Surely this would blow over in time.
I reminded myself that Master had fully committed himself to me, and we had forever ahead of us. A few hours or even a few days of tension were nothing we couldn’t work through.
The waning light of the setting sun had flooded the apartment with a musty orange glow when the buzzer sounded. Someone was here to see Master. I glanced up at him, and the careful blankness of his expression sent a chill dancing across my skin.
“That’ll be Clayton,” he told me, his tone neutrally informative.
“Why is he back so soon?” I asked, my voice several octaves higher than usual.
Master didn’t answer me as he stood and crossed to the door. He only slipped it open a crack, his body blocking my view of the hallway.
“Who’s he?” Master asked, his chin jutting towards someone I couldn’t see.
“I think I should come in first and explain a few things,” Clayton’s voice replied. “Would you mind waiting out here for a few minutes?”
“I… Yeah. Okay. Sure.”
My gut clenched painfully. I knew that voice. I knew the person standing out in the hallway with Clayton.
Butterflies beat against the inside of my ribcage, and my grip tightened on my father’s arm. He shot me a reassuring smile as he guided me through the chapel doors. The long train of my white dress pulled heavily behind me with the first step up the aisle. Then my eyes fell on him where he stood at the altar, and all of the nervousness flowed out of me at the sight of his wide, boyish grin.
I shook my head vigorously, clearing it. I didn’t want to know that man. And I didn’t want to know the woman in the white dress.
Master stepped back slightly, and Clayton slipped through the barely-open door, closing it behind him. Fissures of strain were crackling across Master’s blank mask, and the pained reluctance in Clayton’s eyes belied his soft smile. Reflexively, I shrank back into the couch.
“What’s wrong, Master?” I asked anxiously.
He took
a step towards me, drawn to my distress. Then his fists clenched at his sides, and he stilled his progress. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes briefly.
When they opened again, my cool, remote Master had me fixed firmly in his steady silver gaze. I scrambled upright, preparing to drop to my knees in response to the powerful aura that pulsed off of him.
“Stay,” he said sharply.
I froze, my body teetering on the edge of the couch. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Clayton tense, his plastered-on smile slipping to a disgusted twist of his lips. But I didn’t care about him; nothing mattered but Master and whatever he willed me to do.
“Clayton has something to tell you,” he informed me coolly. “You’re going to listen to him. You’ll remain silent and accept what he says. You’re going to take deep, even breaths. You are not allowed to panic. Do you understand me, girl?”
The dread that had been gathering in my stomach all day condensed to a massive block of ice. I shuddered as it radiated frigidity throughout my body, sending a fine tremor racing across my flesh. I was terrified of what was coming, but I had no option but to obey Master. Things were rocky enough between us as it was. What further damage might I inflict if I defied him?
“Yes, Master.” My words were barely audible, but he nodded his acceptance.
“After I left here this morning, I processed the new information I had gained about your case.” Clayton’s business-like voice snapped my attention to him. Master had ordered me to listen to his friend. I would obey. I would show Master that I could be good, that all I ever wanted was to please him.
“Narrowing our search to women named Lydia around the Chicago area reported as missing after 2009 led me straight to your case file.”
My eyes cut over to Master. Clayton hadn’t overheard Master and me discussing the year 2009 that morning.
Oh, god. My mind flashed back to the sound of Master busily typing on his phone that morning. How much had he told Clayton?
“Stop shaking your head, girl,” Master ordered sharply. “Listen.”
My neck instantly stiffened, and my gaze riveted back to Clayton.