by Measha Stone
She slowed and tried to see through the slim windows of the security house. If the mammoth was in there, he was hiding pretty well. The next thing she’d need was to get inside the building and find the mechanism because she doubted the wrought iron gates would open manually.
Shielding her eyes from the bright afternoon sun, she checked the guard house again. Still no movement. Maybe it was only manned while Peter was away.
The door to the guard house was unlocked, and she made quick work of getting inside. She found the switch easily enough and reached for it.
But before she touched anything, she could hear the subtle creak of the iron moving.
Peter hadn’t mentioned leaving, but he hadn’t told her anything except he had work to do. Maybe it was just a visitor. She could still get out, get away from the house.
Pressing against the wall, out of sight through the window, she held her breath, waiting for the vehicle to pull through and continue up the drive.
Nothing.
Was it idling at the entrance?
A car door slammed, and heavy footsteps made their way to her hiding spot. She squeezed her eyes closed and turned her head away from the door.
A deep chuckle blasted through the silence.
“Azalea.”
She willed the voice to go away.
“Azalea, I can see you. Closing your eyes doesn’t make me actually go away.” Peter’s levity made her heart stop pounding or the hairs on the back of her neck stop standing on end.
Realizing she’d moved up to her toes in an effort to completely flatten herself against the wall, she lowered herself and opened her eyes. Peter hadn’t come inside; he was leaning through the open window.
“You were trying to run away again.” He pushed the door open and walked through.
“I—” There wasn’t much sense in lying, since he’d caught her. “What did you expect me to do?” she asked instead.
“I expected you to stay on the grounds like I told you to. I expected you to have more sense than to use the front entrance as a way of escape.”
He wasn’t wearing his suit. A simple buttoned-down white shirt tucked neatly into black slacks held up with a thick, worn, black leather belt. She could make out some of his tattoos through the thin material of his sleeves.
“If you hadn’t come home just now, it would have worked.” She thrust her chin up. Given the darkening of his scowl after she spoke, it probably wasn’t the best time to proclaim such a small victory.
“Did you honestly think I didn’t have men watching you? Did you really think you’d merely open the gates and walk out of here?” His voice deepened, sending a chill up her spine. The levity disappeared.
“I—” She snapped her mouth shut. She hadn’t seen anyone, but that didn’t mean they weren’t there. “So, one of your men called you? Tattled on me?”
“I gave you freedom of the house, the yards, everywhere, and still you try to leave?”
“You are so stupid!” she yelled. The events of the past day were too much. All of it had worn her down. “You can’t kidnap a woman and expect her to simply fall in line! I won’t stop trying to leave. I won’t stop trying to get home! You can’t keep me!” She lunged at him, shoving at his chest and trying to make it out the door.
His thick arm wrapped easily around her throat, yanking her backward until she crashed into his massive chest. Breath couldn’t come fast enough, her lungs heaved for air.
But not him.
He simply held her, his breathing easy and soft against her ear.
“That’s enough.” His dark tenor washed over her, sucking the fight out of her. She dropped her hands to her sides and took a slow, ragged breath.
“Please…let me go,” she pleaded on a whisper.
“Never.” A solid statement. “Now, since you’ve proven you can’t follow directions, and you’ve promised to keep trying to escape, I’ll have to make other arrangements for you.”
“What? No. I’ll—” Her words were cut off by the clamp of his hand over her mouth. She sucked in air through her nose, struggling to get enough, but he didn’t budge.
“No more talking. You’ve said enough, Azalea.” He pushed her forward, frog walking her outside the guard house. He didn’t turn to the car, still idling just inside the gates, but shoved her toward the house.
She managed to keep up with his pace, not that she had a choice with his arm around her chest and his hand cutting off most of her air.
When they got to the stairs, he released her, spun her, and threw her over his shoulder. Her stomach lurched when it landed across his muscular build.
“Peter—”
A sharp smack to her bottom stilled her. “I said enough. Don’t make it worse.” His voice, though still velvety smooth, held a darker quality.
The door opened to the house, and the bright light of the afternoon quickly dissipated to darkness. Looking up as best she could, she saw another man—one who had been with Peter at her house the night before—standing at the door.
“No one comes upstairs,” Peter said as he walked through the foyer and ascended the staircase. Each step made her bounce on his shoulder.
He was taking her up to his room. He’d lock her in for sure this time. She’d tried to escape too soon. She should have taken the time to learn the layout of the house, figured out where his men were, and maneuvered around them. Exactly like at home.
Instead, she’d seen an opportunity and run with it. Like an idiot.
And now he’d lock her away.
When they reached his suite, he didn’t stop at his bedroom. He went to another door and opened it, walking into a darkened area. He spun around, shutting and bolting the door. Her head swam from all the movements and dangling upside down.
He bent forward, bringing her to her feet. She wiped the hair from her face and took a small step to get her bearings.
“Strip.”
The hard command surprised her.
She tucked her long strands of hair behind her ears and peered up at him. He had to be joking. He was trying to scare her.
His narrowed eyes, tense jaw, and stern expression didn’t imply any sort of amusement.
“Why?”
“Three seconds before I do it for you.” He lifted three fingers in the air. “One.” He lowered one finger.
“Wait. No. Okay.” She waved at him and retreated backward.
“Two.” Another finger bent.
“No.” She shook her head and looked around for somewhere to hide, to put distance between them.
Someone could have hit her in the chest, and it would have felt better than the shock at what she saw before her.
A human-sized cage. Taller than her, and wide enough for several people to stand inside together. Beside the cage, another spanking bench, like the one in his room. The wall was covered with hooks. Implements hung from half of them. Paddles, whips, floggers, leather straps—things she’d seen online but never in real life. They looked so much worse in real life.
“Three.”
She tried to run away, but he gripped her shoulders, spinning her to face him. With one tug at the neckline, he tore her dress. The dress split down the middle, and he ripped the flimsy material until it hung from her arms.
“You monster.” She tried to cover herself, but he smacked away her hands and finished pulling the clothing off her body then reached for her bra.
“No. I will. Just stop!” She jumped back, trying to whack him away.
She kept her gaze off him, not wanting to see his anger, and reached behind her to unclasp her bra. The white cotton slid down her arms, freeing her breasts as the cups dropped. She tossed it to the floor, onto the ruined and discarded dress, pushed her panties over her hips, and kicked them to join the others.
Instinctively, she wrapped one arm over her breasts, and pressed an open hand to her groin, trying to reclaim some dignity.
“Look at me,” he ordered, and not wanting to give him reason to do anything
else to her, she did.
The anger she assumed would be raging in his expression wasn’t there. The dark storm still lingered, but he wasn’t out of control with rage.
She would have been more comfortable with anger than his calm disapproval. Did he ever lose control?
“Drop your hands to your sides.” The next order was given.
She released her breasts but pulled her hair forward, thankful the long locks were able to give her some cover then let both arms dangle at her sides.
He made a slow appraisal of her naked form. A grin eased onto his lips when he finally reached her eyes.
“Get on the bench, grab the handles, and put your ass high in the air,” he instructed, reaching for his belt buckle.
“No.” She shook her head. She would not give in so easily.
“No?” He quirked an eyebrow. “Did you just say no?”
“That’s what I said.” She made fists to keep from trying to cover her body again. She would not give him weakness. The monster probably fed off it, and she would rather see him starved.
He dropped his hands, the belt already unbuckled and hanging open at his waist. “Okay.” He nodded.
Her stomach twisted. That wasn’t a good okay. That was definitely an, I’ll think of something worse okay.
With two large strides, he grabbed her arms, pulled her to the cage. She struggled, yanking back and cursing at him—not that she expected any of it to work, but she wouldn’t go willingly into the prison.
He didn’t open the door. Instead, he reached up and pulled down a pair of cuffs from the top. He shoved her forward until her body was pressed against the long black bars. Her hands were drawn up over her head. Her struggles were no match for his strength, and she found her wrists bound in the cuffs.
Without the use of her upper body, she kicked out with her feet.
“Can’t forget those,” he said almost lightheartedly.
One ankle then the other was grasped and pulled out and locked in another set of cuffs until she was completely stretched out against the cage.
She pulled hard, but nothing would give. Completely naked, exposed, her backside faced him.
The jangling of his buckle reminded her of his mission, and her ass clenched in response.
“No. Peter. Please,” she begged, trying to turn her head to see him, to plead with him. “Don’t do this.”
“This was your decision, Azalea. You would have gotten a few licks of my belt on the bench, but now—now you’re getting a true strapping.”
His fingertips ran over her smooth buttocks, and she tried to jerk to the side, but he had her completely trapped.
Panic rose in her chest. “I’m sorry I tried to run away,” she said at the sound of his leather belt rubbing against the loops of his pants as he pulled it free.
“I’m glad you are, but that doesn’t change the consequences. See, being sorry afterward and facing no punishment won’t get it in your head not to do it again. So, it’s my job to be sure you learn this lesson.” He palmed her right ass cheek. “I mean really learn it.”
“Don’t do this. Please.” She tugged again on the restraints.
“You did this, Azalea. This is all because of your choices.” His hand left her ass, but only for a moment. It made contact. Hard, sharp pain radiated through her once then twice before he moved to her left cheek and repeated the action.
She squeezed her eyelids closed when his hand ran along her shoulder blades, gathering her hair and pushing it forward until her back was completely exposed. The long tendrils reached her bottom when she leaned her head back; at least he moved them out of the way. But was it an action to keep her hair from being pulled, or to make his target more accessible.
The first lash of the leather crossed her ass, bringing with it a white-hot fire she’d never experienced. It took her breath away. She sucked in air just as the second lash hit its target.
She screamed.
Another lash and another.
“Stop!” she cried out, twisting to avoid the strikes but failing miserably.
“Not yet,” he announced and continued to administer the punishment.
He didn’t leave an inch of her ass unmarked as he brought the length of his belt down on her over and over again, moving up and down her bottom. She screeched when the leather landed on her thighs.
“Please! I’m sorry!” she cried, tears rolling uncontrolled down her cheeks. Pain, unadulterated pain coursed through her bottom as he continued.
“Almost done,” he promised in a soft voice. How the hell could he be so calm while delivering such a harsh spanking?
“I can’t—please—no more!” She yanked hard on the cuffs. She could take the rest, and she would, but her mind was reeling from the sharpness of each strike.
His response was to move his mark higher, onto the fleshy part of her ass. She must be a bright-red mess.
All she’d had to do was stay on the estate. That was all he’d asked. He’d given her free rein of the house, aside from the one wing he wanted to escort her through. But she’d tried to run. Until this moment, he hadn’t hurt her, hadn’t done anything to make her fear him, but she’d gone against him anyway.
Any reasonable person would try to escape. But he’d warned her. He’d told her what would happen, and now she hung from a cage, her ass being blistered by his belt.
He’d kept his word.
“I won’t run again!” she called out, meaning it, knowing she would never make another attempt. Not if being caught would bring this hellhound to her door.
He paused.
“I swear it, Peter. I won’t,” she huffed, sucking in air, feeling the burn of her throat from her cries, the ache in her chest from lack of breath.
“It’s not safe for you to run off.” The tips of his fingers ran along her ass, making her hiss from the tenderness. She imagined how swollen her cheeks were, how red and bruised.
“It’s not safe for me here,” she whispered, pressing her forehead against the bars and letting the tears dry on her cheeks.
“I know you’re confused. I know this is all probably pretty scary, but all you can do is focus on what I tell you.” He crushed his body against hers, his hard length pressing against her naked ass.
“How is being locked in here better than being locked in at home?” she asked quietly. Would she ever find the freedom she sought?
“You aren’t locked in here, Azalea. And if you follow my rules, if you behave, you won’t feel the sting of my belt again.” He ground his hips into her ass, making her too aware of his cock pushing against her.
“When you’re a good girl, when you listen, you’ll have so much pleasure. So much happiness, you’ll wonder why you ever wanted to run away.” His lips brushed against her ear.
“You’re insane.” She forced a hardness to her words, but she could admit at least to herself that, through the burn of her ass, she sensed the rising arousal in her belly. Her pussy was wet. From the first lash to the last, she’d felt her body responding to his harshness.
He knew it, too.
Fingers slipped between her ass cheeks, pressing against her puckered hole then moved lower until he found the wetness she couldn’t stop.
“Ah, there you are.” He kissed the spot behind her ear. “There’s the Azalea I met at Tower. The woman turned on by a whipping, the woman fighting her own desires, her own sexuality.” He rolled his finger over her sensitive clit, now swollen and wanting from her punishment.
“No.” She tried to shake her head, to deny what he said, but he kissed her cheek.
“I don’t like that word from you. I should forbid you to use it.” He pinched her clit, sending a wave of electricity through her body.
All her strength had been used during the belting, so she couldn’t stop the moan of pleasure escaping her lips when he pinched again.
“Imagine how quickly you’d come for me if I thrust my cock in you, or if I sucked on this little clit of yours.” He slid his fingers b
ack, circling her entrance. “How fast will you come unglued for me if I fuck you with my fingers?”
Heaven help her, if he didn’t stop talking, she’d come purely from his voice.
“But, you were a very naughty girl, and you can’t have an orgasm yet.” He pulled away, all touch evaporated from her, leaving her burning for an entirely different reason.
The pain of her ass made itself known again as the ache in her pussy ebbed. She dropped her head, wanting to cry, for the loss of her dignity, for the loss of any hope at freedom, and for the loss of his touch.
He released her ankles from the cuffs and wrapped an arm around her waist while uncuffing her wrists.
“I won’t lock you in here,” he said picking her up in his arms, but not being at all careful of the soreness in her ass as he did so. “Unless you make me. If you run again, I will,” he promised.
He carried her into his bedroom again with her arms wrapped around his neck and her head resting against his chest.
His aftershave smelled good. Like something she could snuggle into.
Peter placed her on the bed, ass down, and grinned at her when she winced from the fabric rubbing her skin.
“I won’t lock you in, but I am going to put a man outside the door.” He leaned over her face, ran his fingers over the streaks of dried tears. “One of my men will escort you when you leave this room. No more bad behavior, Azalea.” He touched the tip of her nose.
“When will this end?” she asked softly, watching his lips.
“I can’t tell you that.”
“Can’t or won’t?”
He remained silent for a long moment then brought his mouth over hers. She should have fought it, turned her head and denied him, but instead she sank into the warmth of his touch.
When his tongue pushed between her lips, she danced with it, taking the kiss deeper, wanting more than just his mouth on her.
He ended the kiss abruptly and pressed one warm peck to her cheek. “Sleep for now.”