The Complete Secrets Series

by LK Shaw

  I hastily left the room, leaving Dr. Parrish standing at her desk, knowing my demons would follow me. Bridget was still reading a magazine when I burst through the door into the reception area. She took one look at my face, and set her magazine down as she stood. I didn’t wait for her as I quickened my pace toward the parking garage.

  She reached the car a few short seconds after I did so I knew she’d been right on my heels. I sighed in relief when she kept her silence on the entire drive home. I think she knew that one word from her would push me over the edge. She pulled into the driveway and had barely put the car in park before I jumped out and raced through the house and out into the back yard, my sanctuary, not even bothering to close the back door behind me.

  I kicked off my shoes, chucked them across the yard, and padded the familiar worn path through the grass. I heard the snick of the door closing at the top of the deck. I continued pacing back and forth, my breath coming in shallow gasps, my nails biting into my palms as I tried to quiet the memories in my head.

  I lost track of how long I’d paced before my heartbeat slowed and I felt a semblance of control. I only knew when I next looked around, dusk had settled and the air had grown cold. My stomach growled, loudly, and reluctantly, I returned to the house. I expected the nightmares would come back in full force again tonight.

  Phebe

  The familiar sounding footsteps drew closer outside the door as I lay naked on the cushioned mattress with its silken sheets. An involuntary shiver coursed through me, a combination of cold and anguish. The footsteps stopped in front of the door and with only a pause, the hinges creaked as it was pushed open. My eyes focused on the ceiling, and my gaze honed in on the water stain directly above me. Even when the bed dipped with the weight of the man leaning slightly over me, my stare remained on the large spot over me.

  “You miss me, malen’kaya igrushka?”

  I refused to acknowledge the question, even when a soft touch stroked my cheek. I couldn’t help but flinch at the gentleness of it.

  The finger that had so reverently brushed my skin, began to move. First to my mouth, circling it lightly, attempting to gain entrance. I clamped my lips shut tight, resistant, although I knew my rebellion would be punished.

  Resistance was futile.

  “Open,” he commanded, his harsh Russian accent grating against my ears.

  Still fighting the inevitable, I jerked my head away. A piercing pain erupted when the man pinched my nipple between his fingers and squeezed, harder and harder until I couldn’t take the agony any longer.

  “Please!” I screamed, jaggedly, my gaze finally leaving the ceiling and connecting with his, my eyes and words begging him to cease the torture.

  As quickly as it began, the torment stopped, leaving a throbbing residual pain.

  “Please, what, malen’kaya igrushka?”

  My breath came out on an anguished sigh. “Please, stop. I’ll do what you ask.”

  “I did not ask the first time.” As his finger traced my mouth again, he exerted a slight pressure. This time, I followed his unspoken directive and parted my lips. The single digit dipped inside just enough to wet the tip. He removed the appendage before tracing another circle around my mouth. This time when be bade entrance, a second finger joined the first.

  “Lick them.”

  My tongue swirled around the digits, thoroughly wetting them. I’d bit them one time and one time only. My defiance only went so far now. When he was satisfied at their wetness, he pulled them out of my mouth and dragged them down my chin, throat, and sternum leaving a trail of moisture behind. He reached the same breast he’d only recently abused and gently teased the puckered nipple, soothing the dull ache still present.

  He gently molded my breast, his touch tender. His attention switched to its twin and my nipple unwillingly pebbled as he thrummed his thumb across it. Wet heat enclosed the bruised tip as his mouth closed over it, his tongue laving the injury as he attempted to soothe it. He flicked his tongue against the bud and suckled the pebble deep in his mouth, trying to force a response from my body. He worshipped my sensitive breasts, licking back and forth between the two, drawing their beaded tips into the hot cavern of his mouth.

  “You are wet, yes, malen’kaya igrushka?” The man slowly drew a path down my stomach and brushed the top of my pubis. One he’d taken great pains to shave completely bare while Dmitri held my legs opened and watched. His finger slid past my clit, just grazing it before tracing the wet opening of my pussy. Hatred flowed through me even as I shuddered from his touch. A hatred aimed not only at this man who violated me, but at my traitorous body.

  No matter how much my mind fought, my body betrayed me every time. Shame settled deep in my gut. I didn’t want this. His touch repulsed me, but I couldn’t fight my body’s response.

  “Ah, I think your body likes me,” he mocked, as though he knew every thought in my head.

  My silence continued, his words not warranting a response from me. From the first, this man had taunted me. Claimed me as his. He explained how he would train me just the way he liked. He’d been brutal and rough. I’d fought his touch with everything I had, which led to severe punishments. It didn’t matter though, I continued to resist.

  Even when he gave me to Dima –Dmitri -- and the other men. My body still bore the evidence of their torture.

  But then, he changed tactics. He found a way to break me. Instead of the physical force he’d previously used, his touch was now gentle and reverent. No longer did he violently take what wasn’t his. Now, he took it with care. He caressed my body with a tenderness I’d never experienced before. Not even with Kieran. When I tried to disassociate myself from what he was doing, he would inflict pain, forcing me from the safe place my mind went to, and bring me back to the present. He then soothed away my pains.

  The man moved away, but I knew he didn’t go far. He was only getting started. The bed dipped again, this time at the foot of the bed, as he made his way up toward me. He straddled my upper thighs, the fabric of his pants rubbing my skin. He leaned forward and braced his palms on either side of my head as he looked down at my naked form. My fists clenched tightly at my sides.

  “I make you even wetter.” An evil smile graced his lips and his dark eyes turned to pitch with arousal. He dropped a light kiss on my lips before moving downward, his large form separating my thighs as he settled between them. He kissed my sternum, my belly, before finally reaching his intended destination. He pushed my knees up toward my chest.

  “Hold them open,” the command came out on a rasp. Slowly, I dragged my hands up to my knees and painstakingly spread my legs for him. His fingers parted my labia and he stared at me as though he’d found a hidden treasure. He licked his lips in anticipation. Then he struck. He buried his face in my pussy and expertly maneuvered his tongue. He opened me wide and pushed his curled tongue inside me as far as he could go.

  He devoured me. Feasted on me as though I were his last meal. Every flick of his tongue, every touch he exerted, everything was meant to wring a response from me. My mind warred with my body. When it started to win and I was able to block out his touch, he did what he always did. He brought my focus back to him, through pain. Pain he inflicted by biting down hard on my clit and then quickly soothing it away with a kiss. My body reacted to his loving ministrations and wetness poured from my drenched pussy. He lapped it up like cream.

  He raised his head to speak to me, his face covered in my wetness. “Your taste is sweetest fruit. My tongue and mouth, they eat at you for days. I drink every drop you give. Your body… mine. Your mind… mine. Your soul… mine. YOU… mine, malen’kaya igrushka.”

  He thrust two fingers inside me and lowered his head again to my clit and nibbled on it, pulling the bud and sucking on it. Drawing it deep into his mouth as he continued to fuck me. Shame filled me because no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t stop the moan that escaped my mouth or my body from writhing beneath his touch. I turned my head to look away as a
tear I’d thought long dried up leaked from my eye only for it to disappear in the silken pillowcase.

  An orgasm I wanted to deny was building. My inner core throbbed with the need for release. The sensation spread and just before it exploded, he pulled away from me, leaving me gasping at the sudden halt, my body reaching for that elusive feeling. As I remained on the precipice of my climax, he quickly removed his clothes and donned a condom before climbing back between my open thighs. He licked my slit one more time before making his way up my stomach, dropping kisses on the way as he reached my breasts, causing me to break my hold on my legs. Instinctively, I lowered them.

  He suckled, licked, and lightly bit at the beaded tips causing the waning orgasm to rise again. He’d learned my body well over such a short time. Again, I was denied orgasm as he moved farther upward, his erection now pushing against my pussy. He rubbed his cock through my lower lips, coating it in my juices. He grasped my chin and forced my head to turn toward him. I stared into his black, soulless eyes knowing he read the hatred in mine.

  “You belong to me, malen’kaya igrushka.” His mouth crashed down on mine at the same time he thrust his cock deep inside me. He pushed his tongue inside my mouth matching the rhythm of his cock. Harder and harder he pushed, grinding his pelvis against mine as they met. His forearms caged my head holding it in place as he continued his relentless assault. I gasped at the overwhelming feelings he forced on me. More tears spilled from my eyes.

  I was left empty as he suddenly pulled out. With ease, he flipped me onto my stomach, roughly grabbed me by the hips, pulled me up to my knees before plunging his cock back inside me. He pounded into me from behind, slamming home with each thrust. His grip dug into my skin as he continued fucking me. One arm snaked around my waist as he reached down for my clit. He rubbed furiously, creating the perfect amount of friction. Against my will, the pressure that had been denied for so long quickly built inside me again from his relentless hammering. Without warning the tension exploded as my orgasm burst through me.

  As my climax continued, he grabbed beneath my shoulders and pulled me upright until my back was flush to his chest forcing his cock even deeper inside me, my muscles involuntarily clenching down on him. He continued his vicious upward thrusts, his erection never softening, my body bouncing downward to meet each one. One arm crisscrossed my stomach as he reached up to cup one of my breasts and the other reached back down to continue violently rubbing my swollen nub.

  “Look at us,” he barked, his voice cold and demanding, his accent heavy.

  My body was so focused on the next orgasm cresting that I didn’t hear him until he sharply bit my ear and growled his command again.

  “I said look.”

  My eyes flew open to stare at our reflection in the mirror hung on the wall above the head of the bed. When our eyes met, he thrust so deep inside me he hit that one certain spot, and pinched my clit and nipple at the same time drawing a final orgasm from me. My mouth opened on a silent scream as my soul cried out for mercy.

  Unlike previous nightmares, I didn’t bolt upright in my bed. I remained utterly still, invisible bonds holding me tightly bound to the bed. The only movement coming from me was the tears falling from my eyes. I woke from the nightmare, my torment just as silent, but no less excruciating, in my awakened state as in my dream state. A low hum continued to resonate from my body at the remembered pleasure, which only further emphasized the havoc and destruction he’d wreaked on me. My mind refused to shut out the memories. The betrayal of my own body was what made everything unbearable.

  No matter what new torture he devised to train me, I fought it with everything I had. It wasn't just with my body I fought, but also my mind. He said I was his queen, but I was never meant to rule by his side. I was only his queen in the sense that I was just as much a subject of his kingdom as those around us. He controlled me in the same way he controlled them. He'd begun my training as a way to mold me into the perfect vessel. He thought he could control me through pain and fear, but he couldn't. No matter the torture, I refused to bow down to him as others did. He may have been their Korol', their King, but he wasn't mine. My defiance infuriated him.

  Every time he ruthlessly abused my body, he would viciously grip my chin, forcing my gaze on his and command me to call him my king. And each time I refused, a hatred so pure burning through my eyes that there was no mistaking it. I wished him dead. My tortured screams would echo off the walls of my cell as both Dmitri and he "trained" me. And still, I refused to fall at his feet. I'd thought I was strong, but in the end I was weak.

  In the end, he broke me just as he'd sworn he would. It was a wreckage I had no idea would ever be recovered. Nothing in your life prepares you for something of this magnitude. To lose yourself so utterly and completely. After that last time, I had resigned myself to my fate. No longer could I fight the inevitable. But now, I was free, physically, at least.

  I thought about Dr. Parrish’s words, about Donovan’s. How strong I was because I survived. But they didn’t know how wrong they were. They couldn’t even begin to with how the power had been stripped from me.

  I was defeated, and I had no idea how to recover from that.

  From what he’d done to me.

  Donovan insisted Dr. Parrish could help me.

  As the residual threads of my nightmare continued to break, I realized she was right. I needed to find my measure of happiness again.

  I couldn’t continue on this path I traveled.

  Of existing without actually living.

  If I could survive my baby’s death, I could survive this.

  Donovan

  Phebe sat at the kitchen island picking at the lunch I’d made for her. I’d arrived this morning at our scheduled time just as Bridget was dropping off more groceries since Phebe had finally started eating more. If she kept on with it, she should start gaining a few pounds over the next couple weeks. Which, was my intent. From her build, it looked like she’d always been on the slender side, but she was clearly malnourished at the moment.

  Every one of my Dom instincts had me wanting to do everything I could to take care of her. I needed to stop doing so much though, because damn it she wasn’t my sub. She was the farthest thing possible from it. Besides, I had no desire for another sub anyway. No desire to put my trust in someone like that again.

  Trust in a D/s relationship was two-fold. It wasn’t just the sub doing all the trusting. The Dom had to trust in his submissive. He needed to trust that she’d make her needs known. That’s why communication between a Dom and his sub was so important. Trust was a two-way street in BDSM. A sub trusted her Dom to not harm her and to abide by her safe word. To take her to her limits, but not push her too far past them. The same could be said for a Dom. He had to trust his sub to communicate her needs, to use her safe word, and to follow the rules of their contract and negotiations.

  Shannon had broken my trust completely, and I was wary of giving it to someone any time soon.

  “Madeline gave your psyche evaluation to the judge and declared you competent to proceed as a witness. I’ve presented all our evidence, besides your deposition, to the defense attorney so he has time to prepare his client. I have some bad news though,” I said in irritation. I wasn’t happy with how things were going already with this case.

  Phebe slowed her eating at my pronouncement. She quickly swallowed her food before responding. “What kind of bad news?”

  “The Feds are pushing me to get information from Underwood on —” I paused, remembering what happened the last time I’d said the Russian’s name. I definitely didn’t want a repeat performance.

  “You can say his name. I’m not going to freak out on you again. At least not today.”

  I nodded as I continued, even as Phebe set her fork down on her plate and fisted her hands on top of the counter. “They want me to offer a plea bargain to Underwood in exchange for him giving up Dragomirov.”

  “What does that mean? A plea bargain? Will Kieran ge
t away with what he did to me?”

  She rattled off the questions in quick succession, her hysteria growing with each one.

  “Phebe, calm down. It’ll be fine, I promise.” I sighed heavily. “What it means is that Underwood’s sentence could be reduced if he takes the plea bargain. I’m pushing for the maximum sentence. If he and his attorney make a deal, his sentence could be shortened significantly.”

  “Will he still go to jail?”

  “Most likely, yes. It depends on his lawyer and the counter offer they make. And whether we make it to the grand jury.”

  She was still and silent, contemplative. “What are you going to do?”

  “With as hard as the Feds are pushing, I’m going to have to offer the plea bargain. The defense knows they don’t stand a chance if we go to the grand jury. The evidence, plus your testimony, is compelling enough that the grand jury is going to give the go ahead for this case to head to trial. Even if Bronson asks for some of the evidence to be thrown out, there is still enough there to provide the jurors all they need to know. The chances of Underwood getting away with everything is slim.” I hated delivering his kind of news, because she was already stressed enough.

  I observed Phebe’s reaction as she pushed her plate away signaling she was finished. I picked it up and quickly washed it, wishing I could have given her better news. She paled a little, but otherwise didn’t offer a reply.

  “There is also this to think about. A trial case could take months before we’d even get Underwood inside a court room. If we offer them a plea bargain, this whole thing could be over in just a few weeks.”

  “Months?” Her mouth dropped. I could hear the incredulity, and mild panic, in her question.

  “The wheels of justice turn ridiculously slow, I’m afraid. Which is another reason why the Feds want me to push this. They want Dragomirov now. He’s been under investigation for years, but they can’t get any charges to stick. Especially because no one is willing to talk. He’s a powerful man. If Underwood squeals, they have a chance of finally pinning at least one crime on him.”