First Debt

by Pepper Winters

  Clamping my thighs together, I forced my depleted body to obey. My ankles crossed awkwardly, my breathing tattered. “Jethro—please…don’t do this.”

  He froze, panting harshly in my ear. “You want me. You’ve toyed with me and offered yourself up every time we fight.” His forehead rested against my nape, his breath scattering down my spine. “Yet, now that I’m willing to throw away the fucking rule book, you decide you don’t want me?” His voice dripped with venom. “Make up your damn mind, woman.”

  His knee tried to wedge between my legs, working its way to widen my thighs. I used every ounce of remaining strength to lock my knees tighter.

  “Let me give it to you. Don’t take it. Not by force. Don’t make me ha—hate you more than I already do.” Tears torrented from the corners of my eyes.

  Jethro sucked in a breath. “Goddammit.” His voice was alive and full of need. More alive than I’d ever heard him. Gone was the cold precision and careful calculation. He was hot-blooded and raging, and some part of me was flattered by his desire.

  He wanted me.

  A lot.

  That power turned the burning fire on my back into something twisty and wrong. But I didn’t succumb. I couldn’t.

  If I did, there would be no hope for me. No chance at ever redeeming myself if I let him take me like this.

  I wanted to seduce him.

  I wanted the power of winning.

  This…this would be rape, and it would reinforce in his head that he could take whatever he damn well wanted and suffer no repercussions.

  “Stop it!” I screamed as his hands drifted down my front. The fight inside intensified, blotting out the awful radiating pain in my back.

  Something hot and silky nudged against the small of my spine. “Christ’s sake, woman. You have no idea what you’re doing to me.”

  What is that?

  All senses shot to where he stroked me with a hard throbbing…

  It’s his erection.

  My heart leapt into my throat.

  Jethro rocked harder, his body heat scalding every inch. His naked cock lurched against my bloody back.

  I hissed as pain intensified.

  He grunted as I jolted in the bindings. “Please—” I begged.

  The tips of my fingers scrabbled at the post as I tried to keep my balance. His knee worked harder to unlock my thighs.

  “You can’t stop this. Neither of us can.”

  The truth in his voice daggered my heart.

  If we did this, we would slip from humanity and turn over our souls. We’d become animals, forever fighting and cursing each other.

  My back flared with flames as his arm wrapped around my waist, pulling me from the post and into his twisted embrace. I wriggled against him, blocking out the agony. “Jethro!”

  His cock nudged me again, bruising me with his need.

  “Shit, let me—”

  “I won’t! Not like this.”

  He groaned, a savage mixture of a growl of frustration and grunt of regret.

  My vision blacked out then returned, masking the pain and encouraging me to drift. I expected a longer war. In complete truthfulness, I expected to lose and be taken like a common slave against the whipping post with my blood smearing between us.

  It was better to give in—get it over with.

  Then I could rest.

  Yes, rest. Sleep…

  Fight siphoned from my limbs, succumbing to the inevitable.

  But Jethro…the moment I submitted, he stiffened.

  He…he let me go.

  His body heat stayed blistering and all-consuming behind, but he didn’t touch me.

  Neither of us moved. I was too shocked to ask why.

  Then, a noise hit my ears. A noise I wasn’t familiar with yet knew exactly what it was. Some primal part of me needed no confirmation, painting a vivid scene in my head of what Jethro was doing.

  My heart sped up as the rhythmic sound grew louder. His breathing came short and sharp, sending my skin prickling with knowledge.

  My mind filled with images of him. I pictured his head tossed back, his chest rising and falling, and legs spread for balance. I bit my lip as I let my imagination wander, bringing into focus his strong fingers wrapped around his cock, punishing himself with a grip that worked up and down, up and down. Faster and faster.

  His breathing matched my sick daydream. My tummy clenched at the thought of him masturbating while I stood there prone, bleeding, and silent.

  A soft groan decorated his harsh breathing as something hot and stinging splashed across my lower back.

  Did he just—?

  He moaned louder as another stream lacerated the cuts on my spine.

  He grunted one last time as a torrid spurt marked my skin, seeping into my wounds like acid.

  My eyes shot wide as my lips thinned in repugnance. Like some crazed beast, he’d marked me with his cum. He’d respected my plea and not taken me, but he’d had to service himself.

  I shuddered in the cuffs as Jethro’s forehead landed on the base of my skull. “Fuck, you’re ruining me.”

  The atmosphere changed instantaneously. It switched from abuse and debt payments to fragile and perplexed.

  I couldn’t calm my heart or ignore the fiery sting of his cum on my wounds.

  Wordlessly, Jethro stepped away. The faint sound of a zipper being refastened was the only sound apart from our tattered breathing.

  Awareness slowly came back—I wished it wouldn’t.

  Inch by inch, pain on top of pain made itself known. My muscles bellowed; my back hummed like a hundred bee stings. And the questions that bombarded me made nausea swirl with confusion.

  Tears stole my vision as everything became too much.

  The whipping.

  Jethro’s desecration and confession.

  It felt as if my skeleton had been ripped into view, hanging bony and stripped bare with every colliding thought on display. The licking flames of whiplashes stole the remainder of my energy.

  I buckled, giving up all control to the cuffs.

  I didn’t want to cry again.

  I didn’t want to seem weak in front of the monster who’d not only hurt me but gotten off on it. He’d been turned on so much, he had to mark me with ownership. Like I was his territory—his possession.

  No matter how much I wished I were stronger, I wasn’t. I couldn’t stop the tears rivering from my eyes or the hiccupping sobs building in my chest.

  Softly, silently, the winch released, dropping my arms so I only remained standing by leaning against the post.

  The buckles on my wrists were removed, cuffs no longer imprisoning.

  Jethro’s touch was infinitely gentle and kind.

  My legs gave a second warning before they collapsed from beneath me.

  I braced myself for the fall. I gritted my teeth against more agony.

  But I didn’t tumble to the travertine floor.

  I landed in strong arms.

  And the only thing that registered was shock.

  The arms weren’t cold.

  But hot.

  I came to being placed gently on my stomach.

  Whatever I lay upon was soft as a cloud and smelled just as fresh.

  I snuggled deeper into the fluffiness, wishing for oblivion once again, but the agonizing pain from my shredded back wouldn’t let me fade.

  My hands balled the sheets beneath me as I struggled to stay still and not squirm.

  It hurts. Crap, it hurts.

  I would’ve murdered for a painkiller—something to dull the mind-numbing agony.

  A cool hand pressed against my naked behind, holding me against the mattress.

  My mattress?

  Where am I?

  I couldn’t tell without raising my eyes. I would have to tense my spine to look, and no way in hell was I moving.

  “Stay still,” Jethro ordered, his voice calm but lacking the usual icy edge.

  I froze, just waiting for more torture or horri
ble mind games. I was at my weakest, most vulnerable. I had no defence—mental or physical—if he decided to hurt me more.

  His touch drifted over a particularly violent lash mark.

  I hissed, biting my lip.

  I wanted to moan—to see if vocalizing the agony would help release it. Coupled with the cuts on my feet from running and my bruises from vertigo, I’d never been so banged up.

  Vaughn would kill him for this. My brother could never stand to see me hurt.

  The bed shifted as Jethro disappeared. Vaguely, the sound of a tap being turned on and the groan of old pipes expanding with water drifted to my ears.

  I didn’t know how much time passed; I drifted in and out of pain, wishing I could transplant a pair of wings from the stuffed birds around the room and fly away.

  Then the mattress dipped again, my skin crackling with awareness as Jethro hovered beside me.

  Something clanked onto the bedside table, smelling sharply of antiseptic.

  I flinched, turning my head to see what it was.

  At least we have drugs to stop infection. Back in the 1400s they wouldn’t have been so lucky.

  Jethro’s fingers landed on my hair, stroking softly. “I’m going to fix you. Don’t move.”

  “Fix me?” My voice came out scratching and sore from previous screaming. “You can’t fix me.”

  He didn’t reply.

  Instead, he dipped a soft white cloth into the bowl of clear brown liquid and wrung it out.

  His eyes met mine then locked onto the mess that was my back. The moment he pressed the warm dampness against a cut, I burst into tears. The lashes roared with everlasting brimstone. “Stop! Ah, it hurts.”

  His other hand held me down, petting my head as if I would endanger myself further. “I know it hurts, but I have to clean your wounds before I can bandage them.”

  My mind twisted, trying to make sense of this. “Why—why are you the one tending to me?”

  He took a while to reply, dipping the now hated rag into the disinfectant concoction and once again searing my skin with purgatory.

  “Because you’re mine.”

  I hated that reason. “I’m not yours.”

  His voice came softly. “There are a lot worse things than being mine, Ms. Weaver. Being under my control means I’ll do anything to keep you safe. Keep you from other’s cruelty. Don’t throw my offer in my face without fully realising what I’m giving you.”

  His touch dropped lower, gently dabbing my open sores.

  My hands fisted the sheet, breathing hard through my nose. My head ached from tensing, and tears leaked unbidden from my eyes.

  “I do know what you’re offering, and I don’t want it.”

  The moment I said it, I wanted to snatch the words back.

  I wanted him on my side.

  I wanted him to care for me, so I could use him to exterminate his family like vermin.

  “Are you sure?” he murmured. “Are you sure you want to throw away whatever’s building between us?”

  I flinched, bracing myself to deny it. There’s nothing building between us.

  You always were a hopeless liar, Nila.

  How could I admit to an emerging connection between hunter and prey?

  Jethro caressed my hair again. “I know what you’re thinking—I know you feel it, too.” He dropped his voice, whispering, “Don’t lie, Ms. Weaver. Not when we both know the truth. Do you deny we’re drawn to each other? Fighting more with ourselves than what we know we shouldn’t feel?”

  Silence.

  I had no reply. Nothing that wouldn’t give me away.

  Jethro continued to rinse and dab, slowly but tenderly cleaning my smarting back.

  “You’re strong. Stronger than anyone I’ve met. But still so naïve, which makes you incredibly dangerous.” His touch pulled me deeper into his icy charm.

  “What are you trying to do?” I pinched my lips together as a particular sharp lance of pain caught me by surprise. “Why are you saying all of this?”

  A minute ticked past.

  For the longest moment, I worried he would never reply, just like so many of my questions.

  “I don’t know.” His answer ached with confession, cleaving open my chest.

  Memories of what happened at the end of the debt repayment took my mind prisoner. “How could you do that? How could you come after hurting me so much?” I pressed my cheek harder against the bed as agony bonfired down my spine. “To get off on drawing blood makes you sadistic. It makes you twisted.”

  Jethro paused, letting me go completely to swirl the cloth in the bowl. The brown liquid turned rusty from my blood. “Sadistic?”

  I swallowed back a groan as I arched my neck, making eye contact with his turbulent golden gaze. “Yes. You enjoyed seeing me hurt from running in the woods. You like seeing me uncomfortable. Sadistic fits you perfectly.”

  He sighed, looking at the dripping cloth in his hands. It stained his trousers, not that he seemed to care. “I’m many things but not a sadist.”

  I scoffed, tearing my gaze away.

  He didn’t deserve a reply when he blatantly lied.

  Silence fell between us as he slowly continued to wash my back.

  His hands dropped lower—to where he’d branded me with his orgasm.

  I flinched. He sucked in a harsh breath as he reached the base of my spine. The residue stickiness felt foreign and unwanted. I wanted his pleasure gone. I didn’t want to wear evidence of his toxic mind games.

  I whispered, “See the evidence? You came in seconds. You were so caught up in needing a release, you couldn’t even wait to subdue me to rape me.” I sighed. “Who needs to come so badly they’ll throw their dignity away and come like a little boy caught looking at Playboy for the first time?”

  The memory of walking in on Vaughn doing exactly that was seared into my brain. I’d been scarred for life after that. Terrified of what it meant. Unable to understand what my brother was doing hurting himself in such a manner.

  I’d bolted the moment I’d seen, and to this day, we’d never discussed it.

  “You’re right,” Jethro whispered. “I disgraced myself. But I had no alternative. I couldn’t do what I wanted without hurting you more, and you’d already been hurt enough. It was the only way to see straight—to let the poison out of my system.”

  “Poison?”

  He chuckled sadly. “It’s one word for it.”

  His touch landed on my spine again, wiping away the leftovers of his transgression. “If you want an apology, I won’t give it.”

  “So I’m to accept you smearing your cum into my flayed back?”

  I’m to accept that I belong to you, because I have no other choice?

  He didn’t reply. Tossing the rag into the bowl, he grabbed a tube of cream beside it. Silently, he smeared the lotion onto my cuts.

  I hissed as the cream stung before fading to a gentle throb. Every hair on my body bristled with how tenderly he cared for me. My heart raced for an entirely different reason as he meticulously smeared my entire back in balm.

  The moment I was covered, he stood.

  “Sit up,” he ordered.

  Sit up? That was asking for the impossible. I couldn’t.

  When I tried half-heartedly and swallowed a moan of agony, Jethro moved closer. “Let me help.”

  He hovered, his scent of woods and leather scrambling my heart until I suffered a bad case of arrhythmia.

  He didn’t touch me, only waited.

  He’s waiting for your permission—transferring power back to you.

  I frowned. What tricks was he playing? Who was this silent attentive man, and what the hell happened to the bastard I wanted to murder?

  Jethro continued to watch me, his face tight and unreadable.

  I nodded once.

  With powerful hands, he helped me sit up and swing my legs over the side of the bed.

  Squeezing my eyes, I almost succumbed to pain-induced vertigo as I swayed in his gr
ip.

  “Trust me,” he murmured, reaching beneath my arms to scoop my weight, helping me stand.

  I moaned as a few of the shallower cuts reopened, oozing painfully.

  “Can you stand on your own?”

  I wanted to berate him. Ridicule his kindness with what he’d done. But something in his eyes implored me to relax—to not fight him on this particular subject.

  I blinked, completely lost as to his motives or plans.

  Slowly, I nodded.

  Leaving me to wobble in place, he pulled free a large bandage from a first-aid kit on the floor.

  Between my teeth, I muttered, “You always intended to patch me up…afterwards?”

  His eyebrow rose, locking me in his stare. “You still don’t understand.”

  I struggled to suck in a decent breath with the intensity in his gaze. “I understand plenty.”

  He shook his head. “No, you don’t. You think we’re going to torture and maim you for the next few years. Yes, your future is set in stone, and yes, it will hang over your head until it’s finished. But you have to keep living, keep experiencing. You’re part of our family now. You’ll be treated as such.”

  My brain whirled.

  “In answer to your question, I always intended to tend to your wounds, just like I will do with every debt. You’re mine.” His lips twitched. “In sickness and in health.”

  Temper flared through my blood. “Don’t twist the vows of matrimony. This isn’t a marriage. This is the worst kind of kidnapping.”

  His eyes hooded, hiding his thoughts. “A marriage is a kidnapping. After all, it’s a contract between two people.” He came closer, unravelling the end of the bandage and holding it against my side. My arms wrapped around my naked chest hating that even now, even after everything he’d done, my skin still rippled with want.

  His face tightened and he grabbed my wrists, placing them forcibly by my sides. “Arms down.” His attention turned to holding the bandage against my ribcage. Once in place, he moved in a circle around me, wrapping my torso caringly in gauze. The soft fabric granted needed relief.

  I bit the inside of my cheek. How was it that the gentlest of his touches killed me the most? I’d never been this light-headed without the curse of vertigo. Never been this confused by one person.