Valor: Cavalieri Della Morte

by Stone, Measha

  “Turn around and walk back to the tree. Wrap your arms around the trunk.” He took another step in my direction, the gun still raised.

  Not in any position to argue, and now barefoot, the woods marathon didn’t seem such a good idea. I made my way to the tree. The trunk wasn’t very thick, and my arms wound around it easily enough.

  I heard him shuffling behind me and then step around until he was back in my view. The gun had been replaced with a long black zip tie.

  “Wrists together,” he commanded but didn’t wait for me to move. He grabbed my arms and pulled me forward. My cheek hit the trunk, renewing the ache from my earlier meeting with the bark. The tie wrapped around my wrists and bit into me when he pulled it tight. I tried to jerk back, but he was stronger and had me bound.

  “There.” He peered at me from around the trunk. “Now the bad time starts.”

  Starts?

  I was already cold and terrified. What was coming next?

  He stepped to the side, to where I could see him plainly and, with precise movements, he unbuckled his thick black leather belt. My heart picked up speed with each loop the strap passed through as he pulled it free of his pants.

  “Dustan,” I said, but I had no further words. I doubted begging would work. Besides, my mind was too busy engrossing itself in all the horrible things he could do with me tied up the way I was.

  “Bad things for bad girls,” he said and folded the belt in hand, tucking the metal buckle into his palm.

  “Dustan, wait, wait, wait.” I was a broken record, without a pause button. But he didn’t seem to notice. He made his way back behind me.

  I strained my neck, trying to see him, but I couldn’t get enough room to twist. I was pressed against the trunk of the goddamn tree.

  “No!” I screamed. “Don’t you fucking touch me!”

  His body pressed against my back. The rough ridges of the bark bit into my naked flesh, but the heat of his breath on my ear washed away that discomfort.

  “Bad things for bad girls,” he whispered in that heart wrenchingly controlled voice.

  “Please. Please. I’ll stay put,” I promised as soon as he stepped back again. “I swear.” I tried to look over my shoulder again but was cut off by a blindingly sharp pain crossing my ass.

  My voice failed me when I tried to scream, but when another lash hit, I found it.

  Again, and again, the thick leather slashed my ass, my thighs. I rose up to my toes, screaming out with the burn, the white-hot burn of each strike of his belt.

  It wasn’t uncontrolled fury ruling his actions. The man was calculated even with his punishments. I kicked out my foot when a lash hit the upturn of my ass.

  “Stop! Stop!” I yelled. Trying to twist away only resulted in the bark pressing into my breasts and thighs. I couldn’t get away.

  My mind reeled; every coherent thought cut off by another sharp lash of his belt.

  “Stop!” I screamed over and over again until my throat felt as stretched and bruised as my ass and thighs. Tears flooded my eyes, running down my cheeks, nearly chocking me with their volume.

  My nose ran as I began to sob. I had never in my life experienced such pain, such unadulterated burn as he inflicted on me in silence. He hadn’t uttered a word since he began.

  “Please! Please!” I cried, pressing my forehead to the tree as another blow hit my thighs. My shoulders ached from being bound, and the more I sobbed, the more my shoulders shook radiating pain throughout my entire body.

  He would kill me this way. He didn’t need his gun; he would just beat me until I bled out all over his grass.

  The tension in my arms, my back, all released, and I crumpled against the trunk. He wouldn’t stop until he was ready. The tears continued to rain down my cheeks. My harsh gasps echoed in my mind, and finally I realized he’d stopped.

  “Bad things for bad girls,” he said once more, and his fingers traced over my ass. I hissed; the gentleness of his touch stung.

  “I’m sorry,” I panted, my eyes closed off from seeing him.

  “I’m sure you are, darlin’.” The ice melted from his voice, and his soft tone was back. But I wasn’t stupid enough to believe he would be showing me any real pity or concern.

  “But we aren’t done, yet.” His fingers slipped between my ass cheeks. Instantly, I clenched, but he only laughed at my attempt. The whipping had left me weak, my fighting him wasn’t going to be a problem for him.

  “No!” My voice cracked. Too much screaming and too much crying.

  He wrapped one hand in my hair, pulling my head back against him. His lips brushed my ear.

  “Your body is saying something else.” He lowered his hand, searching out my sex. Finding me wet and wanting.

  I blinked, and more tears fell. “No. Please,” I whispered.

  “Women react differently to my belt. Some get the punishment and move on, but others…” his fingers slid through my folds, upward toward the tense bundle of nerves that would give me completely away. “Others soften, get wet and ready for me.” He pressed hard on my clit. “You’re one of those women.”

  I moaned my humiliation. “It’s just a reaction…it means nothing,” I said, focusing on the tree branches above me and not wanting to see his smugness.

  “Of course,” he agreed, running his finger over my clit in circles. “Just a biological reaction.” He slid back down my slit and thrust two digits into my pussy. I bit down on my lip. I would not cry out for him. He would not know how good his administrations felt.

  “Stop. Please,” I said.

  He laughed. A deep, throaty chuckle. “You say that, but your ass is pressing against my hand.”

  I froze. He was right. My back was arched.

  “Beg me to make you come,” he whispered into my ear.

  I shook my head best I could with his hand still holding my hair.

  “Beg me, Cherise. Show me you can be a good girl; you can obey me. Because if you can’t—if you’re still going to be a bad girl…what happens?” His fingers were pumping in and out of me, making straight thinking damn near impossible.

  “Bad things,” I choked out. My ass still hurt, and the fabric of his pants rubbing against me didn’t help. But his fingers, moving in and out of me, stretching me and flicking my clit, those were taking my mind off the pain.

  “That’s right. Show me you can be good. Beg me.” He pressed his body to me, drawing my attention to his erection pushing against my hip. He could take whatever he wanted with the position he had me in. He didn’t need me to give permission or even to want it, but he held back.

  He didn’t want to fuck me. He wasn’t done with his lesson, with the bad things. He’d given me pain, and now he was giving me humility.

  “We aren’t done here until you are a good girl,” he said, flicking my clit harder.

  “Please,” I whispered, feeling a tear trickle down my cheek and into my hairline.

  “Please what?” he whispered, taking my earlobe between his teeth.

  “Please make me come for you.” The words shook, but he heard them.

  “There’s a good girl.” He thrust another digit into me, biting harder on my earlobe.

  I moaned, arching back at him. He let go of my hair and slipped his free hand between me and the tree. He found my clit easily and worked it in circles while fucking me harder and harder with his fingers.

  “When you’re ready, you come hard,” he commanded, running his tongue over the shell of my ear.

  The pressure built and built.

  “You can do this. You can be a good girl.” His words came just as the dam broke, and I cried out with more fury, hard waves rocking through my core. My thighs shook with the rest of my body as my orgasm peaked and sent me plummeting back down to reality.

  My erotic pants of pleasure morphed into soft sobs full of humiliation and pain. The throbbing of my pussy paled in comparison to the hot pulsing ache of my ass and thighs. With the arousal gone, all the pain came forward.
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  His hands slipped from between my legs, and he made his way back around the tree. I had my head against the trunk but felt the cool blade of a knife slip between my wrists and slice through the plastic tie. My arms swung down to my sides, and I had to catch myself before I slumped down to the ground.

  His hands came back, and he lifted me. I didn’t struggle. What would be the point? He’d already showed me he had more control over my body than I did.

  Bad things happen to bad girls. He’d said that more than once, and I had all the proof in my sore muscles and bruised pride to believe him.

  He carried me through the house and up a set of stairs, but I was staring at the stubble on his chin too hard to pay attention to the layout of the place. Escape wouldn’t happen. Not with Dustan watching me.

  He brought me inside another bedroom and kicked the door shut. Gently, he laid me on the bed and threw a blanket over me.

  “Your cheek is cut up from that fucking tree.” He touched the wounds, making me flinch. “I’ll have to clean it.”

  I didn’t answer. Would anything I said matter anyway?

  Dustan

  Cherise appeared in the kitchen doorway the next morning wearing one of my white button-down shirts. It was too big for her smaller frame. The hem hit just below the ass, and she had the sleeves rolled up to her elbows. Her hair was still damp from her shower, the tips of her locks brushing wet streaks across the shoulders of the material.

  “I made you some coffee.” I pushed a cup across the kitchen island toward her. Even with a full night’s sleep, she still looked like hell. That damn tree she’d slid down had scraped her cheek, adding to the bruise I’d given her when I had to get her out of her apartment in a hurry. She raised her hand to push her hair back behind her ear and exposed the purple circles around her wrist. The duct tape had made her skin sensitive, but the zip ties had dug deeper into her flesh.

  “Do you have creamer and sugar?” she asked, eyeing the fridge.

  I nodded. “In there.”

  She grabbed the small carton and poured enough into the cup to turn the perfectly good coffee into a fucking milkshake. I watched with fascination as she scooped three heaping spoons of sugar into the cup before finally giving it a stir.

  “What?” she asked when she noticed me gawking.

  I hid my smile behind my own sip of coffee. “Nothing.”

  She put the creamer away and leaned a hip against the counter.

  “There’s a chair if you want.” I pointed to the stool within her reach.

  She shook her head and sipped her coffee.

  “How’s your ass?” I put my cup down and slid around the island, cutting off her escape route and getting closer to her.

  “Fine.” Her eyes didn’t meet mine though. She was staring at my chin again.

  “Hmm.” I rubbed my jaw. “Let me see.”

  Her gaze shot up to mine. “Why?”

  “So, I can check for any cuts or bruises.” I twirled my finger in the air. “You’re not going to be a bad girl again so soon, are you?” It was a cheap shot, threatening her with more whippings for not showing me her ass, but it got her moving.

  She huffed, but she obeyed. She put her cup down, hard enough to splash a bit over the side, and spun around, shoving her ass at me. The whipping hadn’t scared off her fierceness.

  Good.

  I hooked the hem of the shirt with my thumb and pulled it upward, over her ass. Several of the lashes had left a dark-purple bruise, but there were only two welts. No broken skin. I’d controlled my strength better than I’d thought. Every time I pulled my belt back, I imagined her falling headfirst from the fucking tree. She could have, no, she would have, broken her goddamn neck.

  The fact that her self-endangerment pissed me off more than her escape attempt didn’t get past me, but I wasn’t in the mood to entertain it. She’d disobeyed, she’d put herself at fucking risk, and she’d been punished for it. If she did it again, I’d do it all over again.

  I lightly traced one of the welts. My dick lengthened in my pants, pressing against the zipper when she hissed. Fuck, such a sweet sound.

  “Do you want your panties?” I asked, still touching her.

  She stilled. Her chin rose when she turned to look back at me. “Maybe later,” she said softly.

  I grinned at her. “I’m sure those lovely purple underpants won’t hurt too much.”

  Her cheeks reddened, and she yanked her body away from me. She stepped around the island, taking her coffee cup with her.

  “I wasn’t expecting—” she cut off her own explanation. “I don’t owe you anything.”

  I raised my eyebrows. “True enough. You don’t.” I grabbed my cup and rinsed it out before dumping it into the dishwasher. “It’s cute though,” I said, shutting the door.

  “Cute?”

  “Yeah. Most women have all sorts of lacey things or wear those floss panties. It’s cute that you wear those.”

  “You think my granny panties are cute?” She held her cup to her lips, like my statement had shocked her into a freeze frame.

  “Yeah.” I nodded with a laugh. “I’d prefer no panties at all.” I moved closer to her again, drawn to her while her guard was slipping. “Ever.”

  “You’re crazy.”

  “I’ve been called worse,” I admitted sliding up to her and placing my hand on her hip.

  Her smile faded into concern. “Have you figured out anything?”

  My jaw clenched, but I forced it to relax. I had sent all the information I had to Arthur, and I was waiting for his response. If he put a price on her head, then I had a job to do. I preferred to wait to think about it until his answer came through.

  “Why were you at the bar that night?” I asked, splaying my fingers across her hip.

  Her muscles tensed; her eyes lowered to my chest.

  “It was stupid.” She rolled her eyes. “I mean really stupid, right? Look what happened.” She huffed a laugh, like she was doing her best to find humor in the situation. If she knew what was going on behind the scenes, she wouldn’t be smiling so brilliantly at me.

  “That book?” I asked, remembering the self-help book sitting on her nightstand. “The one that’s supposed to help think outside the box?”

  “Climb out of my shell,” she corrected me and placed her cup back on the counter with a sigh.

  “Ah, yeah. So, let me ask you this. Why me? When you walked into that bar, you came over to me. Why?” I didn’t exactly have a welcoming aura around me—I’d been told.

  Her blush crept up her neck, taking over her cheeks and her nose. She tried to turn away, but I caught her chin between my fingers and pulled her face back.

  “Tell me.” I lowered my voice, knowing she’d react to the dominance laced in my tone.

  She sighed. “It’s stupid.”

  “Tell me anyway.”

  She waited a beat. “You were safe.”

  Surprise washed through me. “Safe?”

  “Completely out of my league. I knew nothing would come of it, so it wouldn’t hurt. It was just practice,” she rambled.

  “What do you mean, practice?” The surge of protectiveness blossoming inside me wasn’t making my mood lighter.

  “I mean, you looked preoccupied. So, I figured you weren’t there to hook up. Unlike the other guys there.”

  “That doesn’t answer my question.” I pressed my body into her hip, liking the sensation of her body against mine.

  “I was flirting,” she blurted out. “I was practicing what the book suggested.”

  “The book suggested you down a few drinks and ramble to a perfect stranger?” The author was probably a fucking jackass looking for new ways to screw insecure women.

  “Does it really matter?” She glanced up and I caught sight of the insecurity, the vulnerability lying right in front of me, raw and untamed. This girl wasn’t a danger to anyone but herself.

  “You don’t have friends to go to bars with you?” I showed a little
mercy, giving her a bit of space from the topic she obviously would rather not discuss.

  “No. Not really. I’ve only lived in Chicago for a year.”

  “A year’s a long time.” I pushed her hair back again when it fell forward over her face.

  “Not when you don’t know anyone.” She blew out a long breath, puffing up her cheeks.

  “Where’d you live before?” I asked, driven by curiosity and longing to know more about her than just how fucking gorgeous she was without clothes on, or how delicious she sounded when she orgasmed.

  “Are you going to hurt me?” She turned the question on me so fast, I had to take a moment to let the change in topic sink in.

  “Haven’t you heard that it’s in your best interest to humanize yourself to your attacker?” I gripped her hip, letting my fingers dig into her curves.

  “Have people tried that with you?” she asked softly, looking up at me through her lowered lashes.

  “Yes.” I wouldn’t lie to her. Lying made things complicated, and, in my experience, complications were easily acquired without adding to them.

  “And did it work?”

  “No.” I moved around her, hooking my hand around her other hip and pulling her toward me.

  A job was a job. I didn’t need details, and I didn’t want any. If a target got chatty, I shut that shit down. Maybe that made me less human, more of a monster, but one thing I never did was give hope where there was none. I didn’t pretend there was another option. There was a goal, I had a job, and it got done. Period.

  “Where’d you live before Chicago?” I asked again, running my fingers up from her hip around to her ass. She grimaced when I touched the welts. A little reminder of the effects of disobedience.

  “A farm town in Minnesota. Tiny little town.”

  “And what you’d do there?”

  “Dreamt about leaving,” she deadpanned.

  I laughed. “Okay, so little farm girl leaves for the big city. What about college?”

  “I went.”

  I let go of her ass and ran my fingers across her cheek, inspecting the scrapes for any sign of infection. She’d gotten lucky with that damn tree.