Heartless (Merciless 2)

An hour has passed with me sitting on the floor of Carter’s office, listening to the tapping of keys and the steady tick-tock of the clock. All the while, I can’t focus on anything. Not a damn thing except for when Carter’s going to call him like he said he would.

Glancing up at Carter, I catch his gaze and I know the look in my eyes is pleading and expectant.

“You need more.” Carter’s voice is deep and low, and it booms through the office. Or, maybe it’s just that I’m on high alert and everything is thrumming to life as I wait for what’s to come.

My throat tightens, feeling the dejection once again for the one thing that could change everything, but I stand on shaking legs and go to him.

It doesn’t escape me that he has me under control again. That my only desire is to obey him, so he’ll give me what he claimed he would. He may have given me false hope.

My heart flickers like a candle so close to its flame going out. He wouldn’t do that to me. I refuse to believe it. I know he feels something for me. He must. I can feel it in the very marrow of my bones.

Carter pushes the phone farther away from him, an old desk phone, and I stare at it as I hear him push the laptop and stacks of papers out of the way.

It’s right there. Just call him.

Pat, pat, he pats the top of the desk and I take the hint, lying on my belly, knowing he’s going to lift the dark red chiffon dress up my thighs and bare my backside to him.

My cheek presses against the hard desk and I can feel my heart hammer against it. Gripping on to the edge of the desk, I wait for the cool gel to hit my sore ass. There aren’t any bruises this time, but somehow it hurts more. This morning I nearly cried waking up to the pain until Carter used the ointment.

Sucking in a deep breath, my eyes close and I feel Carter rub the soothing balm into my hot skin. It’s tender still, but even more so, it makes me crave more of his touch.

A soft hum of gratitude and want leaves my lips, and it’s met with a rough chuckle from Carter. Opening my eyes, I glance up at him, although I have to push the lock of hair out of my face.

My heart does that flickering again.

“It looks much better than how it was last night and this morning.”

“It feels better now too,” I tell him easily, watching his expression as he pays close attention to where he’s rubbing the balm.

“You didn’t tell me the entire truth last night,” Carter says before opening a drawer and then closing it. My heart thumps once, thinking of what I left out but having nothing come to mind.

I don’t know if he just put the gel back or if he’s taken something else out.

Before I can answer, Carter tells me, “You forgot to mention your birthday.”

He finally meets my gaze and there’s a softness there that I hardly ever see from him, but it’s the side I pine for most.

“I didn’t think it was important,” I try to speak, but my words are whispered. Of every reason I’m breaking apart, that fact is meaningless and even speaking it as if it could contribute to this pain is disrespectful to the tragedies that surround us.

He’s gentle as he repositions me on the desk but doesn’t pull my dress back down. It’s bunched at my hips and that’s what I’m thinking about when I hear the first cuff open and look up at the feel of metal grazing the skin on my wrists.

“Your other hand,” Carter commands and I give it to him although I’m riddled with a slight fear.

“Carter?” His name comes out as a question as he handcuffs me to two metal loops on the side of his desk. Again, he repositions me, sliding my body down so I’m stretched on my belly across his desk.

“I don’t have a gift for you at the moment,” he says absently as he steps away from me, leaving the cool air to hit my ass which is still very much exposed to him. “But I’ll have to find something nice for you.”

The flicker instantly morphs into a thrumming with a slight fear of the unknown.

I try to turn around and look at him as he fiddles with something on the shelf. I don’t see what he has but whatever it is, he has it in his hand.

“Carter, I’m sorry.” My first instinct is to beg my way out of another punishment. My ass is still so sore. But even as the adrenaline spikes through me, I can’t imagine he’d do it. That he’d punish me for not telling him it was my birthday. “Please,” I whimper.