Own My Soul (Sixty Days 3)

But he didn’t answer, just slammed the door shut with a sneer and locked it behind him.

And then I was alone.

I dropped myself on the edge of the bed and stared out at the night sky with big wide eyes, still hardly believing my luck. My skin tingled from the whipping and the slapping, my clit still pulsed from the pressure of hard, circling fingers, and I thought of the man who should have been doing it.

Brandon Grant. The man who was everything I’d ever be able to imagine in a beautiful monster.

The man I’d been so convinced didn’t give a single shit about me.

The man who’d broken my heart into a million pieces.

And now he was fixing it back together. Just from a simple message.

My heart wasn’t just thumping, it was pulsing right through me. Every single inch of me was buzzing.

Surely not. Surely I couldn’t let myself imagine him coming for me.

And if he did? What the hell would life be like if he did? What would life be like if he rolled on up here and swept me away?

I forced myself to lie back on the bed and breathe steadily. I had to. I had to gather my calmness enough to stay on an even keel through this insanity, at least until Rebecca came back and I could share my news with her in a whisper. I mean, I trusted her. I had to trust her. There was no way I could process all this without a friendly ear to help me make sense of it.

Maybe we’d even be able to take her from this place along with us.

I rolled over to face the door, waiting for her to head back in. I knew she was at some show of her own from the sounds of it, and I figured maybe she was being subjected to brother Grant’s prowess too. Maybe she’d even have a good time – as good a time as possible.

Maybe he’d manage to tip her over the edge with his fingers and drive her wild for the cameras. Maybe she’d be buzzing like a lightning streak when she reappeared back in our dark little bedroom den.

The minutes ticked by slowly. So many of them it was hard to keep track. My stomach began to lurch under the euphoria, wondering quite what was going on out there as the moon rose higher and higher through the window.

I replayed the security guard’s shitty words. You just wait and see what your fucking pal comes back like. I wondered if there was any meaning in it. Any serious meaning.

And finally, when I was a bag of nerves trussed up on one giant back of jitters, the door swung open and the light from the corridor spilled in.

With her along with it.

My gasp was huge when she stumbled inside, racing on over to the meet her before she collapsed in a heap.

She was crumpled up and whimpering, her whole body a tainted wreck of slashes and darkening bruises.

“What happened?” I asked her, my whisper fierce as I supported her over to the mattress, and she could barely get the words out, eyes streaming.

“They… they hurt me so bad… so fucking bad…”

“They?” I asked and smoothed the hair from her forehead, my eyes filling up at the sight of hers.

She was broken. Her lip swollen and split, her eyes wide with the pain. A sight enough to haunt me for the next hundred years. I dared to look down the rest of her, and her tits were a mess, whip stripes dripping with blood, raised like barbs. Her stomach was the same, her thighs too. And the bruises. The bruises were horrific. Nothing short of punches darkening against the paleness of her skin.

“It was a guy I knew…” she spluttered. “One from before. One that sir came and told to calm it. Only this time sir wasn’t there. There was nothing but me and him, and he was laughing…” A cry got caught in her throat. “He was laughing at me. Laughing at how much it hurt… he wanted it like that…”

I felt a lump rising in my throat, my hands taking hers and holding tight. “I’m so sorry,” I said. “I can’t believe they would do this to you.”

I hated every word as she cried about what he did to her. Two whips at once without so much as a moment between the strikes. Her body quaking in shock as he pummelled her hard, him loving the way she was begging for mercy. How no mercy came, not even for a second. How he’d taken her body like a ragdoll’s when she was hurt too bad to do anything but take it like a dead weight. Stretched every single part of her to breaking point with nothing but a grunt about how much she’d fucking asked for it. How fucking much he was paying for it.