Desolation Road (Torpedo Ink 4)
She found she liked assuming the persona of a cat for Absinthe. She would never, not in a million years, do so for anyone else, but she loved the feeling of belonging to him. She had plenty of time to analyze her feelings as she knelt beside him. She was comfortable, the fire warm on her skin. Being a kitten was a role for her, not something she needed to be. She enjoyed playing the role, but mostly she just liked being whatever Absinthe wanted from her—and the sex was spectacular.
She knew she could take the kitten thing or leave it. What was most important to her, what made her happiest, was that Absinthe was dominant in the bedroom, leaving her to follow his lead. That was what made her hot. Slinking around as a hot little sex kitten was fun, and she loved being what he wanted, but it was all for him. She loved providing for him. She needed to provide what she knew he needed. She stayed very still, wanting to be the perfect kitten for him, hoping that was what he would want.
As time went by she became aware, as she tuned herself more and more to him, that although on the outside Absinthe seemed absolutely calm, something was wrong. The two men were talking to him, but he no longer seemed to be listening. There was a fine sheen of sweat building on his body. She could see little beads of sweat on his forehead. One trickled down the side of his face. He made no move to stop it. That was so unlike Absinthe.
Steele rose, murmured his good-bye, but Absinthe didn’t look up. Savage was the one who answered, walking with him to the bedroom door while Absinthe absently stared into the fireplace. The flames seemed to roll over his face and burn in his nearly transparent eyes. He was looking inward, not outward, and she realized he was far away from her. Far away from the room, trapped back in time in the hell he’d been raised in.
Her heart began to accelerate. His skin looked off. His eyes vacant. She glanced toward the door. Savage was nowhere in sight. He must have followed Steele down the hall. The men moved so silently she couldn’t hear them. Breathing deep, she concentrated on Absinthe, trying to connect with him, follow that path they’d forged between them.
His brain was complete chaos. Horrific images were back, crowding into his mind, real demons eating him alive, consuming him. She made every effort not to change her breathing, afraid the moment he was aware that she shared those images with him, that she was too close to him, he would shut down. At least she thought he would. As she continued to share his mind and his past, she feared he had been pulled into the past. He wasn’t just going down memory lane. He was in it. Living it.
The first time she’d seen those horrific vignettes playing through his mind, she thought she was looking into hell and she’d just wanted to stop it, but now she felt it was important to see what he faced. She needed to assess the images, the ones Absinthe dwelt on, seemingly was caught in, as if he was trapped there and couldn’t escape.
There he was, Absinthe as a teenager. Already gorgeous, breathtakingly so, even then. He was tall and already filled out. Naked, he moved through a room filled with girls, some on their hands and knees with fluffy cat tails, others on two legs but with bits in their mouths and horse tails. Grown men directed the various girls, using whips on their legs or buttocks when they didn’t move fast enough or comply with orders.
Clearly exasperated, the men directed Absinthe to train their “pets.” Absinthe would go to a girl and whisper to her and she would instantly do so much better, looking happy to do whatever her master wished of her. She could see Absinthe cuddling with one particular girl, very young, trying to soothe her when the man “owning” her clearly scared her.
The girl’s master, a huge brute, roared at Absinthe, grabbed him by his throat and slammed him into the wall, face-first. An eerie silence fell over the room and everyone turned to watch. The grown men began grinning, looking evil, their pets looking terrified. Absinthe didn’t fight back as he was punched in the ribs repeatedly. The brute pulled out his cock and rammed it into the teen, slamming him into the wall, crushing him deliberately as he assaulted him. Several of the men moved closer, pulling out their cocks, one directing the brute to turn his victim so he could use his mouth. The other men turned to the girls, choosing the nearest ones to use, uncaring that they were terrified or crying.