Her fingers grabbed the hair on the back of his head and yanked, exposing his neck. Her lips caressed his ear, and his penis throbbed. “Stop. Grinding. Your dick.” She released him with a shove. “Kinky fucker.”
Crack.
Ahhh. He melted into the heat of her strike. He couldn’t remember what the infraction was that led to the current punishment. Couldn’t recall what day it was. Didn’t care. It was during these highs that he trusted her implicitly. And ignorantly. The flow of his thoughts whispered in jumbled bursts of nonsense, his give-a-crap drifting beyond reach.
The mattress dipped as she knelt on the edge.
Time passed. He might’ve dozed. Somewhere along the edges of his drowsiness, her phone beeped. When he opened his eyes, her knees hadn’t moved.
He licked dry lips. It would’ve been delusional to expect leniency from her after every punishment, but sometimes, while the pain ebbed, she gave him a small window of sympathy. Sometimes, during these moments, he tested her. “Come here.”
She sighed, and it was sexy, soft. His lips floated into a smile. At least he thought they did. Her gentle response surprised him as much as it had the first time he’d given her the same order. In those rare moments when she came to him tenderly, it didn’t last long before the detached Mistress appeared again. Still, he wanted her, craved her body against his, and this time she obliged.
Black pleather encased her from chin to ankle, and she wrapped all that material around the length of his side, stroking a hand over his sore muscles, soothing him as he fell out of the sky.
It was the only time she held him, and he didn’t try to understand her intent. He simply savored her tender attention, turning his head to peer into her eyes.
In place of a mask was an expression he hadn’t seen since Van had sex with her in front of him. Beneath the yellowing bruise around her eye was pure, unrestrained fear. It paled her complexion, hardened her jaw, and flattened her lips.
“Liv?” He raised his head, his stomach hardening. “What’s wrong?”
She recoiled, clutching a cell phone to her chest. In the next breath, her face blanked, her tone equally vacant. “I’m failing. I’ve tried everything I can think of.” She released a shuddering exhale. “You’re the worst slave ever.”
He wanted to laugh at that, but something was wrong. She hadn’t let up her grip on the phone. “What’s going on? What are you doing with the phone?”
She lowered it, staring at it like it was about to detonate. Then her eyes flashed to the door. “Mr. E is on his way upstairs.”
CHAPTER 20
Josh was treated to the soft strains of Liv’s a cappella as they stood side by side before the door in her room. She stared at her phone, perhaps waiting for a text. He stared at her profile, trying to capture the quiet words woven in her melody. Something about hounds and chains and teams. The tune was familiar, but he couldn’t place it.
Her dark chestnut hair was smoothed into a ponytail that swung over the toned lines of her arm. Black vinyl painted her limbs and torso, giving her a sleek, wet look. The catsuit was so compressed, he could’ve spanned the cinch of her waist with two hands. He knew her costumes were intended to intimidate and hypnotize, but her musical voice held that power all on its own.
Her lips froze mid-verse, her attention locked on the phone’s blank screen in her hand. “Where are your eyes, boy?” The stiffness in her neck matched the aggravation in her voice.
She wasn’t pleased with his wandering eyes, but his last punishment had ended with her body curled against his. It gave him enough temerity to break more rules. He watched her beautiful, expressionless face. “What does this visit from Mr. E mean exactly?”
She turned, facing him with her back to the door and her stony eyes packed with grim promises. He considered it an accomplishment to stand before her, as he did every day, with his wrists wrapped in chains, every inch of his flesh bared and unprotected, and his backbone proudly intact.
Her scrutiny leveled on his raised chin, and her brown eyes melted for a millisecond before hardening again.
“I saw that.” He was being reckless. Despite the bumps and bruises riddling his body, the threat of her whip had lost its edge. But she could still threaten his parents. Or have sex with Van. His jaw locked, smacking his teeth together.
“You saw nothing, boy.” Her stillness suggested a disciplinary strike would follow, but her expression was hesitant, as if distracted by some inward conflict.
He stepped closer, raising his hands between them, the coil of chain around his wrists a reminder that he wasn’t the enemy. “If your boss is right outside this door, why are we in here?”
Her throat twitched as if she’d stifled a swallow a second too late. “Eyes down.”
Of course, she wouldn’t answer him. He’d have to make a guess and read her reaction. “He’s out there with Kate. Van’s probably catching him up on her training. When that’s done, he’ll text you to open the door, so he can inspect his new property. Do I have the gist of it?”
The flash of her eyes told him he’d guessed right. “On your knees. Now.”
Arrgh. He stayed on his feet. “You always do that. You deflect with those damned rules.” Still, she seemed off-kilter, and he might not get another opportunity to poke around for a soft spot. “I’m just trying to understand.” He searched her face. She kept it guarded. So he rested his fists against the door above her head, no physical contact, but the bond was there.
“Step. Back.”
Maybe bond was too strong of a word, but she could’ve ducked out from beneath his arms. Instead, she stared up at him with an unfathomable mien on her face. Something was hidden there, an expression, a truth, etched in the delicate creases around her mouth. Her lips parted and pressed together, bending the scar that mapped the struggles in her life, the ones he suspected she fought alone.
Then it clicked. “I know that song you were singing. Isn’t it about loyalty and friendship and—”
“Team.” Her eyes were wide, watchful, and maybe a little skittish.
“That’s right. ‘Team’ by Lorde.” He wanted to ask what the song meant to her, but she wouldn’t have answered. Didn’t matter. He could guess its significance, knew it had to do with why she slept where her prisoner slept, confining herself with him for five days, only leaving to fetch food. “Better to be enchained with someone on your side than to be alone with a false sense of freedom.”
The expression on her face transformed from that of captor to equal. Her posture loosened, her features gentled, the phone forgotten in her hand. She stared into his eyes, blinking, nodding slowly, subtly. It was a poignant moment of connection, the opening he’d been searching for.
He touched his forehead to hers, his chains rattling above her head, and waited for the punishment that never came. “We may not be trapped for the same reason, but we’re looking in the same direction, reaching beyond these walls together. Tell me what we’re up against.”
A low-pitched noise groaned in her throat, and her head relaxed against his. He kept his shackled arms balanced on the door, afraid the smallest movement might spook her.
Was she considering his words or formulating a safe response? Maybe she was worried about Van hitting her again. Or raping her. His throat hurt as he replayed Van’s groaning thrusts and the pain in her eyes. The two times he’d asked her to talk about it, she’d whipped him for speaking without permission.
Too soon, she straightened, breaking the point of contact. She took her time meeting his eyes, and when she did, a smile tugged at the corners of her mouth, her chin slowly moving left to right. “I give you an inch—”
“And I’d be six-foot-three.” He lowered his arms, nudging her chin with his bound hands. “I love your smile.”
Her lips trembled and stilled. The smile remained, but her eyes dulled. “You’ve got balls, distracting me despite the consequences.”
He blew out a breath and retracted his arms to his waist. “So you?
?re tallying my infractions?” He dreaded what those consequences might be and tried for a light tone. “When do I get my spanking?”
Her fingers touched his navel, sending a quiver through him. She traced the dusky trail to his groin and coiled a finger tightly through the thatch of hair. “Spankings aren’t effective. You’re a pain slut.” She tugged, sparking a twinge of discomfort over the sensitive skin there.
A half-laugh, half-groan escaped with his exhale. “I am not a pain slut, whatever that is.”
“Oh please. Five welts and you fall into a hypnotic trance.”