In My Arms You Shall Hide

Chapter 17

Kittie

T he closer we creep toward winter, the more antsy I become. It doesn’t help that my romp with Dorian was one of the most satisfying yet devastating things I’ve ever experienced. Satisfying in a way that leaves me aching for more, like a hunger pain, but devastating that I shouldn’t want any part of him.

And lately, he’s been very affectionate. Waking up with my head in his lap a few days ago had been confusing, but seeing his knuckles bruised and that frightening darkness across his face made my feelings all the more conflicted.

Did he hurt someone? It’s as if I keep uncovering new, darker layers to him all the time.

I fill my day with hobbies and chatter with Raney. This morning, she’s set me up in the living room with all my art supplies.

I asked Dorian if he minded me having all my paints on the furniture, and he looked at me as if I’d asked something insane. I interpreted his look as an obvious statement that he’d want to protect the furniture, but he told me he didn’t give a damn about it.

Dorian has chosen to remain in his office today because he's brought work home for the weekend. The only excitement is Raney and Cory going in and out of the house amid their “winter cleaning.” I try to focus on my hundredth charcoal drawing, but the constant movement devours my attention.

Because of the frequent trips carrying bags and boxes outside to be picked up by the trash service, they’re not being religious about arming the security system.

I keep my observations inconspicuous.

This could be it. I’ve already passed the six-week mark for recovery. My ribs are healed. I can run if I have an opening…

Cory staggers down the steps with a small metal filing cabinet in his hands. He nearly falls over before he reaches the bottom of the steps, and I watch with bated breath, fearful he’ll fall and hurt himself. Although I want to warn him to be careful, I keep silent. I hope they forget I’m here.

Raney bounds down the steps after him. “Go ahead and take it with the others.”

“I’m telling you, woman, they won’t take it,” he snaps, trying to glance around the cabinet in his arms to glare at her without success.

“Well, put a sign on it, then! If you say it’s for sale, someone will come along and just take it,” she suggests.

Cory grumbles something under his breath, following her toward the front door.

I lean forward on the sofa, clutching my book to me. Raney opens the door, allowing Cory to march out onto the porch. I peer through the window behind the couch to watch him descend the steps and hold my breath for Raney to enter the security code.

But she doesn’t. Instead, I catch a glimpse of her heading out of sight past the doorway to the living room and into the dining room. Cory begins down the gravel pathway.

The door’s left open and unarmed.

I don’t know how much time I have. The path to the road is long, but it’s still not long enough to mess around with indecision.

Go, go, go!

I suck in a breath and set my sketchbook aside, getting to my feet. As I tip-toe across the wooden floor, a voice in my head echoes a cadence of guilt. A portion of my heart wants to stay back, to return to the sofa and wait like the good little prisoner Dorian expects me to be.

If I escape now, there’s a chance I’ll never see him again. Grief sears through me, but I push myself through the front door. My heart jumps into my mouth, and fear almost causes my entire body to lock up.

The crisp winter breeze almost feels wrong. I’ve been deprived of it for so long, and sucking it in now burns my lungs. The sun’s too harsh, even with the veil of clouds overhead. Squinting, I scramble across the porch, almost losing my balance. I keep my eyes over my shoulder, terrified that Dorian will come out after me.

I suck in a lungful of icy air, satisfied when my ribs don’t scream in protest, and then turn to run down the steps. Clammy hands grasp the handrail, and I stagger downward. I glance one final time back into the estate.

“Kittie!”

My heart jolts painfully. When I turn forward, Cory has already abandoned the small filing cabinet in the yard and begins to run toward me.

“Stop!” he shouts in warning.

Adrenalin helps me clear the steps, but I’m not faster than him—not by a long shot, and not after weeks of sitting around.

Cory catches up to me in no time at all, seizing me by my arms. I let out a frustrated scream. I was so close. All of it vanishes in an instant.

“Go get Dorian!” Cory commands.

I rip my head up and scowl from beneath my hair. Raney stands on the porch, looking horrified. Cory’s commanding voice makes her flinch and she races inside.

“Let me go!” I plead in a fury-filled voice I can’t believe is my own.

“Please stop,” he says through his teeth as I try to push against him. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

It’s almost laughable how easily he drags me back toward the porch. He supports most of my weight as I teeter on my feet. Dorian can easily move and lift me; it shouldn’t be shocking that Cory, who’s much bigger than him, can do the same.

All my anger evaporates when I look up and find Dorian storming out the front door toward us.

My heart’s still in my throat, but seeing him in his fury sends my stomach dropping fast.

Cory releases me long enough for Dorian to clear the steps and take hold of me. I don’t even have time to protest. He effortlessly hoists me up onto his shoulder.

As Dorian turns to march back into the house, I crane my head to look at Cory, standing at the bottom of the porch steps. I expect a rage to match Dorian’s, but I’m shocked when he regards me with something akin to regret or shame.

It’s enough to push me into confused silence as Dorian carries me back inside and kicks the front door shut behind him hard enough to raddle its glass.

He doesn’t stop until we’re at the top of the stairs. I’ve never been to the second floor of the estate before, and I’m suddenly recalling our conversation in the dining room all those weeks ago.

For everything you try, there will be a punishment.

Dorian pushes open the door with his shoe and brings me inside, but once the door closes with haunting finality, it’s too dark to make out any details of the room. He lowers me onto a mattress, and I run my hands over the smooth sheets, wondering if this is his room.

My eyes adjust in the nerve-wracking moments of silence that follow. I watch the shadow of him move from the bed toward a closed door that slides open with smooth, gliding wheels. He shuffles through what sounds like boxes and pulls something out with a hiss and clatter that gives no hint as to what it is.

When he returns to the bed, my fear ramps up. I can’t see his anger anymore, but I can feel it.

“Dorian, I’m—”

He doesn’t give me a chance to finish. “I warned you of this, Katherine. You disobeyed me.”

In the dark, he begins to undress me. I don’t dare push his hands away from me as he peels the clothes from me, and more terrifyingly, there’s a thrill in the pit of my stomach that weakens me.

Once the last item of clothing falls to the floor, I try to curl up to cover my body.

Dorian pins my arms above my head to stop me. My eyes slowly adjust, and I see him studying my body. All I want to do is hide.

Yet, in the dim light through the dark curtains, he doesn’t have the same disgusted look I give myself in the mirror. Instead, his face softens slightly, and he runs a hand down the length of my torso to my thigh. His stare lingers as if taking me in.

When he’s had his fill, he sits and wrenches me over his lap. I sprawl across his legs, stomach down, and brace myself on his knees. Just as heat pools in my face, he forces something over my eyes, casting what’s already a dark room into full blackness that makes me want to scream.

For a brief second, I’m back in a dark little room, but I don’t have a moment to spiral. Dorian’s hands touch me again, grounding me.

I tense, waiting, but I’m not prepared for the searing pain to come down on my backside. A loud slap echoes in the bedroom, and I let out a cry of surprise.

There’s no reprieve, no chance to process and catch up with what’s happening. Another slap follows, then another, each leaving a sharp sting. Humiliation surges through me as I struggle on his lap, clamping my teeth together to quiet my cries as he spanks me.

Worse, heat unrolls in me. A strange desire causes every inch of my skin to sizzle renders. A particularly harsh slap causes my entire body to jolt. All I can do is experience the pain and feel the sharp bite of his skin on mine. A low hum of a throb builds.

I must be broken; I fight the pulsating, needy ache between my legs. Shame touches me then, coiling around me and bringing a stinging to my eyes. I can’t believe I’m reacting this way; it’s horrific. I should be rendered dryer than a desert, and yet...

“Please, no more,” I beg in a whimper, overwhelmed with shame. “I can’t take it.”

Dorian pauses, leaving the still room to be filled by my ragged breathing. He places a hot hand on my lower back as if to brace me as he shifts, leaning on the mattress.

Something cold touches my face. He presses a small metal bar against my lips and forces it into my mouth. I grunt in protest but can’t stop it as he pushes a ringlet between my teeth, making it impossible to form words.

“You will take what I give you and no less.” His calm, low voice sends a chill from my scalp to my toes.

I obediently nod at this statement. His words remove the confusion. I only have to do one thing: endure this punishment. I tether myself to the simplicity in his command, and when the second wave begins, I no longer have room to question my body’s reaction.

I jolt, rock, and groan in his lap, drinking in the pain that lights my skin ablaze. I devote myself to his words and this punishment, and for a moment, my heart, mind, and body align.

Then he stops. My heartbeat and the ache race up and down the length of my body.

Dorian shifts again. His breath brushes against the back of my neck, causing me to flinch. He speaks in a half-growl, half-murmur. “I won’t ask you because I know you’ll lie to me. I’ll just tell you; you will never run away from me again. You will never set foot outside of this house. If you do, your next punishment will be far worse.”

It’s not a request, but I nod quickly, desperately, anyway.

“I’ll learn your body’s limits,” he explains coolly. “Do not test me so easily, kitten.”

Relief washes through me at his words alongside a strange satisfaction, even in tandem with the pain.

Only when he slips a hand between my legs am I reminded of the incessant throbbing. My heart races, and I’m horrified that he knows how wet I am. In an instant, the clarity and peace born from the simple command of enduring the punishment shatters, and the shame floods back in.

Dorian lifts me from his lap, laying me on my back in his bed, and removes the ringlet from my mouth. His weight shifts around me as I use the back of my hand to dry the drool running down my chin. His fingers run down the length of my sides, down to my thighs. He gently parts my legs, and I become weary of his delicate touch.

I whimper in confusion.

He hushes me, gentle still, and I tense, waiting for him to take me.

But he doesn’t. Instead, he presses his lips to my stomach, leaving a line of kisses down to my navel, and I realize his intentions. Shame courses through me, and I try to pull away from him.

“No, kitten,” he chides softly. He keeps me in place with his hands on my thighs. “Be still now,” he orders in a sweet voice. I should be elated that this persona has returned, but I tremble with uncertainty.

Dorian’s mouth meets my center, and I squirm against the warmth of his tongue, feeling too dirty or unclean for him. But no matter how I writhe, he holds me there. I feel his hot breath, his tongue moving in circles, caressing my swollen, aching clit.

Each flick of his tongue sends spikes of pleasure that make my body tighten and relax. My whimpers blend into my moans, and I no longer try to escape him but instead move my lower body with the tempo and speed of his tongue. I’m breathless when he lightly begins sucking on the throbbing bud, and the sensation flushes me with euphoria. I toss my head back, all traces of confusion burning away.

I don’t last long. My orgasm washes over me, painting my vision with stars. I shake in the wake of a monsoon of pleasure that leaves me dazed and gasping.

When every inch of my skin becomes too sensitive to touch, he moves again. A hand traces the length of my thigh, inducing an intense shudder from me. My brain’s cloudy, flushed with a haze of bliss.

Dorian’s still. I’m not sure if he’s watching me shake below him or giving me a minute, but I can’t think straight. I try to get my bearings, still blind to the world around me, climbing down slowly from my high. As I do, he dresses me again. He saves my underwear and leggings for last. Even though he doesn’t let the strap of the band snap against my skin, I still hiss in pain when he slips them delicately back on.

With my endorphins gone, the agony of the spanking comes back in full force.

Dorian pulls the blindfold from my face, and I cringe at the sudden light of the room; he turned the overhead light on at some point. I bring my hands to my face to shield my eyes.

What’s wrong with me? My head’s so messed up that I enjoyed that punishment?

And then the tears come. I hate myself for it, and I refuse to lower my hands from my eyes to look up into Dorian’s face. He must be so disgusted that the woman before him is such a crybaby.

While I’m not brave enough to look at him, I don’t fight him off when he lifts me from the mattress and pulls me into an embrace. He doesn’t even hesitate. He expected it. Yes, he would, wouldn’t he? I’m so pathetic.

“I don’t…I don’t…” I try to squeeze out the words as he holds me curled up against him. I don’t want to look at the disappointment I know is on his face.

But he doesn’t sound disappointed. Dorian presses his mouth to the top of my head. “Your punishment is over, Kittie. Don’t be afraid.”

I peer up at him under the veil of horror. I’m not afraid of him; no, it’s the opposite. A sane person would be afraid. I weep in horror at what I am .

I push away from him, confused and overwhelmed.

Dorian won’t let me leave the circle of his arms. Instead, he lays back on the mattress, pulling me onto him, my chest to his. My shaking legs straddle his waist, and through his trousers, I feel his erection. Even as tears trickle down my face and plop onto his dress shirt, I know I’m not the only one who feels this way.

This time, it seems he has no regrets. His body relaxes with his arm coiled around my waist. He lifts his free hand to my face, beginning to catch my tears with the pads of his thumb.

There’s a faint roll of thunder in the distance. Past the curtains, rain drums against the window. Eventually, as I listen to the rhythm of the rain, I stop crying.

I glue my stare to the sliver of an opening between the curtains to watch the raindrop-covered glass. I feel Dorian’s heavy gaze on me. When my breathing evens, I dare to peak down at him, face burning, heart slowing.

“There,” he murmurs in relief, placing a hand on the back of my head and guiding my face down to his chest. “I hate punishing you, Kittie.”

There’s not a drop of anger in me. I nuzzle against his chest, seeking comfort amidst this new war in my mind. A budding thirst for him fights the confusion and the shame. I wonder which part of me will win out in the end.

We stay like this in the hush of the rainfall outside. I think on Dorian’s words—that he hates punishing me. And in the quiet, I realize…I don’t.