Chapter 38
CHAPTER 38
NORTH CAROLINA
B ryson’s knees hurt from the impact on the tile floor.
“Golden boy, I didn’t sell you to Jonathan and I’m not going to. Just go back to your brothers. I’ll make sure you guys find a safe home. I just…Don’t have the energy for this.”
Bryson’s mind raced. Adria didn’t want to admit it, but she had protected them.
Guilt crept into his gut.
“Hey, did I fucking stutter? Get out.” Adria’s voice was sharp, cutting through the charged air. She pointed at the door, her stance rigid with defiance.
Bryson didn’t spare the door a glance. He only had eyes for her.
He told Seth he was doing this for her. Elena had suggested they be trained.
No, not suggested. She had point blank reprimanded him for his behavior at the preview and reiterated any further sabotage would put Adria directly in the Triune’s cross hairs. But that wasn’t the only reason he was here.
Bryson always understood people.
Knew what made them tick. How to take them apart and put them back together with his eyes closed .
But Adria?
She had been the one to disassemble and reassemble him.
His body craved her. A need that only grew with each passing day without her. He needed to see her, feel her, to quench that fire.
“At Club Shale, I felt something. I know you felt it, too. It was like we were one.”
He inwardly rolled his eyes. Fuck, he sounded pathetic. That wasn’t what she wanted to hear.
He tried again. “I’ll do anything you say, be anything you want. Just try. Please.”
“Great. Get out.”
He didn’t move. “Anything but that, Mistress .”
The word was foreign on his tongue, as necessary as it was uncomfortable.
“Do not call me that. I’m not your Mistress.”
She was angry, and he would take that over the despondency she’d been carrying for weeks.
So, he pushed. Just a little.
“Yes, you are. You are Mistress Adria, one of the most renowned male slave trainers on the East Coast. Buyers come from all over the world for your expertise.”
Her jaw tightened. Good. Better than empty silence.
He pressed forward. “And despite your reputation—and my previously held assumptions—you don’t force anyone.”
Working with Eric had proved it. Most of her business dealings were legit.
Down to the line of men who willingly signed up for this shit.
Bryson and his brothers were the first unwilling participants she had ever housed.
And that changed everything.
No drugs. Minimal gambling.
The smuggling was soft stuff—art, cars, high-end luxuries .
She wasn’t a crime lord. She was a CEO.
Cold metal pressed against his throat.
“You sure about that, Brysey?”
His breath quickened. She stood over him.
Her free hand snaking into his hair, fingers twisting, gripping, pulling. His scalp prickled as she jerked his head upward. He didn’t resist.
He just stared up at her.
Her eyes—cold, unwavering. In this moment, she was the enemy. His entire body reacted to the threat, a rush of goosebumps rising along his skin.
Stay calm. Don’t flinch.
“You still want to say you trust me?” she asked.
The blade pressing deeper into his neck, a sharp bite against his pulse. He swallowed, and the steel followed the motion.
He held her gaze. “Yes, Mistress.”
He closed his eyes as he said it.
If he was wrong, if she killed him right here, right now, he didn’t want to see her do it.
He wanted to remember her before.
Before the blade. Before the coldness.
When she had rescued Kaydon. When she had lovingly and painfully brought him to orgasm in front of their enemies.
When she had kissed him.
She had been feral. Free. And that was the Adria he wanted to see.
The blade moved away.
And Bryson blinked his eyes open.
She threw a pair of handcuffs at him, and he caught them instinctively.
“Put those on. We will see how much you trust me.”
She hadn’t killed him yet, so he decided to go along. Ratcheting the first handcuff around his wrist, he maneuvered to get the second .
“Behind your back,” she said.
He opened his mouth to retort. How the hell was he supposed to do that? But he closed it and gave it a try. Behind his back he was able to secure the second. She checked the cuffs, squeezing each of them a few clicks tighter. The metal digging into his skin.
“Stand up.”
With a little difficulty, he managed to stand. Seeing her, he took in a broken breath.
She was wearing an oversized T-shirt, the curves of her breasts filling the fabric, and pink underwear peeked out from under the hem.
She looked radiant.
The fire he was hoping to quell by coming here roared to life.
“Stand there,” she said, voice firm, but Bryson could tell her breathing was labored. She hadn’t exerted this much energy in weeks.
She pointed to the space at the foot of her bed. He knew he should have his eyes cast down; it would show trust. But he wanted to see her.
Needed to see her.
When he reached his mark, she gave him a firm shove, and he felt himself falling backwards. Landing on the soft bed, his shoulders and wrists felt pain. It was an awkward position, laying on his hands as they were bound behind his back.
She approached, knife in hand. Bryson watched the tip of the blade as she ran the cold metal along the inside of his thigh. He squirmed, heart racing.
She clicked her tongue. “Where is the trust, huh?”
She went away and came back with what looked like a spreader bar.
Fuck.
“Say the word, Brysey. Tell me you’re done, and I’ll release you so you can get the fuck out of my bedroom. ”
He stared at the ceiling, hands pinned beneath him. He wasn’t going anywhere.
She sighed, “Suit yourself.”
He felt the cuffs around his ankles, and once they were secure, she extended the bar. His legs spread a little at first but eventually were forced painfully wide.
His body fought against it. His legs straining to be together, but all he succeeded in doing was lifting one of them.
Grabbing that leg, Adria pulled. With the momentum he created along with her pressure, he was unceremoniously flipped. A click later, and he knew the bar was secured to the bedpost. Hands cuffed behind him, legs spread painfully wide, he was completely helpless.
The blade came back, the tip drifting further up his left thigh. Bryson struggled against the mix of emotions that swelled within him.
The cold steel kissing his skin, a promise of danger that left fire in its wake. His cock bulged painfully, pinned beneath him. The restraint only made it worse.
A muffled squeak escaped as the blade traveled higher, pressing into the sensitive space beneath his balls.
“You know, men always think they have me all figured out.” Her voice was soft, almost conversational, but each word carried weight. “Ever since I was a young girl. People like my father.”
The word father was punctuated by a sharp sting. A small, precise cut. Bryson bit down on the comforter. It wasn’t deep—his rational mind told him that. But fear didn’t care about reason.
“Jonathan.”
The name earned him another nick, this time along his inner thigh. Another reminder.
Fuck.
His body shuddered, the pain skating too close to pleasure. His face pressed deeper into the mattress, eyes pinched shut.
“Just like you think you can handle me now.”
He shook his head furiously.
Her weight shifted, and the blade disappeared—only for him to feel the warmth of his own blood trailing down his skin. Not dangerous, but deliberate.
“Adria…” His voice was hoarse.
“Shut up. You’re showing trust, remember?”
Fuck. Was that what he was doing?
“With all due respect, Mistress, I’m tied down. I’m not sure how I prove trust like this.”
He barely had time to react before her knee came down hard between his shoulder blades. The knife back at his throat, pressing just hard enough to make his pulse jump beneath the blade.
“Say the word, and we’re done. But know this—if you choose to stay, if you choose to trust…”
The tip of the blade shifted, hovering dangerously close to the hollow of his throat. A place where even the smallest mistake could mean death.
“Then you’re choosing to stay in a room with a woman who is completely unhinged. Who was just brutally attacked by a core family member. Who has told you she doesn’t want to play. Who hates men, right? Who shouldn’t be Dom’ing anyone.”
Her voice was poison-laced silk, wrapping around him, suffocating him in choices.
“That’s who you’re choosing to stay with.”
Bryson squeezed his eyes shut. Praying he wasn’t making a mistake.
“I trust you,” he whispered.
And to his surprise, he meant it.
His body responding before his mind could catch up. A slow exhale slipped from his lips. His muscles relaxed beneath her .
She wasn’t going to hurt him.
She’d had ample opportunities. Kaydon was right. With her, they usually left more satisfied.
She hissed above him.
The first blow stole his breath, the leather biting into his ass with a sting that sent a shockwave of heat through him. Bryson bit down hard, tasting blood. The next strike came faster. And the next. And the next.
She didn’t hold back.
Floggers were deceiving. They could be soft, sensual, teasing. This was not that.
His ass, his thighs, his shoulders—each blow adding to the fire. The sharp sting of each strike faded into something worse—a slow, pulsing ache that settled deep in his bones.
His body fought to protect itself, but his mind…
His mind begged for more.
A muffled groan slipped from his lips, a battle cry against the pleasure creeping into the pain.
And fuck, he hated that he couldn’t see her.
That was the real torture.
The rhythm found them both.
His body pushed back into the strikes, unbidden, needing. His cock screamed for relief, humping against the mattress with no shame. He barely recognized himself.
But he recognized her.
She was freeing herself.
And he wanted to give it to her.
Wanted her to take all of it.
Leather rained down on his skin, the bite sharper, deeper. He knew she’d broken skin. And still—he arched into it, silently pleading for more.
His ankle restraints clinked, and the room spun as he was flipped onto his back.
Her hair was wild, and her eyes were alight .
“Still with me, big boy?”
He nodded, riding her energy. “Fuck yes.”
She was still in the large T-shirt, but his cock roared to life when she took off her lace underwear. His balls tightened, and when he thought things couldn’t get any harder, she climbed on top of him.
The wetness in between her legs, caused him to lose all control. His entire body craved her. He pressed his pelvis into the air, trying to feel more of her, needing to feel all of her.
Adria sat hard on his chest, crushing him.
“Fuc—”
Her palm cracked across his face.
Shock came first. Then, the second slap ignited a slow-burning rage in his gut. His hands flexed against the restraints, useless.
Her fingers curled around his throat, squeezing.
Bryson bucked against her, but she only tightened her grip, her slick folds pressing dangerously close to him. Heat rushed to his face, blood pounding in his ears as black spots danced in his vision.
Then—her tongue.
Slow, warm, dragging over his lips. Taunting.
His body screamed for her. He wanted to devour her, to press into her and worship every inch of her body. Make her come on his fingers and lick her clean. Shove himself deep inside, filling her until she forgot everything but him.
Her hand released his throat, and the world came rushing back.
She hovered over him, knife in hand.
Fuck.
The cold blade skated along his collarbone, the edge barely grazing skin. Bryson’s heart slammed against his ribs, breath shallow as he followed the sharp, slow descent of the steel .
It stopped at a scar. The long one from the accident. One of the few he didn’t remember getting.
The knife moved on, circling a cigarette burn on his left arm. A stab wound on his flank. A cigar burn on his thigh.
Every piece of his past. Every place where someone had tried to break him.
Adria took her time.
Tracing the pain. Claiming it.
Bryson moaned.
It was fucked up. So fucked up.
But he didn’t care.
“Take these cuffs off me,” he growled, voice hoarse but firm. “Let me fuck you.”
He felt like an animal. Wild. Unhinged.
The only thing that could pull him back to earth was her body wrapped around his.
Her laughter was soft but sharp. Playful. “You think you deserve that, do you?”
His eyes snapped open. “You want it,” he bit out. “I can feel it.”
She brought the tip of the knife to his lip.
“What you feel is my power. My control.”
She nicked his lip with the blade.
A thin line of warmth trickling from his mouth. Adria leaned down, licking the blood.
His mouth crashed into hers.
Desperation. His tongue demanding. His body pleading.
She let him take. Let him taste. But then—she pulled back. Leaving him panting. Pathetic.
She tilted her head, considering. “You like it when I dominate you,” she murmured. “Admit it.”
“Yes.”
Fuck, yes.
She took him to places he had never been .
And he craved it.
She smiled. She tried to hide it, but he saw.
His lips curled. “You like it with me, too.”
Her smile vanished.
“You can be rougher with me.” His voice was low, coaxing. “A real sadist.”
She turned away.
Bryson’s stomach dipped. “Admit it.”
Her head snapped back. Cold eyes. Walls up. “Why?” she asked, voice sharp. “So you can say I’m just like my father? So you can remind me what a monster I am?”
Bryson shook his head. “I don’t see a monster.”
She flinched.
“Adria, I’m fascinated by you.”
His pulse pounded in his throat. The words felt like a confession. Like something he wasn’t supposed to say.
But it was the truth.
She was the single most driven, beautiful, fucking sexy-as-hell woman he had ever met.
And she was terrifying.
His voice dropped. Low. Rough. Honest. “Whatever wave you’re on, I want to ride with you.” He locked eyes with her, willing her to believe him.
“Don’t pull away now.”
Eyes cautious, she leaned over him. Finding the scars on his right peck, she nicked the top one.
“Your father did these?” she said, moving onto the second.
It was a circle of cigarette burns. Nine in total. His father had given them to him on his eleventh birthday, after Bryson had said something disparaging against the families.
He nodded. Normally he was ashamed of his father’s punishments, but for some reason he wasn’t with her.
She moved to the next one and nicked it, and the next one. Bryson’s chest squeezed, and he watched her face as she meticulously cut each of his father’s abuse marks. Claiming them as her own.
They were shallow; Bryson doubted they would bleed for long. Nothing she had done would leave any permanent marks, but with each cut, he felt his grip on reality loosening.
Felt himself wanting her to mark him.
To claim him.
“You like the pain?”
“Yes,” he whispered into the space they had created.
“You like it when I make you?” Her voice was thick with lust.
“Yes.” His voice breathy
“You want to be what I want, what I need?”
“Yes, yes.”
Whatever she fucking needed, Bryson would be it.
And then she was gone, her weight and warmth moving away from him, and his body broke out in a chill.
“Shhhhh, I’m here, baby.”
He moved his gaze to the chair that sat to the right of the bed. In another reality, he had been there. Just a few hours ago. Watching a small pile of blankets breathe. Now she loomed over him, her eyes wild.
A soft hum of vibration forced him to focus.
Bryson wanted to cry; she was pleasuring herself with a vibrator.
“Fuck, Adria, let me, please.”
Well past begging. He felt deranged.
She threw her head back in pleasure, before bringing her gaze level with his. “All you have to do is say you’re done, darling, and all this will end. We can fuck right here right now.”
Bryson squeezed his eyes shut. This was not happening. His belly was wet. His pre-cum mixed with the lingering wetness she had left behind.
His cock still dripping .
All he wanted in the world was to fuck her.
Except, now there was something he wanted more.
“Good boys get fucked when their Master or Mistress decides. They come when they are allowed to. You want to be trained by the best. Well, either quit now, or buckle up.”
The vibration sounds increased, and he groaned. She was going to kill him.
“Open your eyes, watch me.” Her demand was punctuated by a sharp slap to his thigh. Bryson did as he was told, maybe a stiff breeze would come through the window. He was certain any sensation at this point would set him off.
He watched as she fucked herself with that toy, her fingers curling around it, while the other hand gripped the armrest. Tighter and tighter, she held it until finally her head rolled back and she screamed.