Chapter 17
The Reward
Jenna
I wake to the soft sound of piano music drifting through the walls.
I can’t hear whether it’s coming from upstairs or downstairs, but when I hear that it’s Chopin’s Fourth Ballade, I figure it must be Ian—unless Killian has suddenly grown a soft side.
Ian is famous for his Chopin interpretations and just released a new album last year with his Ballades.
Keeping my eyes closed, I listen to the faint notes for a while, wishing I could hear more so the music could drag me far away from all the memories that want to break through the rapidly thinning veneer of sleep.
When I can’t keep them at bay anymore, I open my eyes and look around.
I’m in a spacious bedroom washed in shades of navy blue, with a dark hardwood floor, and simple, nondescript decor.
I heave a shuddery breath at the sight of the chain connected to the black steel bars of the headboard.
It’s long enough to allow me to move around, even step out of bed, but only just that.
The air trembles past my lips as I lift a hand to my neck and touch the collar—the padlock and the chain.
I’m trapped, at the mercy of two men I barely know.
A man who takes pleasure in humiliating me and his father who has no problem taking part in said humiliation.
Shame and self-deprecation wash over me as I think over the last two weeks, wondering if it’s all been a game to get me here—to make me so utterly desperate I’d agree to live under the same roof as my abuser.
Nausea roils in my belly at the memory of how I succumbed to Killian.
I knelt before him and apologized, then willingly spread my ass cheeks to let him insert a butt plug while his dad watched.
But the worst part is not that I let him do it. It’s the fact that I enjoyed it. That I was wet.
Carefully, I reach beneath the comforter and touch my pussy.
Finding my lips dripping wet, I pull my hand away as if burned.
And that slight touch is all it takes. Suddenly, the need that had gone to sleep with me flares back alive.
My entire lower body starts humming, and my inner muscles contract.
A small sound that sounds embarrassingly much like a moan escapes me when I accidentally squeeze around the butt plug.
“No, no, no,” I whisper, lifting my hands to my face. This can’t be. Not any of it.
I just lie there, hiding behind my hands, hoping it will all go away, until the door opens. Still, I keep my hands pressed to my face, refusing to face my new reality.
But it comes crashing down when two big hands grab my wrists and pull them aside. The words I somehow found arousing an hour ago are now like a nightmare as they play through my mind. You have no rights except the ones I give you.
“I want to leave,” I say when I meet Ian’s impassive eyes. “I’ve changed my mind.”
He lifts his hand to stroke his knuckles along my cheek. “Didn’t you understand? Your decision is final. You have no further say in anything.”
“You can’t keep me here against my will.”
“Is it against your will? Would you rather go back to that shitty job of yours and that decrepit flat? Poor and insignificant? Traumatized and unable to let another man fuck you? Or would you rather stay here? Our cherished little toy? Pleasing Killian and me? Embracing the trauma and turning it into something beyond that anxiety that has been crippling you for years?”
Tears pool in my eyes. His words are like a stab to the chest, piercing straight through all my vulnerabilities, opening up for everything I’ve kept hidden behind a thick wall of shame. Parting my lips, I give a hopeless shake of my head, confirming everything he just said. Because he’s right.
“That’s what I thought.” Ian grabs me under the arms and pulls me into his lap.
“Don’t,” I protest, feebly pushing at him.
But when he cradles the back of my head in his big, warm hand and wraps the other around me, I can’t resist. It’s the comfort I’ve craved with aching need for two weeks, maybe even forever.
Slumping against him, I let the tears free and succumb to the wrenching grief.
“Shh-sh-shh,” he soothes. “Such a pretty little thing shouldn’t cry.” He strokes my hair, rocking me gently. “But it’s okay. Just give in to it. I’ll get you through it.”
His words spur a cascade of sobs that have me crumbling into raw, all-consuming grief.
Because I believe him. He’ll get me through it.
And somehow, that knowledge is as reassuring as it is devastating.
I cling to him as I let everything out. The regret of not being stronger and reporting Killian to the police.
The shame of having succumbed to his manipulative ways again.
And not just his. His father’s too. And all the fear and longing that has curdled inside me for the last two weeks.
The fear is still there, potent and alive in the depths of my brain, but as I let Ian hold me through the storm, it loosens its stranglehold on my body. The longing loosens too. Because this—his comfort—is all I’ve wanted since that first time he brushed the hair off my neck.
“It’s so wrong,” I say, unable to hold back the words. Somehow, he has cracked open my defenses too, letting all the despair and insecurities rush out. “I shouldn’t want this. Not you, not Killian. Not this depraved proposition you made. Not any of it.”
“It’s okay. We’re all more than a little twisted here. You’re not alone.”
Those last three words tear an ugly sob from my throat. It’s like he sees straight through me. All my wounds and scars and the deficit-driven desires they have created.
“I’ll take care of you. Will you let me do that?” he continues.
I nod. Eagerly. Because that promise hits straight into my deficiencies as well.
“Good girl.” Pushing a hand between my thighs, he slowly opens them. And I let him. I slacken my muscles so he can push my legs over his thighs, parting them to give him full access to my pussy.
Slowly, touch gentle, he slides a finger through my folds. Finding them soaked, he tuts. “You’re still so very wet. I’ll have to clean you after this. Probably change my pants as well.”
I whimper in humiliation, but when he slips his finger through my slit again, I can’t suppress the moan that’s fueled by those same words.
“Oh, sweet little girl. You just can’t control yourself.” He starts circling my clit, sending staggering jolts of sensation through the tight bundle of nerves.
My mewls break into a staccato rhythm as electricity coils tight inside me, seizing my body in a rush of tremors and shivers.
“We’d better make sure you can’t move so much.” Tightening his grip, he moves us farther down the bed, away from the headboard. Stretching one leg onto the mattress, he pivots us toward the foot of the bed. I realize why when he pushes forward and the collar snatches on the chain.
“Ah,” I moan as the leather tightens around my throat. The feeling is oppressive and uncomfortable, but it goes straight to my heated core—that same sensation as when I pressed my hand to my neck and touched myself, coming to the thought of him.
“Much better,” he croons, continuing the maddening circles around my clit.
My desire rises to frenetic heights as he maintains that light touch.
Electricity crackles through my body in sharp bolts and prickling buzzing.
I jerk and twist, inadvertently bucking forward—pressing my neck into the leather, pushing against his hand and the unrelenting grip at my waist. But it’s not enough. I need more.
“Please,” I beg, the desperation growing. “Please.”
“Please what?” he whispers, giving my earlobe a small bite.
“Please… make me come.” Humiliation washes over me, but my brain knows no self-defense under the onslaught of maddening need.
“Aww, this is not enough?” he taunts, keeping up the maddening motions. “Do you think this will help?” He releases my waist to reach under me, and I gasp when he grabs the base of the plug.
“No,” I cry.
“What’s that?” he growls in a terrifying tone. “Did you just lie to me?”
“No. I mean… Please don’t.”
“That’s not up to you now, is it?”
I shake my head, defeat making me collapse into him as he pulls slightly at the plug. I convulse against him, my legs tensing at the flare of sensation in that forbidden hole.
“I don’t want to come like that,” I whimper, unable to stand the humiliation—all those memories of Killian almost making me come, but then hurling me into the worst experience of my life.
“Shh. I’m not him,” he whispers, somehow understanding my inner turmoil perfectly once again. “I’m not going to come all over you afterward. And I’m certainly not going to leave you or kick you out.”
“You did it that night,” I say, straining to resist the sensations that keep firing as he turns and twists the plug. “You watched me like I was vermin you just wanted out of your house.”
“I did. But I don’t see you that way anymore.”
I want to cry again at those two words. I did. But when he pulls a little harder on the plug, stretching my tight muscle, I cry out in desperate desire instead.
“You’re a beautiful, strong, determined woman now.
Submissive to the bone. I don’t kick out such women.
” He pushes forward to make the collar grab onto my neck again.
“I keep them chained in my bed so I can use them however I like.” The pleasure builds and builds as he pushes the plug in and pulls it back, just enough to stretch my walls without popping free.
“I hurt and humiliate them, but I also make them come when they’ve been good little girls. ”
Tension crackles through my whole body, making my legs stretch and tense.
“I reward you—sweet, submissive Jenna—for being a good girl and making the right decision.”
Those words, hearing that he wants me, send me over the edge with a loud scream that bounces off the walls and fills the space with my aching, deep, freeing lust. The pulsations keep thrumming, making me scream repeatedly.
When they finally die down, I go limp, collapsing in Ian’s arms and letting him hold me while I come down from the most incredible high of my life. My first orgasm at the hands of a man.