Chapter 34
The Clean Toy
Jenna
“It’s time,” Ian tells me one night as he places a large pot of fragrant roast chicken with vegetables in front of me.
“For what?” I’m too focused on the prospect of eating his delicious food to notice the gravity in his voice.
“Killian will have free rein tonight.”
Reaching for the spoon in the steaming dish, I pause mid-air. “Tonight?” It’s only been a week since he flogged me.
“Yes, tonight. He’ll get full control. He decides what to do and for how long.”
Swallowing hard, I bring my hands into my lap, suddenly not so hungry anymore.
Ian scoops a healthy portion onto my plate, but I just stare at it. “What is he going to do?” I ask, my mind already whirring with terrifying scenarios—my skin bleeding, screaming and begging for mercy without getting any, Killian taking my ass while spitting vile degradations at me.
“That’s up to him. But he’ll stay within the agreed-upon boundaries.”
“But what if he—” I can’t even find the words to finish the sentence, because there are so many possible horror scenarios, one worse than the other.
Ian leans in to take my hand. “Jenna,” he urges, tilting his head to gain my attention. “He’ll push you. There’s no doubt about that. But I’m also sure he won’t go too far. He might be young, but he has plenty of experience with this.”
A thick knot of jealousy lodges in my throat. I shouldn’t hate all those women who came before me—or rather, after me—and I shouldn’t want to be yet another victim to Killian’s sadistic whims. But I do. Every day I’m here, I crave it with a hunger that’s getting harder and harder to ignore.
Ian gives my hand a reassuring squeeze. “You’re not one of them, Jenna. He didn’t care about any of them.”
“He doesn’t care about me either.”
“It may not seem so, and he may not want to admit it, but he does. And that’s why I know he won’t cross a line.”
I just stare at the tabletop.
“Do you remember that day when you panicked? On the new piano bench.”
My stomach twists at the memory of that horrible bench, which I haven’t seen since. “Yes.”
“Killian was the one who got you out of the panic. Not me. He was the one who held you afterward.”
It’s like a strike of clarity through a blurry memory.
I’ve been trying not to think much about that day, too ashamed of what they did to me—the way I broke down.
But now I see Killian’s eyes before me, full of pleading urgency as he tells me to breathe.
I remember his careful patience when he helped me off that horrible phallus, increment by slow increment. And then he held me.
Suddenly, I’m pining for that same attentiveness from Killian. I know I won’t get it, but the longing is so strong that I’ll take any kind of closeness I can get even if it’s cold and cruel. I just need to be near him.
I swallow back the thick knot of jealousy, shame, and fear, then lift my eyes to Ian. His expression is full of a promise to protect me. I might not get the care I crave from Killian, but once he’s done with me, I’ll come down here where there’s plenty of it.
Ian’s eyes light up as if he reads my growing determination. “Good girl. I’m so very proud of you.”
His words loosen some of the tension that has coiled tight in my stomach, and I manage to get through half the portion he placed in front of me.
But once we leave the kitchen and I go to get ready, all the anxiety creeps straight back in and makes a mess of my stomach, making me dart into the bathroom several times, afraid I’ll spill the contents.
“I’ll be right here when you come down,” Ian tells me an hour later when we’re in the entryway.
I nod, heave a deep breath, and turn to face the stairs.
The layered skirt of the peach dress Ian has bought for me sways around my hips as I grab the railing and start a slow ascent on quivery legs.
The air caresses my bare skin above the thigh-high white stockings with pink ribbons, reminding me of how exposed I am down there.
Only a thin layer of white lace covers my private parts, so flimsy it begs to be ripped.
I feel like prey walking straight into the lion’s den.
The lion is waiting for me at the top of the stairs.
I feel Killian’s presence in the very air, hungry and eager, and I don’t dare lift my gaze to meet his.
On the last step, I stop, unable to go farther.
His polished leather shoes come into view, clicking against the floor.
I struggle to keep my breath flowing calmly, and I can barely draw in air at all when he stops in front of me, his hands tucked into the pockets of his suit pants.
It’s so easy to forget that he’s the same age as me.
His air of authority might not be as acute as his dad’s, but it’s there, sharp and buzzing, wrapping around me and making me shiver.
“Don’t be shy,” he taunts.
I close my eyes, draw a shuddery breath, then step onto the landing.
“Finally,” he says with a demonstrative sigh, “I have you all to myself.”
He tucks my hair behind my ear, and his touch awakens a whole slew of contradictory sensations. Twisty strings of tension and icy shivers of apprehension, but also heated surges of forbidden desire.
“Come.” He offers me his hand in a deceptively chivalrous gesture. Once again, I feel like I’m offering myself up to the hungry beast as I place my hand in his and let him lead me across the landing.
Instead of taking me to the piano room or his fully equipped BDSM room, he takes me in the opposite direction. The twisty knots tighten when he opens the door to the bathroom. I don’t know why, but something tells me this is not a good sign.
“I prefer my toys nice and clean,” he says with a foreboding edge, following me inside and closing the door.
“I just showered.”
“Oh no, that’s not what I mean.” He picks a huge syringe off the counter, and my whole system goes into a state of alarm.
“What the hell is that?”
“Don’t worry. There’s no needle.” He holds the tip my way, showing me a wide and long but needleless tip.
“What is it?” I repeat in a thin voice.
His smile remains as he nods toward my lower body. “To clean you. Back there.”
No, no, no, no, no. I start backing up. “I’m not letting you do that.” There’s no way.
“Good thing I don’t need your permission—and anticipated your reaction.” He sets the syringe down and grabs a pair of leather cuffs.
“Please don’t,” I beg when I hit the cold tiles of the wall.
“Aww, do you really think that helps?” He moves in, crowding me against the wall.
I’m so scared that I can’t do anything but screw my eyes shut and hope it will all go away as he lifts my arms, one at a time, and buckles the cuffs around my wrists.
“Get on the floor. Lie on your side. Head that way.” He points toward the wall behind me.
I stare at the unattached cuffs and then down at the floor. That’s when I see the chain. Secured to a ring low on the wall.
I shake my head. “Please, not this. Just… Anything. Not this.”
His smile fades, eyes darkening. “If you don’t obey this very moment, I’ll have Dad come watch. Now, get on the floor, on your side.”
Swallowing hard, I stare at him, thinking he’s bluffing. But when he reaches for the door handle, I scramble to the floor and lie on my side.
Killian moves on to attach the cuffs to the chain, stretching my arms above my head. Then he grabs a long pillow I hadn’t even noticed and places it between my legs. “Turn slightly.” He pushes me a little, angling me farther onto my stomach, exposing my ass even more.
“Good girl,” he says, but it’s not with the same warmth as when Ian says it. Killian’s voice holds a note of taunting that crushes the sweet praise that should be inherent to those words.
There’s the familiar snap of latex as he puts on a glove, and then he’s pulling at my top ass cheek, exposing my tight opening and squeezing cold lube onto it.
“You said—Your father promised no…” I squeeze my eyes shut, unable to say the word. “No play like that.”
He huffs a mocking laugh. “You think I’m gonna stay and watch you empty your bowels?
Nah, I’m not into that kind of thing.” He presses a finger into the moisture and pushes just inside, spreading the lube.
“But I am going to enjoy every little bit of your humiliation as I stick the syringe inside your ass and pump your stomach full of water.”
“No,” I gasp, pulling at my hands to cover my face, but they catch on the chain. Panic rises anew, squeezing my chest and drawing tears to my eyes. “I can’t do this. I just can’t.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll make you want it.” With one slow push, he inserts his long finger into my ass—which he has stretched enough times to easily take a finger without preparation.
I try to resist the electric sensations sparking in my nerves, but as he moves in and out very slowly, it’s impossible.
Every tiny movement sets a new bundle of nerves on fire, and as he keeps going, the sensations spread out, drawing all my awareness to that region.
“You never can resist a good bit of ass play. I wonder if it’s because your first good sexual experience was anal.”
“Stop,” I exclaim, tugging at my arms again to cover my ears, but it’s no use. They’re stuck, and Killian just raises his voice to drown out my protests. When I try to scoot farther up to reach my ears, he simply slams a hand onto my hip, locking me in place with terrifying ease.
“Or maybe it was the trauma that fucked you up. Or are you just a natural? A dirty”—he shoves his whole finger all the way in—“little”—he pulls out and repeats the motion—“anal”—one more time—“slut.” He grunts at that last push, seating his finger deep inside my ass.
I’m panting now, suppressing moans repeatedly. But when he reaches between my legs and the pillow, sliding a finger through my soaked lips and over my clit, I can’t hold it in anymore.