12. Mimosa
CHAPTER 12
Mimosa
I wake up in Brutal’s bed with him staring directly at me. I tense and clutch at the sheets, which are miraculously still covering me.
He’d been a little nicer yesterday, but I’m not naive enough to believe he might have completely changed his tune.
“You’re finally awake,” Brutal says, sitting up. “I thought you were going to sleep the entire fucking day.”
The entire day? I glance at the bedside clock. It’s already 11 a.m. I can’t believe I slept this late.
On the other hand, I’ve had a rough few days. I deserve more sleep than I’m getting. There’s nothing I particularly want to be awake for, either.
“Food’s on the tray over there.” Brutal points to a tray on the nearby ottoman. “If you say anything about the quality, I will lock you up again.”
I don’t know if I’m hungry, but I’m fully aware that I can’t afford to miss a meal. I don’t know what will set him off again, and I need to keep my strength up. I slowly shift out of bed and go for the food, which is just scrambled eggs and bacon. Not my preferred breakfast food, but I’ve gotten the sense that Brutal is adventurous in everything but his diet.
I eat quickly, trying not to be so conscious of Brutal watching me the entire time. He wants something, clearly, and I don’t want to know what it is.
“Mimi, I was thinking.” Brutal gets off the bed and starts pacing around. “You said I was out of control.” He grins at me, and if I didn’t know what a terrible person he was, I might find him handsome. “Well, I came up with a game that will show you just how in control I am.”
A game.
I set the plate aside and sit up straighter. “Okay.”
“You’ve liked my games so far, haven’t you?” he asks, flashing a smirk at me. He pauses in pacing for a moment to consider me, then heads to one of the dresser drawers. “I got something for us to play with.”
I dread whatever toy he’s going to pull out of that chest. My mind is racing with possibilities: a whip, another cane, some form of dildo or butt plug that will stretch me to my limits.
Instead, he pulls out a glass with a candle inside.
It seems innocuous enough at first, but then I start thinking through the possibilities of just what he could do with it. He’s obviously had plenty of time to mull over them, and he moves with confidence as he lights it.
To my surprise, he leaves it alone, going to sit on the edge of the bed. “C’mere, Mimi,” he invites me, patting his lap.
I have to steel myself to walk over to him. My feet still twinge with mild pain, but I’m sure I won’t be thinking about them soon enough.
Brutal pulls me down onto his lap, moving my limbs like I’m a doll until I’m straddling him. I can already feel through his pants that he’s hard. He cups my breast in his hand, toying with my nipple. “Let’s just sit here for a bit,” he says, as though the lit candle’s mere existence isn’t any sort of threat at all.
But I’m aware of it, and I can’t stop thinking about it.
He plays with both of my breasts for a moment, leaning in to kiss my throat. He’s being gentle, so very gentle, and it’s at odds with his usual demeanor — and with whatever he’s planning.
Hot wax has the potential to be very, very painful, especially if he puts it on more sensitive areas. He’d gotten off on caning my feet until they’d split open; there’s no reason for me to think that he’d go easy on me now.
So much for our “bonding” last night.
It’s in keeping with what I know of his psychology, though. He doesn’t like to lose, and he doesn’t like to be reminded of his shortcomings.
That’s no different from most men, though. He just takes it to the extreme.
I hold myself still while he continues to paw at me. It’s difficult to keep my breathing even when he’s playing with my nipples like that. They perk up at his touch, and I remind myself that nipples perk up at everything . Maybe it’s just the temperature.
Goosebumps spread across my skin.
He continues to kiss along my neck, going up to nibble on my earlobe. The contrast is sharp compared to what I know he could do — what I’m sure he’s going to do — but for a moment, it almost feels good to have him touching me.
Almost.
For several long moments, he treats me gently, but it comes to an end too soon. He grabs me by the waist and pushes me down onto my back on the bed, staring down at me. “You’ll want to be very, very still for this,” he tells me. His voice is too casual for someone I know is about to potentially do a lot of damage to me.
He grabs the glass jar of the candle, and I can see where wax has pooled up around the wick. He swirls it around a little, considering it, then turns back to me. He sits down on the bed next to me, and he pauses only briefly before lifting the candle and tipping it over ever so slightly so that a few splatters of red wax land on my skin.
I gasp in pain, instinctively pulling in my stomach in order to escape it, but of course there is no escape. My mind is telling me to run away—fuck Brutal’s orders—because it’s only going to get worse.
But I’m extremely aware of the fact that wax play is nowhere near the worst thing Brutal has subjected me to.
It’s nowhere near the worst thing he could do to me, either.
“How’s that?” he asks, and I’m not sure if it’s a rhetorical question or if he really wants to know the answer .
I look up at him, trying to figure it out.
He scowls at me. “I said, how’s that?”
“It hurts,” I say honestly.
That turns the scowl into a calculating smile. “Good.”
With that, he tips the candle again, this time splashing more of the wax onto my skin.
It looks like blood.
I whimper and try to breathe through the pain, but it’s a hot, burning flash. It cools quick enough, but the pain lingers—and he drips more wax onto me before I have time to prepare myself.
This time, I cry out, and he groans like that’s what he’s been waiting for. He runs his finger through the hot wax where it’s still malleable on my skin, though he doesn’t react from any sort of pain. It’s still warm, but I guess it’s not warm enough for him to be uncomfortable.
The next time he pours, it’s a steady line from between my breasts down to my belly button. I arch, unable to keep myself from thrashing a little as I scream. He’s holding the candle so close to my skin that I can feel the heat emanating from the bottom of the glass itself.
It’s strange how the parts of my skin with cooling wax feel more sensitive. Not in pain anymore, but still different.
“S-stop,” I say, shaking my head. “I don’t like this.”
“Do you think I give a shit what you like?” Brutal retorts, pouring a swirl along my breast before toying with it again. “How do you think it’s going to feel when I pull all of this off?” He laughs. “I do like this. I can do it again and again, and Hunter can’t bitch at me about hurting you too badly.”
It doesn’t sound like he’s in control, but I’m not going to point it out to him.
I squeeze my eyes shut and wait for the next splash of wax, but nothing comes.
“I did have a question for you.” Brutal trails his knuckles down my cheek. “This thing with your sister. How much is it worth to you?”
My eyes fly open. “What?”
“You want to know where she is, how she’s doing, blah blah blah.” He sets the candle aside. “What are you willing to do to find out?” His lips twitch into a smirk, and I realize the bastard already has the answers I want.
“I’m sitting still,” I say, wary. “I haven’t ruined your game.”
“Yeah, but maybe I want something more.” He slides his finger down my stomach, over the wax, then pauses right over my clit. “Maybe I want you to stay perfectly still while I pour that wax over a very, very sensitive part of your body before I fuck you senseless.”
I shudder, wanting to shake my head, but I want that information.
“Or maybe I just want you to behave during a very exclusive gathering I host in your honor.” He strokes my clit. I can’t tell which option he actually wants.
He’ll probably keep adding demands or changing his mind.
I squirm, closing my thighs around his fingers. The unwanted pleasure is making my breathing quicken.
“I can’t prevent either of those things,” I murmur.
“No,” Brutal agrees. “You can’t. But I think I’m a little more interested in your behavior around other people. Do you think you could play my mistress instead of acting like a whore?”
“If you can manage not to treat me like one,” I fire back without thinking.
He pinches my clit hard. “What the fuck did you just say to me?”
I cry out and recoil away from him, but he doesn’t let up. I can’t believe just how much pain he’s causing with just this one little pinch.
Maybe I do prefer men who don’t even know where the clit is.
“I can… I can pretend—” I gasp out. “But everybody will know if you… if you treat me like…”
“If I treat you like what?” Brutal challenges me. “I can treat you however the fuck I want. It doesn’t matter. If I tell you to put on a cow bell and moo on the fucking ottoman, you’ll do it without a question. Because I guarantee you, whatever I’ve done to you so far, I can do better.”
I keep squirming, wrestling with the sensations of his fingers on my clit and the wax drying on my skin. “Then everybody will know you treat women like cows.”
“You have such a smart little mouth,” he growls. “Let’s put it to better use. Up. You know what to do.” He sits back, staring at me in that challenging way that lets me know he expects me to obey — quickly.
I sit up, grimacing when some of the wax cracks and flakes off me. I scoot to the edge of the bed and, without uttering another word, open my mouth for him.
He slides his sweatpants off, grabbing me by the hair and forcing me down before I even have the chance to move forward. “Oh, now you’re gonna be smart?” he asks. “What’s it gonna take for you to be smart all the time?”
I take a deep breath and focus on not choking.
Funny how he enjoyed me being smart during our little excursion. It’s less appealing to him when I’m turning that against him, apparently.
Not even against him. I’m simply pointing out the truth.
I start to wonder what kind of party he’s planning before internally chiding myself. It’ll be the kind where people don’t care how he treats women. The kind where everybody gets to join in on the fun.
I suck hard on his cock, then use my tongue to press along the thick vein underneath. I can feel him pulsing in my mouth, and he starts to make little grunting noises. He loosens his grasp on my hair by subtle degrees as he relaxes into the blowjob, but I can still feel his restlessness.
I wonder if he’s taken anything yet this morning.
He strokes my hair as I take more of him into my mouth. My tongue swirls around his cock, along the underside, and he groans as I give him what he wants. The diligent motions pay off, and for all that they’re dispassionate and rote, they still seem to give him what he wants… at first.
But before long, he pulls me off by my hair, scowling at me. “Put some feeling into it. Jesus.”
“What feeling would you like, Sir?” I ask, and it takes more effort than I expect to keep my dispassionate tone.
“You know I want you to pretend you’re into it,” Brutal says. “I hate this shit. Ugh.” He shoves me back, hard, and I almost lose my balance. “Why is this so fucking hard for you? Huh?”
“I’m sorry, Sir,” I say, pasting on a smile. “Please, may I suck your cock, Sir? You’re so big, I get hot just thinking about you.”
He rolls his eyes and grips his cock, which has softened slightly. It wakes back up to his touch, though, and he starts to jerk himself off right in front of my face. “Hold still then,” he says. “If you’re so hard up for my dick, just stay there and open your whore mouth.”
I open my mouth, although I’m not looking forward to the bitter taste of his cum.
At the last moment, he slides his cock into my mouth, shooting his entire load directly onto my tongue. I force myself not to react, not to give him anything , no matter how disgusted I am by all of it.
He takes a deep breath, watching me. “All right. You can swallow,” he says after a moment.
I do, glad to be rid of his cum, but of course he doesn’t let me go to the bathroom to rinse my mouth of the taste.
“Now lie back on the bed,” Brutal directs me.
I don’t know if I like where this is going. I almost make a comment about whether he’s up for it, but at this point I’m probably better off just letting him do whatever he wants to me and hoping he gets bored of it.
He seems to have forgotten about the wax, at least.
He gets up on the bed, spreading my legs. I’d thought he’d forgotten about my clit, about any terrible pleasure he could wring out of me, but he goes right for the kill.
I don’t know how a man with such a short attention span — and fuse — who obviously hates women as much as he does can get off on eating me out, but he goes at it with gusto.
The pleasure starts to build, despite how little I want it to, and I bite down on my lips to stifle my sounds. It would be so much easier if he could just be done with me, if he didn’t go out of his way to make me feel good.
I don’t understand why he’s doing this. He doesn’t like me, no matter how much I’d taunted him about it. He sees me as a toy, as a tool .
When he finally loses interest in me, the way he seems to lose interest in everything, I’ll be discarded just like all his other toys.
He doesn’t lose interest in me now, though. Instead, he continues to lick my clit, getting at just the right angle to make an unwanted moan spill past my lips. That seems to spur him on, and he grabs my thighs, pushing even faster, harder until I’m trembling from the base of my spine.
Then the pleasure sweeps over me, laying me utterly flat as I succumb to it, and Brutal looks up at me with what I might call an earnest look on anyone else.
“ That is how you do it,” he mutters.
He wipes his face then gets up, slamming the door to his bathroom behind him and leaving me all alone.
I curl onto my side. The rest of the wax cracks and falls off me, and I’m left wondering if he’s actually going to tell me anything about Irene.
I clutch the sheets and squeeze my eyes shut.