Chapter Thirty-One
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Ily
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AUGUST
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TIME HAD THE TERRIBLE ABILITY at changing the length of its minutes.
One day, hours sped past in a blink. The next, seconds crawled by with an age.
Our mornings were spent on the deck or in the ballroom sharing breakfast with so many other Masters and kneeling, unhappy jewels. Afterward, Henri would leash me and take me for a walk in the gardens. In the afternoons, he’d write or read, and I’d do yoga and meditate.
And our evenings...well.
Those became the bane and highlight of my existence.
Not because of the things we did.
But because those things destroyed us.
Piece by piece.
Heart by heart.
Until we were nothing more than creatures of the same twisted longing.
* * * * *
“Ah good swat, mon ami!” Victor slapped Henri on the shoulder as he delivered another shot of cognac to him. Henri took the glass with a shaking hand, wiping the sweat off his upper lip.
My eyesight faded in and out.
My blood positively burned.
My entire body scorched with fire.
The fourth lash of a tan-and-white flogger that Victor had given us as yet another gift sang through the air and swatted my bare belly.
The meditative intensity that used to be so elusive now found me every time we played. It uncoiled slowly, insidiously wrapping me in its blanketing sensitivity, quietening my mind and making my entire body feel everything.
I felt Henri’s stare as he glowered at the welts left on my belly and breasts from his flogger.
I saw his desire, his despair, desperation, and darkness.
I heard the heavy thud of his thundering heart as if our pulse pounded to the same beat.
You doing okay? His silver gaze asked.
I’m with you. I ducked my chin. I trust you.
The more we played, the stronger our bond became.
It’d been three weeks since Peter and Henri met in the kitchens, and almost every night, Victor had summoned us to his chambers.
Returning here and being forced to kneel on the same carpet where Victor had raped me was one of the hardest things I’d ever done. I’d fought the very real urge to dissociate so I didn’t run screaming into memories.
But...Rachel had been there. Henri had been there. And in some twist of normalcy, Victor had indulged in one too many whiskeys and fallen asleep on the couch before he ever laid a finger on Rach or ordered Henri and I to perform.
The next night, Rach and I had been allowed to actually sit on the furniture and eat off plates instead of our Master’s fingers. Victor treated Rachel like his own life-size doll. One currently fragile and in need of smothering so she delivered the healthiest heir.
That was until he tied her to his four-poster bed and whipped her the same way Henri had whipped me in the snuffbox.
While Rachel swallowed her soft screams, Henri had ordered me to blow him on the couch—neither of us watching Victor welting Rachel’s pretty skin. We’d fallen into our own world of depravity and learned to tune out those around us so it remained only us.
The next night, more of the same.
And the next.
And the next.
“Your ability to create a criss-cross pattern over her breasts is rather impressive.” Victor sipped his drink, his awful eyes slithering over me.
“Thanks.” Slashing the flogger through the air, Henri grinned. “I rather like this gift. Where did you say you got it from?”
“A little shop in Hungary.”
“Kinky Hungarians.” Henri smirked.
“I agree.” Victor laughed. “I have a couple who visit, and they’re definitely rather ingenious with what they get up to.” Finishing his drink, he ordered, “Now, finish whipping her and fuck her if you must. I need to kick you out. I’ve had a long day of meetings and need to get some rest.”
Strolling to where Rachel kneeled by his bed, Victor snapped his fingers. “Actually, you know what?” He grinned. “I think a quick nightcap would help me sleep. Don’t you agree, my pet?”
Rachel kept her chin low. “Yes, Sir V.”
“Good girl.” Placing his glass on his side table, he unbuckled his slacks and let them drop to the floor.
Victor never seemed to wear underwear, his cock long and hard.
Lying on top of the bedding, he fluffed up a pillow behind his head, then grabbed the base of himself.
“Ride me, my sweetling. I’m feeling rather lazy tonight. ”
“Yes, Sir V.” Climbing to her feet, Rachel gave me a quick look before getting on the bed and settling herself over Victor’s hips.
Henri stiffened. His hands throttled the flogger as we both watched Rachel position herself over Victor’s erection and sink down.
Victor gave a thick groan, his hands landing on her hips. Looking at me bound to his four-poster, he licked his lips. “Actually, do fuck her before you go, Henri. I want to watch.”
My stomach plummeted.
Henri sighed heavily.
And the flogger caught me a final time as if Henri struck without control, his frustration at having to perform like circus animals bleeding through.
The pain and heat of the swat feathered over my abused skin until my nipples turned into diamonds, and the trickle of desire slipped farther down my inner thigh.
I no longer tried to stop myself from reacting this way.
No longer argued with what my body wanted and desired.
Henri was what I desired. And the pain he gave me was always bittersweet.
“Of course, Vic.” Henri tossed the flogger onto the bed and stepped into me.
Grabbing my jaw, he tipped my head back.
The hook holding my shackled wrists jangled as he pressed his body against mine.
His fingers pinched into my cheeks, holding me violently and possessively, yet his eyes glowed just for me.
I need you. His heart whispered to mine. I need you to show me you’re okay.
Every night before he took me.
Every scene we played and every nightmare he delivered, he always asked before he fucked me.
Surrendering into his savage hold, I sucked in a breath and hissed, “Fuck you for ever making me think you were different.”
His eyes snapped closed; his nostrils flared.
When his gaze opened again, his utmost gratitude flared with absolute corruption.
“Aw, don’t be like that, little nightmare.” With trembling hands, he unbuttoned and unzipped his jeans. “I never hid who I was. In fact, I remember telling you that I’d be the worst friend you’d ever had.”
“One day, I’ll make you pay for this.” I did my best to hide how my heart flurried as his hands landed on his hips and shoved his boxer-briefs to mid-thigh.
His body.
His beautiful, perfect body.
So hard for me.
So bad for me.
Grabbing me around the waist, he hoisted me high. His fingers activated a particularly deep lash from the flogger all while stroking those maddening little coded circles on my skin.
Our own language.
A way of communicating right beneath Victor’s nose.
God, I love you. His thumbs swirled over the blue H marking my thigh.
I need you. I arched into his touch. Now.
“You’re soaking for me.” He chuckled. “Tell me again how you intend to make me pay.”
“Put me down.” I snapped my teeth. “Don’t touch me.” Squirming in my binds, I couldn’t hide my tattered moan as his hips lodged against mine and the heavenly nudge of his hot, hard cock found me.
My heart unravelled.
My blood prepared to detonate.
“Don’t touch you?” He smirked, rocking his hips between my legs, coating himself in my arousal. “But where would be the fun in that?”
His teeth found my ear and bit hard, all while his quietest whisper licked against my soul. “You own me, Ily. Body and soul.”
And then, he thrust.
Hard.
Vicious.
A spearing, pillaging penetration as he claimed me as spoils of his war.
I screamed.
I didn’t fake that.
It felt too good as our two bodies became one.
With a feral snarl, Henri’s control snapped.
His hips pistoned.
His cock slammed into me, again and again, pinning me against the wooden pole.
I gave up trying to act.
I sank into every thrust and spun into tighter knots.
Who would’ve thought I’d find freedom in captivity?
Who would’ve guessed when my Master used me like he hated me that I would feel such overwhelming love?
“I hate you!” I tried to bite his neck as he rode me harder.
“Hate me all you want,” he grunted, driving deeper, faster. “It won’t stop me from fucking you.”
Victor chuckled.
Henri bit my neck.
And the rest became a supernova.
* * * * *
I shielded my eyes as we stepped into Victor’s private nightclub.
The rainbow flashing strobe lights, hazy air, and scents of sharp alcohol reminded me so much of the night I was stolen that my heart stopped.
My feet stopped too.
Henri turned to face me.
His gaze held matching memories.
The way our eyes had met across the bar.
The way I’d known right there and then that he was different and unique and mine.
Reaching out, he grabbed my hand. Taking a gamble that Victor wouldn’t see as our host and capturer strolled through the elegant chaos, he squeezed my fingers and pressed a fleeting kiss to my lips. “It’s okay. It’s just another night.”
We’d gotten good at ‘just another night’. We dabbled with the toys Victor gave us and sometimes put on a different show, doing our best to prove that Henri felt nothing for me each time he abused me.
So far, we’d won.
Victor continued to be gallant and generous.
We’d headed back to the snuffbox as a foursome two days ago and regularly shared breakfast with him and Rachel in the mornings.
Victor had well and truly bought Henri’s act, and if a trafficking psychopath could be capable of favourites and fondness, he seemed well and truly smitten with Henri.
If I didn’t know any better, I’d say he even had a crush.
The way he watched Henri sometimes. The pride in his eyes as Henri drew my blood. The joy on his lips as Henri made me beg. Each time my Master whipped me, punished me, or chained me to fuck me, Victor praised his protégé as if he was personally responsible for Henri’s change of heart.
I didn’t care if he thought he was the reason.
I knew the truth.
I knew he was mine and no one else’s.