Chapter 23
Grace
After the altercation with his uncle, I expect Mikhail to go back to his workout, but he never does.
Instead, he turns off the fucking machine and undoes my restraints.
Surprised and a little wary of his empty expression, I watch him struggle with the clasps, as if his fingers were shaking.
Once he removes my gag, I shakily pull myself into a kneeling position, leaning against the bench.
“Master?” I ask carefully, unsure of what’s happening. It’s clear that he’s struggling with some heavy emotions, and I want nothing more than to help him, but I don’t know how. If only he’d tell me what he needs from me, but he just roughly pulls me on my feet and walks me to my cot.
“Not now, Doll,” he cuts me off the second I open my mouth. “Just sleep.”
Sleep? I’m tired, yes, but that’s nothing new. I feel like I’ve been living in perpetual exhaustion for days now, but there’s no way I’ll be able to fall asleep when Master is this agitated. Mikhail, I remind myself. His name is Mikhail, but he probably wouldn’t be happy if I used it.
Not wanting to anger him further, I settle on the uncomfortable bed, wishing I had a blanket to snuggle into.
Sleeping naked with nothing to cover myself would have sounded impossible to me a week ago but these days, I’m usually so tired I drop right into sleep once I’m allowed to.
Except today. Today, I’m listening to Mikhail as he moves around the apartment.
In the kitchen, he slams the drawers and rattles the pans and pots with much more force than usual.
Once he’s done with the dishes, he marches back into his gym corner and takes his anger out on the punching bag.
Curses and other words I don’t understand flow from his mouth as he slams his fists into the bag over and over, until I’m sure his hands must hurt because he’s not wearing any gloves.
Even when he takes a shower, I hear his grumbled curses over the sound of falling water. It’s when I hear a grunt and a jarring thud that I decide that enough is enough. Is he punching walls now? The moron is going to break his knuckles! Clearly, he needs someone to save him from himself.
“Master?!” I call out, fully aware that I’m asking for trouble, but that’s the plan. He needs to unwind, and I’m the only one who can help him.
The water cuts off. “I told you to sleep, Doll,” comes a half-growled answer.
“I need to talk to you, Master. I need to tell you something important.”
More curses. Then he stomps over, clad only in a towel slung low around his hips, droplets of water dripping off his gloriously bare chest. “Need?” he snaps at me. “Since when does a Doll need something other than to serve her Master and follow his fucking orders?”
Knowing I’m doing this to help him doesn’t make it any less scary, but seeing how tightly wound up he is, I crave nothing more than to help him relax.
And there’s one thing that’s guaranteed to relax him.
My pain. Punishing me will hopefully help him flush all of this vitriol out of his system, and then I can have my sweet and caring Master back.
For a few days, anyway, but I don’t let the thought poison my determination.
If I only have a few more days with him, I want to enjoy them with the best version of him, not with this pissed-off grizzly bear, and I definitely don’t want him to break his bones punching a tiled wall.
“You’re right, Master.” I attempt an innocent smile, though it’s probably a little strained. “I’m a bad Doll. I deserve to be punished.”
That catches him off guard. “You—what?” He stares at me as if I’ve grown a second head.
I wince as I shift on the bed, my asshole still tender after the earlier “training”.
I’m not looking forward to getting hurt more, but I’m doing this for him.
All for him. “I want nothing more but to stay with you, but if I have to leave in a few days… There’s something you need to know, Master.
Something important.” Looking into his eyes, I take a deep breath, knowing I’m about to break one of the most important rules.
Never mention your previous life. “My name is Grace Foster.”
***
Mikhail
Grace. Of course her fucking name is Grace. How could someone like her be named anything else? Grace Foster. Jesus Christ. I didn’t need to know that. I didn’t want to know that. If I was obsessed with her before, I’m completely lost now.
There’s a reason Dolls lose their names when they come to me.
People have names. Things don’t, and that’s what Dolls are supposed to be.
Toys to be used and discarded. Their Masters can name them whatever they want, but their original names, the ones from before they became Dolls, are never to be spoken again.
Most try to tell me, hoping it’ll make them seem more human.
All it earns them is a punishment terrible enough to dissuade them from ever trying again.
That’s not why this Doll told me, though. No, this incredible creature told me because she saw my distress and offered me her pain to ease it. I don’t deserve it. I don’t deserve her. I should set her free like the angel she is, but I won’t, because I’m a selfish bastard with no conscience.
My uncle can go fuck himself. Dolls are not for you.
This one is. This one is for me because she’s mine and I won’t let her go.
Ever. If I have to burn the world to keep her, I’ll do it without hesitation.
If they try to take her from me, I’ll drown them in their blood.
First, though, I will take great pleasure in hearing my Doll scream.
My Grace.
Grabbing her throat, I squeeze as I pull her to her feet, relishing the way her pulse races under my fingers.
Her pupils widen, her mouth dropping open as she watches me, delicious fear shining in her eyes.
But fear is not all that’s there. There’s lust, too, because my toy is one horny slut who loves a bite of pain with her pleasure. How much more perfect could she get?
Other emotions flicker in her eyes, deep ones I’m not ready to face.
I wonder what’s showing in my eyes. Anger and frustration from Anton’s blatant invasion of my kingdom, that’s for sure.
Everything he said wound me up until I was sure that if he’d stayed a minute longer, I’d have decked him.
He’s always been a homophobic asshole so I’m not surprised by his disgusting slurs, but the information that the Morozovs are looking to expand the Doll operation, my operation, is new.
It’s laughable, too, and it will drive the good name of our brand to the ground because most of their prospective “trainers” are just idiots looking for a free cunt to fuck for a week.
They have no clue how to treat or train a Doll.
My Doll trembles in my grip. Fear? Anticipation?
I’d bet that if I reached between her legs, she would be wet, but her pleasure is not the plan now.
“Stay,” I order as I unlock her ankle cuff.
Her chest rises with quick breaths, but she stays perfectly still, watching me with wide eyes. “You broke the rules, Doll.”
“I know, Master. I’m sorry,” she says sweetly.
“No, you’re not.”
She smiles. “No, I’m not. At least now you will never forget me.”
Forget her? As if I could ever do that. “It’s going to hurt,” I warn her, unable to help the burst of excitement as I imagine her cries.
“I know.” She puts her small hand on my chest, right over my heart, which is trying to break through the cage surrounding it and jump right into her palm.
Her skin is cold against mine, and though keeping Dolls uncomfortable is part of their training, I suddenly want nothing more than to wrap her in a blanket.
Well, I do want one thing more—to bury my aching cock inside her tight cunt, like I’ve been dreaming about for days.
Still smiling, Doll softly runs her fingers down the tattoos on my chest. “Take what you need from me, Mikhail.”
The sound of my name on her lips seals my fate. If I wasn’t already doomed, I am now. Nothing can stop me from keeping her. You, I want to say but don’t. I need you.