Chapter Two
Caleb led his beautiful captive toward the center of the room.
Her steps were hesitant, frightened, as if she expected him to push her off a precipice.
He urged her forward only to have her push back against him.
That was fine with him. She could push back against him all night as far as he was concerned.
Offering no resistance, he let her collide against him, barely subduing a laugh when she let out a gasp and sprang forward like a cat avoiding water. Or in this case, his hard-on.
Caleb reached out to gently grasp her arms, she stilled, obviously too frightened to move forward or back. Lust rolled through him. He finally had her—here—between his fingers, under his control. He closed his eyes, heady for a moment.
She had arrived over three hours ago, slung over the shoulder of that waste of a human being, Jair.
She was bruised, dirty, and reeking of bile and sweat, but that hadn’t been the worst of it.
One of them, and he didn’t have to wonder at whom, had struck her across the face.
Heat crawled down his spine the moment he saw the blood on her lip, and the purpling bruise swelling her left eye and cheek.
He resisted the urge to kill that motherfucker on the spot.
He doubted he had marred her as a last resort.
She was a woman, how difficult could it be to pacify her?
At least she had managed to kick his face. He would have paid to see that.
The sound of soft but deep breaths returned his thoughts to the present.
The desire that had settled warmly in his stomach sunk heavily to his balls.
His cock became painfully engorged. He trailed his fingers across her shoulders while shifting to her left side.
He wanted a better look at her. Her pink lips were parted just slightly, whispers of breath rushing through them.
Caleb wanted nothing more than to remove her blindfold, to stare into those bewildering eyes of hers, and kiss her until she melted beneath him—but they were a long way from there.
Like a falcon, she needed the dark to understand who her master was.
She would learn to trust him, to rely upon him, to anticipate what he wanted from her.
And like any master worth his salt, he would reward her for her obedience.
He would be exceedingly firm, but he would also be as fair as he could be.
He had not chosen the instrument of his revenge at random.
He had chosen a beautiful submissive. And what was a submissive if not adaptable—if not a survivor?
He leaned in close, inhaling the light scent of her skin beneath the lavender. “Would you like some ice for your face?” he asked. She tensed sharply at the sound of his voice: soft and low.
For a moment, it was comical. She shifted around from foot to foot, nervous, blind, and incapable of choosing a direction.
Her hand floated up to her face and he knew she itched to remove the blindfold.
He made a sound of disapproval, and her curious fingers went back to clutching her robe instantly.
Caleb, feeling what passed for pity, sought to guide her once again toward the bed. She gasped the moment his fingers curled around the lapel of her robe grazing hers in the process. “Easy, Pet, there’s something behind you, and I’d hate for you to get hurt again.”
“Don’t call me pet.” came the shaky, yet firm command.
Caleb went absolutely still. No one talked to him like that—least of all blindfolded, nearly naked women. Instantly, he pulled her forward until her soft cheek pressed roughly against his own. He growled, “I’ll call you whatever the fuck I want - Pet. You belong to me. Do you understand?”
Against his cheek he felt her infinitesimal nod, and against his ear, heard her small squeak of capitulation.
“Good. Now, Pet,” he urged her back a few inches, “answer my question. Ice for your face, or not?”
“Y-y-yes,” she answered in a tremulous voice. Caleb thought that was better, but not yet settled.
“Y-y-yes?” he mocked. Caleb pressed into her assuredly, dominating her with his size. “Do you know how to say please?”
Her head craned, as if she could see him through her blindfold, and a grimace contorted her full mouth.
He would have laughed, but the moment was abruptly no longer comical.
Her knee collided with his groin, hard. What was it with women and kicking men in the nuts?
Throbbing pain crept upward, knotted his intestines, hunching over his body.
Whatever food he’d eaten threatened to come back up.
Above him, his captive continued to fight like a hellcat.
Her fingernails dug into his hands as she tried to pry him loose from her robe.
When that failed, her frantic elbows landed repeatedly between his shoulder blades.
He managed to suck in a breath, though to her ears, it probably sounded like an animalistic growl.
“Let me go, you fucking asshole. Let go.” She yelled between frantic sobs and screams. She twisted and turned in his grasp, weakening his hold on her robe. He had to get her under control, or she was going to run herself into a much worse situation than his retribution.
Thoroughly riled, Caleb forced himself to stand. Towering over her, his angry eyes met hers. She’d removed the blindfold and now she stood completely still, eyeing him with a mixture of horror and shock. She didn’t blink, didn’t speak, didn’t breathe, she simply stared.
He stared back.
He spun her around and pinned her arms to her sides. Anger raced through him as he tightened his arms around her, forcing the air from her lungs.
“You?” The question slipped past her lips in a rush of expelled air.
The single word seemed to ride on a wave of despair and an undercurrent of raw anger.
He’d known this strange moment would come.
He was no longer her hero. He never was.
She struggled for air, panting like a dog, and the idea mildly amused him.
“Fuck!” he exclaimed as her head collided soundly with his nose. He released her on instinct, his fingers pressed to either side of his nose.
She moved quickly, a flutter of long dark hair and bathrobe flying toward the bedroom door.
Caleb growled deep in his chest. Lunging toward her, he snagged a fistful of her robe, but as he pulled back, she simply spilled out of the fabric. Nubile flesh assaulted his senses.
As her hands reached the bedroom door, finding it securely locked, his fingers speared into her hair and made a fist. He pulled back sharply, causing her to tumble backward onto the floor.
No longer taking her vigor for granted and no longer amused by her flailing limbs, he sat squarely on top of her.
“No!” she screamed desperately, knees once again seeking his groin, nails fixated on digging into his face.
“You like to fight don’t you?” He smiled. “I like to fight, too.” With more effort than he would have thought necessary he wrapped his legs around hers and trapped her wrists above her head with his left hand.
“Fuck you,” she panted, chest rising defiantly. Her entire body was tense beneath him; her muscles fought, unwilling to give up, but that burst of energy had cost her. Her eyes were wild, crazy, but she was weakening. He held her easily now.
Slowly, the realization of her warm, trembling body pressed so intimately against him flooded his senses, intoxicating him.
Her delicate pussy was pressed against his belly, with only the soft fabric of his shirt separating him from her.
Her full and decidedly warm breasts heaved under his chest. Just beneath them he felt the hammering of her heart.
In her struggles, her heated skin moved against him with greater friction.
It was almost more than he could stand. Almost.
Holding her wrists in his left hand, he reared up and slapped the underside of her right breast with his palm, then the underside of the left with the back of his hand. Instantly, choked sobs erupted from her throat.
“Do you like that?” Caleb barked. Again he slapped her breasts, and again, and again, and again until her entire body let go, until he felt every muscle beneath him slide loose, and she simply wept into the crook of her arm.
“Please. Please stop,” she croaked, “Please.”
She was warm, undone, and afraid beneath him.
Her lips moved quickly, silently, spilling words not meant for him to hear.
Caleb swallowed thickly, old memories gaining purchase.
He blinked, pushed them back under lock and key.
A reflex, usually quick and easily done after all these years.
But he felt it this time, as her fear and his passion battled as much as mingled, congesting the air and filling the room.
It seemed to create a new person, breathing along with them, and watching them, invading the moment.
His anger evaporated. He stared down at the girl’s beautiful breasts; they were deeply pink where he had struck her, but it wouldn’t leave a lasting mark. Gingerly, he released her wrists. His thumb unconsciously sought to smooth the red mark of his grip. He frowned down at her.
He hoped she was out of surprises.
The moment she felt his grip loosen from around her wrists, she crossed her palms over her breasts. At first he thought she was attempting modesty, but her kneading fingers suggested she was more concerned with alleviating the pain.
She kept her eyes closed too, unwilling to acknowledge him straddling her thighs. Most people didn’t want to see the bad thing coming. The moment was perhaps unbearably worse because she recognized him. He had recognized the look of betrayal in her eyes. Well, she’d have to get over it—he had.