Chapter 8
CHAPTER EIGHT
KAGE
She hasn’t spoken a word to me in months, and I knew better than to attempt smoothing the tension over. After I’d played with her cunt—after she’d come twice so hard on my fingers I swore she’d snap my bones—I’d thought she would be more open to such encounters.
That thought had lasted only as long as it took for her to curl into a ball and sob harder than I’ve heard her cry yet.
Hearing someone beg from the depths of their being for their parents is something I don’t think I ever want to witness again.
I’d broken her, whether I’d meant to or not, and I still have no clue how to fix that.
My eyes flick to hers, finding her tense and nervous as I clench my teeth and hold in my laughter.
It doesn’t sound right or jovial—like laughter should.
It sounds as hideous as the scars on my throat; rough, gasping, sputtering.
My father butchered me while Carter had screeched with deranged laughter.
I’d seen him do this to other men before me.
I knew what it meant when he turned the gas stove top on and calmly set the shears in the dancing flames.
It was agony and terror and loss all rolled into one horrifying moment that spanned the stretch of eternity.
And I think that’s how I made Summer feel when I forced her body to betray her mind.
Although I feel guilt, I also don’t. Because Carter is hunting us both, and if he somehow got ahold of her, a few fingers in her pussy would be nothing compared to the ways he’d sexually torture her.
Her green eyes slip back into focus as I shove those thoughts far away and smirk, jotting down my response.
I was going to be nice and let you look away, but brats deserve punishment.
Clicking the top of my pen with my thumb, I hand the notebook back to her and grin beneath my mask as those eyes flare and her cheeks flame. She glares at me, hand trembling as she grips the book.
“What, you sick fuck? You’re going to rape me now?
May as well get it over with,” she hisses, voice wobbling, tears swimming.
Fuck. She needs to learn that crying in front of me only makes me snap faster.
I didn’t like it when she begged to be taken home, but I am obsessed when she begs for me to stop and really means it.
I know I am a sick fuck, like she said. But there are worse monsters than me, and Summer is mine. I’d never hurt her beyond what I know she can tolerate. I’m far too obsessed with her to ever let things go irreparably far.
Conjuring up a fitting punishment for her words against me, I scrawl my demand on the crisp, lined paper.
No, but you will bathe me.
Her eyes flick to my prose and back to my face just as quickly, as though the words have burned her retinas. Her face goes pale, her delicate throat bobbing as she swallows.
“No,” she croaks out, far less forcefully than I think she means to.
Clenching the pen, I write:
Yes, you will. I won’t touch you, but you will touch me.
Her face is as red as a juicy apple, and my cock throbs in my jeans. I’d been pissed when the upstairs shower stopped working, but now I’m all too happy to be stuck down here with her.
“Or what?” she hisses.
Tossing the notepad and pen aside, I stand on sore, tired legs, hand settling over my belt buckle.
She blinks up at me, that beautiful fear swirling in her eyes and making my entire body hum like a swarm of bees in anticipation.
Loosening my belt with one hand, I tug the leather through the loops of my jeans, the noise it elicits soft yet somehow foreboding.
If she won’t wash me in the shower, then she’ll bathe me with her tongue.
Starting with my cock.
Stepping forward with my belt dangling from one hand and the other unzipping my jeans, she whimpers and scuttles backwards as quickly as she can.
Even before I met Summer, I knew she wouldn’t challenge me physically; I’d watched enough of her cute little work out videos to understand she is the furthest thing from agile and athletic.
But that’s why she has me.
“Leave me…leave me alone, fucking asshole, or—”
I am on her faster than she can wield that forked tongue of hers, using my belt around the back of her neck to keep her face right where I need it. She claws and kicks and the chains rattle so loud it drowns out the sounds of her pretty cries, but it’s comically easy to subdue her.
Stepping on the slack of her chains, her hands are forced to the mattress, her body wriggling but mostly immobile. She’s perched on her knees, unwillingly worshipping at the feet of her new god.
With my free hand, my fingers dive into the band of my boxers and shove all the cumbersome fabric down, the turgid, fiery flesh of my cock familiar as I stroke it in front of her terrorized gaze.
Tears coat her cheeks, and the sight makes a bead of pre-cum collect on my tip and roll down the veiny underside of my shaft.
I’ve only ever dreamed about a moment like this, but I’ve seen enough to know what I want to try, what I think will feel good to me.
Trembling in ecstasy, I cinch the belt tighter and force her blotchy face to hover over my cock.
When she chokes on a sob, I almost come.
Sucking in a shaky breath, I press the head to her pursed, pleasantly wet lips, tracing her tender flesh reverently as my heart races and my body shivers in a wave of euphoria.
Her moist skin being forced to kiss mine sends electricity through my cock and has my balls tightening in preparation to come on the spot, so I pull away and take a moment to stand upon the cliff’s edge.
She opens her mouth to speak, and my primal instincts kick in; I yank the ends of the beltand slam my cock into her wet, hot mouth, her tongue wiggling like a velvet snake against my sensitive dick.
A mix between a breathless sigh and groan leaves my damaged throat, and she shakes her head back and forth, spitting out my cock and sucking in a lungful of air.
“I’ll wash you!” she cries, quivering against me. “I’ll…I’ll wash you, please…”
Dammit.
I frown down at her, though all she is able to see is my masked face, my soaked cock, and my bare torso.
What I see, however, is something I’ll never forget, because the way those shining green eyes are pleading with me, the way the drool dribbles down her chin, the way her hair is wild and untamed—all of it is perfection.
Before I took her, Summer spent so much fucking wasted time trying to keep up with society’s latest trendy standards. If only she knew how perfect she was like this, a broken little doll on her knees for a man that will do everything to keep her—even if it means I can’t fuck her throat.
Yet.
I nod once, releasing her and fishing for the key to her cuffs in my pocket.
The moment she’s free, she rubs at her bruised, cracked wrists and wipes discreetly at her tongue.
My lips mash together in a frown. Turning away, I crank on the shower and step aside, stripping the remainder of my clothes off before glancing at her.
She stares at the mattress, twisting her hands together.
Annoyed, I snap my fingers, and she jumps, glancing at me.
I wave her over, and she takes a moment to consider before finally obeying.
She knows what I am capable of, understands that there really isn’t anything preventing me from taking what’s mine, and so as much as she desires to lash out, she’s smart enough to keep some things to herself.
Summer pauses at the edge of where the water hits the concrete, and I tug on the sleeve of her shirt. Again, her frightened eyes bounce to mine.
“What…wait, you didn’t say anything about me being naked!”
I roll my eyes and point at the stream of hellishly hot water, as if to remind her you don’t shower with clothes on. Her eyes narrow into a glare as she crosses her arms.
“You’re still wearing a mask, so I can still wear a shirt.”
I snort, snatching her arm and yanking her to me, ripping off the sweatpants I gave her as she screams and claws at me. With an arm around her midsection, I lift her tiny, kicking feet off the ground and yank off her shirt as well. “Fucking…asshole…”
Setting her back to her feet, I turn her toward the wall, releasing her with my hands but pressing my knee to her lower back in case she tries to dart away. Taking off my mask, I roll it until it’s a thick, black band of fabric.
Gently, I run my fingers over her cheek as she jumps and whimpers.
She only resists a little when I maneuver the makeshift blindfold over her eyes, but her breathing becomes erratic.
Dropping my knee, I place my hands on her shoulders and guide her toward the shower.
She winces as the water hits her, and I marvel at how the droplets bounce off her peaked breasts.
My cock weeps and aches, but this is a type of torture I will forever endure.
Reaching for the bar of soap, I grip her wrist and turn her palm over to hand it to her, stepping into the stream as well. Blind and trembling, her would-be gaze is directed at my left pec, and I can’t help but grin down at her.
It’s strange to know everything about someone but not really know them. Her millions of followers will never see this beautiful side to my Summer, the frightened girl who comes like a pornstar when my fingers are playing with that resistant wall deep in her pussy.
I guide her hand, pressing the soap to my chest, the scent erupting between us, a floral and girlish one that I now associate with her. She’s rigid and barely moves, but when she senses I’m not about to pounce, I release her and allow her to swipe the bubbly soap over my torso.
As fucking turned on as I am, a far more powerful and surprising emotion hits me; happiness.
She’s touching me. The woman I am deeply possessed by is touching me, and she’s the first girl to ever do so.
I’m smiling, then full on-grinning as she fumbles the soap and tries to catch it with a gasp, slipping until her chest collides with the upper portion of my abdominal muscles.
“So-sorry, sorry,” she mutters, frozen against me as I grip her elbows. Between us, my cock points directly to her cunt; even in her preoccupied state, she’d moved her hips back so that the impending collision would only be our chests.
Cautiously, I bend to retrieve the soap, but when I’m about to stand, a flash of bright red catches my eye, and I freeze.
There’s blood on her thighs, running down her legs in amounts that have my heart clenching in fear and the rest of me on fire with fury.
Turning her around, I rip off the blindfold and hastily pull the mask back over my jaw and throat.
Summer’s hands are pressed to the wall, the hourglass shape of her curves beckoning me, my lust mingling with my ire.
But the second my eyes dip to memorize the naked view of her ass, I see the blood again.
Gripping her bicep, I spin her to face me, the stream creating a staticky curtain between us. She gapes at me in shock, and I back away, pointing down, my fist shaking in rage.
Her scared eyes jump back to mine, and she wags her hands, pleading with me anew. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry! I didn’t know…I mean…I haven’t felt good, I’ll wash everything, I’m—”
But I’ve already retrieved the notebook and pen, carved a question through layers and layers of paper. My wet hands grip it for her to read. Shivering, she hugs herself, standing just out of the stream.
WHO DID THIS TO YOU?!