Chapter 27
Ihave no idea how long Jacob leaves me tied to the bed, but the sun has risen and the room is bright with sunlight.
Between the hatred and the confusing thoughts about Jacob, I drift in and out of sleep until I hear a noise that startles me awake and almost afraid.
Opening my eyes in alarm I see a freshly dressed Jacob in jeans and a plain burgundy t-shirt with bare feet.
He’s brought breakfast. I wish I was wearing clothes, I wish I could turn my back to him and show him how hurt I am.
But I can’t do either of those things, plus, I’m being paid handsomely for him to treat me in whatever way he pleases, so I couldn’t act out or show I’m upset even if I wasn’t tied naked to the bed.
Climbing onto the bed, he pulls out his knife and cuts through my bindings, freeing my numb hands from above me.
“Sit,” his gravelling voice commands and I do so automatically. Rubbing my wrists to help the ache and the blood circulation, I feel the ache of the plug buried deep inside as I sit up.
“Here, I brought you my shirt,” he says, offering me clothing to cover myself up. I almost cry tears of joy as I swiftly lift the white t-shirt over my head and lower it down over my body. Interestingly, he didn’t say a shirt, he said his shirt. I am at a complete loss with this man.
Once I’m covered, he removes the drinks and leaves them on the table and then places the tray of fruit and toast and jams between us.
“Eat,” he instructs. Avoiding his gaze, I begin to tuck into the food provided.
Jacob eats too, watching me as I look everywhere in the room except at his face.
Hurt and anger radiate from me, I can feel it.
I don’t want to look into the eyes of the monster who caused it and show him everything that is written across my face.
James always said I could hide absolutely nothing from my face, I make a terrible poker player.
Eventually the plates are cleared and the glasses are empty.
“May I use the toilet, Master?” I ask with downcast eyes, still avoiding eye contact.
“You may,” is his reply. I walk over to the open bathroom, slowly because of the plug, and pee.
Washing my hands, I have no choice but to walk back over to the bed and sit back down where we were.
It’s not as if I can do anything else, I’m not leaving for another three days.
Jacob has moved the tray back onto the table and we both sit in silence until I see movement to my left.
When I glance over to see what he’s doing, I see he is holding out his knife to me, handle held towards me, almost like an offering.
I look up at Jacob questioningly. He says nothing, his face a complete mask of stone.
I take the knife and feel the weight of it in my hands as I turn it over and look more closely.
It’s an open flip knife that has an intricate design on the leather handle.
The workmanship that went into it is beautiful and for a moment I wonder if he made it.
I look back up at him, but he says nothing.
Is he giving me an olive branch? Would he like me to use it?
He’s being unusually quiet and still. Not at all like the monster I’ve become accustomed to.
Then a thought crosses my mind, one that now I’ve thought of, I can’t shake it.
I know what he’s asking me without using his words.
He wants to see what I do with it; he wants me to use it on him.
I look up at him in surprise and understanding.
He’s giving me the closest thing he has to an olive branch and although I’m confused by the turn of events, I’m glad he’s not reigning down any brutal torture on my body like I assumed he would.
Wordlessly I lay the knife on the bed between us, I climb off the bed and walk to stand in between his legs. I reach for his t-shirt, and he allows me to tug it up over his head and expose his beautiful, untarnished skin.
I allow myself to be guided by my gut and my instincts around this feral man.
I feel the need to cause him pain, not from myself wanting to inflict it, but because it’s emanating from him.
His eyes look almost vulnerable in this moment but there’s also a hint of taunting, daring me to go further, watching what I am bold enough to do, should I be brave enough.
He gave the knife to the wrong girl if he thinks I won’t be using it.
I climb onto his lap, careful as I feel the plug with every single movement.
I lower myself onto his thighs, my bare pussy feeling the air on my skin as I sit open wide, my legs straddling his.
I pull back so we’re almost nose to nose and look deep into his hazel eyes.
What I see looking back at me surprises me.
He looks younger, weaker without his armour of cruel words and snarls.
I can’t even reconcile the man and his expression looking back at me with the man who I’ve come to know and loathe.
Maybe there is a human in there after all, I wonder as he looks back at me unflinching and unmoving.
I allow my eyes to crinkle at the edges only the slightest and one side of my lips to curl up before I lean into his neck and I bite into the skin deeply below his ear, knowing I’ve hurt him, I’ve marked him, making his hands fly up around my waist. A deep groan rumbles in his throat but he doesn’t shove me off, doesn’t berate me or scold me for my actions.
I take that as permission to scrape my teeth down his neck, nipping and biting, sucking and branding him in a way I suspect he gets off on.
Satisfaction courses through me as I feel the power shift from him to me.
I drink it in, making me bolder, wanting to inflict more pain and see how far he lets me go.
I can feel his permission without him saying a word. And I take it.
I pull off the t-shirt he gave me and pick up the knife, placing one hand around his neck, I use the other hand to skim the tip of the knife’s blade down his neck which scratches but doesn’t bring blood, only raises the skin.
I can feel his heartbeat pulse around his neck, I can feel the rise and fall of his chest and his warm breath caress over my shoulder as I lick along the trail the knife has left for me.
I pull back and look into his eyes that dance back at me, defiant and yearning. He’s fighting for control in his head, conflicted because he also wants to see what I’ll do, how I can make him feel. He holds onto my arse but doesn’t touch me or make a move, he’s rigid.
I take the knife and run it from one shoulder, across his collarbone slowly and to his other shoulder.
Again, I run my tongue along the raised, scratched skin and wonder what his blood tastes like.
Gently, carefully, I make a circle along the outline of his pink, peaked nipple and enjoy the way he takes in a breath of fear and anticipation.
I’m painfully careful, not wanting to slip or slice, my hand shakes a little but the power he has given me makes me heady and wanting more.
I bring the tip to the peak of his nipple and press down only enough to nick so the tiniest bubble of blood rises to the surface.
I smile up at his dark eyes—I felt the shudder run through him as the knife drew blood.
I lower my tongue and suck his nipple into my mouth tasting only the tiniest flavour of copper, pulling out a groan from deep in his chest. Hearing that noise from him, knowing it was me who put it there, I want to hear it again.
I move my attention across to his other nipple and run the knife around his pink raised flesh as goosebumps travel across his skin.
I draw out the tension as I circle the knife again and again, not slicing or scratching, just touching gently.
I feel his chest begin to heave with deeper breaths, I hold the tip over the top of this peaked bud and nick it and we both watch as a tiny bead of blood comes to the surface of his skin.
I lick my lips and lean in to suck it up, wanting to hear his deep rumble again.
He does not disappoint as his groan rumbles out from his chest to his throat and he pushes his hard cock upwards, so I feel the length of him solid down one leg.
My sadistic monster is enjoying himself.
Eyeing him cautiously, I lower the knife to the bed and climb off his lap. Standing in front of him, I take my chances and say, “Stand up.”
To my amazement he does. He’s lost to the anticipation of vulnerability and submission.
Never once have I taken power and become the dominant.
Never once have I wanted to until now. I unbutton his jeans and pull them down over his hips and see his bare skin as his cock jerks free, heavy and leaking.
I avoid brushing near it, and help pull the legs of his jeans down so he can step out of them.
When he stands before me naked and erect, his eyes asking what comes next, I say in a sickly-sweet voice, “Be a good boy and lie down on the bed face down.”
His pupils dilate and for a second I think he’s going to grab me but all he does is turn, climb onto the bed lying down with his arms bent at the elbows, resting his cheek on his hands.