6. Luna
LUNA
The silence that follows is deafening. It amplifies the frantic beat of my heart against my ribs, each thud a countdown to Sawyer’s revulsion.
Burning welts crisscross my back as a fiery reminder of the riding crop, but there’s a chilling hollowness settled in my core that makes my blood run cold.
Sawyer’s hand has stilled between my legs, and his arm around my torso, once a comforting weight, has turned to an iron cage.
I can’t think of a time when I’ve been more afraid.
Not during my first fight in the arena.
Not while my head was underwater for my purification.
And selfishly, not even when I realized my bloodline could be wiped away if my efforts for securing new breeders failed.
The longest moment of my life passes, only to be met with another. Sawyer doesn’t speak. He doesn’t move.
He’s disgusted.
I am sick. I am ugly. I am repulsive.
I close my eyes as a tsunami of shame builds above my head, ready to swallow me whole, rip the skin from my flesh and pluck my bones one by one.
I’m sorry, I would say if I could find a voice. Though I’m not sure what I’d be apologizing for. For turning his notoriously weak stomach, I suppose.
I didn’t mean that, I’d follow it up with. As if I merely misspoke.
I should leave. He should leave, and for the very first time, I genuinely want him to.
He’s sly. He’s resourceful. He could make it.
Sawyer’s hands settle on my hips, turning me. My eyes squeeze shut. Childish, maybe, but I can’t bring myself to look at him when we’re face-to-face.
Just go. These two words, I almost say. My vocal cords are beginning to thaw.
He guides me back against the pole, his fingers brushing my ear, smoothing my hair. His thumb circles my temple, easing the tension there.
“Open your eyes,” he whispers.
I resist. At first.
But his touch is insistent, his thumb tracing the line of my jaw, his other hand cupping my shoulder, then sliding down to circle my collarbone.
I look at him, feeling the hardening of my face without even trying. I think it’s a reflex. One that doesn’t faze him as he peers into my eyes, one at a time. When his gaze settles, I hold my breath.
“Good girl,” he coos, tucking my hair behind my ear.
"Now," his voice deepens, a hint of something darker lacing his words, "Tell Daddy what you deserve."
Sensation rushes back into my face in the form of lava, burning my cheeks.
He doesn’t repeat himself. He doesn’t look embarrassed, awkward, or uncomfortable. He just stares at me, waiting for me to make my move.
I called him a coward, but it couldn’t be clearer who the coward is.
“Punishment.”
"Why?" He leans closer, his breath hot against my ear. "Tell me exactly how bad you've been, Luna."
I open my mouth. Close it. Inhale a deep breath. We’ve been through this line of questioning already, but … over the course of two words, everything has changed. It will never, ever be the same.
There’s no point in hiding now.
“I defied you. I…” I swallow as a shiver crosses my shoulder, a cold fingertip tracing my flesh. The world feels like it teeters, like I’ve momentarily lost control. My fingers merely twitch, but I feel as though I’m grasping for balance, clawing for some semblance of stability.
I let out a shaky breath and look Sawyer square in the eye. “I was disrespectful.”
“Yeah,” Sawyer nods slowly, like he agrees, “you were.” His hand moves to circle my neck while the other curves around the back of my thigh. He lifts me off the ground and guides my legs around his waist.
“But you wanna make it up to me, right?”
I nod, his light grip on my neck tensing with my movement. “Yes, Daddy.” The word slips out as a choked whisper. I cringe at the way it sounds, my chest retreating into my shoulders.
Shame and longing twist together into a knot in my chest. My eyes dart to his, searching for disgust. Revulsion. Relief. I find none of these, but I don't know what remains.
"Good girl." He kisses the shell of my ear with fiery lips as he lines up at my entrance.
His hand cradling my tailbone, he gently eases me onto him, filling me up while my lips part with a gasp.
My eyes lock onto his when he pulls back, and I note the emptiness in them. Devoid of guilt. He looked like this before, during my days as his captive. It terrified me then. It made me think he was capable of anything.
Now, in this strange, twisted moment, it’s the only thing holding me together.
I release my breath in a rush and let my eyes flutter closed while my arms rest on his shoulders.
“That’s it,” he whispers, pressing his finger beneath my chin to lift it while gently squeezing my neck with a silent threat. “That’s my sweet girl.”
He gives me a hard thrust, knocking my rear against the pole. I stare at the ceiling while his hand keeps my head up and groan past the pressure on my neck.
He grinds against me, finding friction against my clit without needing to use his hands.
The drag is nice, but the intrusion hurts.
I’m not lubricated. I’m not sure I want to be.
The pressure, the pain, the raw friction against my skin, it's a lifeline, a distraction from the gaping wound that never heals. And while I don’t know exactly what I want, I just… I think Sawyer might.
As a minute passes, my walls relax, and his thrusts come smoother.
My neck feels hot beneath his hand as it flushes, and it must burn him because he finally pulls away and plants his lips just below my jaw. I close my eyes when I feel the wet heat of his tongue run to my ear, and blow out when he nibbles on the lobe.
“You good?” he whispers.
I nod, and my lips part to tell him I’m fine, to keep going, but something hits me in the chest so sudden it knocks the wind from me.
I’m not okay.
“Luna?” Sawyer’s pace slows, and his pitch raises an octave. Finally, his emotion shows, but instead of disgust, it’s concern.
I nod again, but it isn’t good enough for him. His hips pause, and his mouth pulls from my ear so he can look at me, but I jerk him into me by his hair.
“Don’t stop,” I say in a panic. My fingers dig into his shoulders, holding on as if he's the only thing keeping me from falling much farther than the floor.
“Fuck me,” I command, undulating my body against him. “Fuck me, Sawyer.”
He hesitates for a couple more seconds before he pulls my hair back and kisses just below my ear. His hips start moving again, first slow and gentle, then progressively faster. Rougher.
My fingers thread around his neck, and I squeeze him closer while he thrusts inside of me, each jerk of his hips sending bursts of pain and pleasure through my nerves.
My rear slams against the pole. Again. And again. And again.
It hurts exactly the way it should after the events of tonight—the riding crop, and … everything else.
But still, I moan. My core winds tight. My nipples ache with need so strong, I cover my breasts and squeeze, my palms pressing into the swollen, tender buds.
I bite my lip and clench my eyes shut. When I let go, the supple flesh spills forward with a sheen of saliva from my tongue.
“Oh, God.”
My fingernails dig into Sawyer’s freckled shoulders as the pressure builds, a crescendo of sensation that stabs a numbness I forgot didn’t always belong to me.
A scream rips through me, raw and ragged, but it’s not a scream of pleasure. It’s a scream of defiance. Of pain. Of terror. Of a thousand shattered pieces of myself that I can’t put back together.
My whole body pulses against Sawyer as every cell shreds like it wants to make a new version of me. It isn’t until I plummet from the peak of orgasm that I realize my body isn’t pulsing. It’s shaking.
I blink as my grip on Sawyer’s shoulders releases.
My eyes burn, and the back of my throat pangs. My stomach fills with weights that add a hundred pounds onto my body.
I suck in a sharp breath as hot tears begin to spill from my eyes faster than I can blink them away, and I find myself staring at Sawyer’s chest utterly catatonic.
Still inside of me, he pulls me against his chest and stills like he can see exactly what’s happening inside of my head. He can’t. He couldn’t possibly.
I let out the first cry, sharp and cut off short, like my vocal cords are trying to hold back. Like they know as soon as they start working, they’ll be shredded within the hour.
They’re right.
A sob tears from my throat, raw and broken. Another follows, and another, until I’m gasping for breath between the wrenching sobs. Sawyer holds me up while petting my hair, soft coos spilling from his mouth.
“It’s all right. You’re all right. I’m here.”
He doesn’t sound confused or guilty, and I’m glad because it would be impossible to try and explain this to him when I don’t understand it myself.
“No shame. It’s okay.”
Shame. That’s what this is.
Shame.
“Oh God!” My body heaves with another sob, this one deeper, more despairing.
Sawyer’s hand rubs my upper back in gentle strokes while he carries me from the training room, my cries echoing off the halls. If anyone hears me outside, I think they know it’d be better to let me die than come to my rescue. I don’t know how I’d ever live with that humiliation.
He lays me on the bed and pulls the covers over me. My tears draw a bath for me to lie in, and I should feel the humiliation of it. Instead, it’s a dull ache, overshadowed by the crushing weight of something held until the muscles snap. I don’t think it could ever be the same with anyone else.
Only for the man who thinks me delicate as a flower can I feel so vulnerable.
I close my eyes as he climbs beneath the covers behind me. When he strokes my hair, I flip over and turn my face into his chest, seeking solace in the warmth of his body, the steady beat of his heart.
“It’s not your fault,” Sawyer says to me, his arms squeezing me tight. “It’s never been your fault.”
I clench my eyes shut and pretend I don’t know what he’s talking about.
My cries continue on and on, a broken faucet trying to drain the ocean.
I don’t know how long it takes to stop. More than minutes. Hours maybe.
Eventually, with Sawyer’s hand petting my hair back while he hugs me tightly to him, my chest shakes for the last time.
And I cry myself to sleep.