Enslaved (Devil's Kiss)
Read Enslaved (Devil's Kiss) Online
Authors: Gemma James
ENSLAVED
Copyright © 2013 Gemma James
All rights reserved.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Cover images used under license from www.bigstockphoto.com
Cover design by Gemma James
NOTE TO READERS: ENSLAVED is a novella with a BDSM edge and contains material that is only suitable for adult readers. If dark and edgy erotic fiction isn’t your kind of read, you might not enjoy this story. Part two of a three-part series. These stories are not stand alone reads. For a better reading experience, I recommend beginning with ULTIMATUM, the first book in the DEVIL’S KISS series. Approximately 19,000 words.
SUMMARY:
Freedom is but an illusion . . .
Kayla Sutton finds out the hard way that Gage Channing’s dominance doesn’t end once she leaves the confines of his basement. His rules dictate her days and nights, his watchful eye keeps her in line at work, and the memories of her weekend with him, spent under his absolute control and his firm hand, keeps her on her toes. Having been blackmailed into submitting to him, Kayla doesn’t fully understand what it means to relinquish control of her body and free will, and she doesn’t understand how a man who derives pleasure in whipping and humiliating her is capable of awakening the desire she hadn’t known existed.
As her daughter’s life hangs in the balance, Kayla must dig deep to find the strength to fully submit, to travel down the path of pain and pleasure. But when her past catches up to her, prompting a free fall into forbidden territory with a man she once fiercely loved, she knows her only recourse is to come clean about her transgression to her Master and beg his forgiveness . . . only she never imagined he’d have such a horrifying punishment awaiting her, or that his jealousy would send her life into a further tailspin.
1. T
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Whoever said crying was a form of cleansing hadn’t cried over the shit I had in my lifetime, the most recent of which took the cake—namely that my daughter was fighting for her life. I’d stolen from the devil himself in order to save her, and now I was paying the ultimate price: six weeks of forced slavery of the most vile variety.
The fact that a part of me enjoyed it only compounded the problem.
I unlocked my door and finally allowed the floodgates to break. I’d barely kept my tears at bay while at the hospital, where I’d pulled Eve into my arms and rocked her long after she’d fallen asleep. I wasn’t sure if I’d held on so long to comfort her or me, but the weight of her in my arms and the smell of her soft skin had righted my world, if only for a while. I’d needed someone in that moment, and sadly I had no one but my three-year old daughter.
I shed my clothes and collapsed into bed, and the sense of safety I usually felt within these walls was absent. Gage Channing’s lingering intrusion permeated every corner of my sanctuary. I curled into a ball and hugged my naked body, letting it all out in gulping sobs. The rest of the night blurred—hours blending together as the clock on my nightstand moved time . . . moved time closer to when I’d have to see him again.
Confusion and grief were powerful emotions; they haunted me now as heavily as my guilt did—the most disturbing case imaginable. I tortured myself with the vivid memory of his sculpted body moving against mine, demanding my submission, and his whip lancing my bare skin in unforgiving blows. Worse was how he’d forced me to pleasure . . . how even now I craved it.
I still ached from being denied so long. Despite his damn rules, I slid my hand between my thighs and closed my eyes, burrowing my fingers into slick, throbbing heat. My frenzied touch brought me to an exquisite build-up. Gage’s blue-eyed gaze flashed in my head, and as I recalled the experience of grinding against him—again and again without release—I plunged into inevitable rapture, coming long and hard. A deep moan poured from my throat, and I spread my legs wider as my body cramped and shuddered. Heart pounding a deafening rhythm, I gave over to my release as it pulsed around my fingers. A blessed haze engulfed me, and I drifted to sleep a couple hours before the sun peaked through the blinds.
The blaring alarm interrupted an alternate replay of Gage and me in my dreams. There had been no cruelty, no hunger for power and dominance—he’d touched me with the gentlest patience and whispered the sweetest words, unlike the language he’d used over the weekend.
I want to fuck your ass.
Yes, dream-Gage had been ten times better than foul-mouthed, sadistic Gage with his demands and a whip to ensure I bowed to him. I got to my feet and began his mandatory hygiene regimen.
Bath oil in the water—check.
Wash and condition hair—check.
Shave underarms, bikini area, and legs from thigh to ankle—check.
Rub jasmine scented lotion over every inch of skin—check.
I’d have to stop by the department store on my way to work to pick up a pair of four-inch heels—another requirement. He even demanded I wear them to the hospital and while running errands. With a sigh, I ransacked my closet in search of a short skirt. A deep forage into my lingerie drawer produced a lacy bra and thong set I’d forgotten about long ago. I hadn’t worn such things in . . .
Shit, I couldn’t remember the last time I’d worn something so sexy. If Gage hadn’t promised to set up an account for me at Victoria’s Secret, I’d be in real trouble. As I moved toward the kitchen to turn on the coffee maker, a drift of cool air hit my ass. I hated thongs.
I hated Gage Channing even more.
I picked up the journal he’d given me and re-read his “rules . . .”
No masturbating.
Oops, already broke that one.
No dating, flirting, or touching/having sex with other men. No talking to men, unless work, errands, or hospital personnel require it.
Not likely to happen, since my social life was non-existent. A niggling thought bothered me. Ian might fall into this category. I couldn’t help my feelings for him, years ago buried but never forgotten, and I couldn’t help if I ran into him at the hospital. What was I supposed to tell him? That I wasn’t allowed to speak to him? Yeah, as if that wouldn’t raise a few questions, not to mention an eyebrow or two.
Must maintain hygiene regimen daily.
I already despised this rule.
Must always wear the collar.
The damn thing choked me, if not literally then figuratively. The thin strip of leather was a constant reminder that no matter how close freedom seemed within my grasp, it truly wasn’t.
Must follow the specified menu plan.
This one could be a problem, since most days I didn’t have an appetite at all.
Must wear four-inch heels, short skirts, and thong underwear at all times (work, hospital, errands).
Perverted bastard.
Must sleep naked.
Ditto.
2. O
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I was shaking by the time I exited the elevator, anxious and terrified of facing Gage again after what had happened between us over the weekend. The office bustled with the normal Monday morning activity I’d become accustomed to during my employment at Channing Enterprises. Katherine gave me her patented sugary smile as I stumbled toward Gage’s office in my new heels. I cursed the squished nature of my toes, and then cursed again when some of his coffee splashed onto my hand. Already on the verge of being late, I licked up the bitter liquid and hoped no one noticed. The caffeine went straight to the butterflies in my stomach; they fluttered with the energy of a crack addict. I knocked on his door and pushed it open upon his order to enter.
He sat behind his desk, a phone wedged between his ear and shoulder as he entered data into his laptop. He didn’t acknowledge me as I set down the coffee cup with a trembling hand. I pulled my iPad from my briefcase, and then shuffled my feet as he finished the call.
“Good morning, Kayla.” He grabbed the cardboard cup and took a sip before going about his normal morning routine, which involved dictating what he needed me to do for him. My fingers flew over the screen, adding meetings, notes, and anything else he specified. He said nothing remotely related to our weekend together—not even a hint. He resumed typing, and I kept my mouth shut, though I had to admit to being completely flustered. He acted as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. I couldn’t help but stand there like an idiot, waiting for some sort of response—something to indicate how I should behave around him. Was I supposed to call him Master while in his office when no one else was around? Did he want me on my knees as long as the door was closed?
I cleared my throat. “Mr. Channing?” Uttering that name left an odd taste in my mouth after the weekend I’d endured. Not only had he effectively programmed me to call him “Master,” but addressing him so formally after he’d had his cock buried in me seemed ridiculous. I licked my lips, thinking of the one place he had yet to penetrate. I’d be naive to assume it wasn’t going to happen eventually.
He glanced up. “Yes?”
“Is there anything else?”
“No, that’s all. I’ll need that report by lunch.” He returned to his work, and I didn’t know what confused me more—his casual dismissal, or the fact that it stung.
I put Gage’s behavior out of my mind and got to work. Shortly before lunchtime, as I was gathering a printout, Tom from the marketing department approached me.
“How was your weekend?” he asked.
I blinked. “It was . . . nothing unusual. How was yours?”
“Could’ve been better. Cindy and I broke up.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. It was a long time coming. Actually, I wanted to ask you out for coffee. You busy this week?” He took a step closer and brushed a stray hair out of my eyes. “Or we could do something more private. Whatever you’re up for.”
I gave him an uneasy smile. “I’m sorry, I can’t. My daughter’s in the hospital.” I stumbled back until a couple of feet separated us.
Apparently he didn’t pick up on my subtle hint. “How’s she doing?” he asked, closing the distance.
“Her doctor’s hopeful. We’re waiting on some test results.” I looked toward Gage’s office and found his thunderous expression aimed in our direction. He crossed the space with a purposeful stride.
Oh, shit.
“You’re fired,” he snapped at Tom. “Security will escort you from the premises.” Gage gave a slight nod toward a man who materialized from the periphery. He grabbed Tom by the arm.
“What the hell?” Tom’s eyes widened as he took in our employer’s furious expression. “Why? What’d I do?”
“I won’t tolerate sexual advances between my employees. You obviously made Ms. Sutton very uncomfortable.”
“Let’s go,” the security guard ordered.
Tom protested, his voice ringing through the fifth floor as the guard escorted him to the elevator. “I’ll have you sued for this!” As soon as they disappeared behind the sliding doors and all the prying eyes pretended to go back to work, I set my hands on my hips and glared at Gage.
“Was that really necessary? He has a kid to take care of!” I wasn’t sure who was more surprised by my outburst—him or me.
“In my office
now
.”
I closed my eyes on an exhale. Once again I’d let my mouth run rampant. Every gaze in the room weighed on me as I trailed behind Gage. He shut and locked the door, and I swallowed hard, preparing to grovel.