Enslaved (Devil's Kiss) (2 page)

“I’m sorry. I was way out of line.”

He grabbed my arm and yanked me over to his desk. There wasn’t much on it—a few papers, a stapler, and the coffee cup from this morning. He swept everything to the floor, and black coffee splashed the wall.

“How dare you disrespect me in front of my employees. It’s bad enough I had to watch that idiot manhandle you.”

“You’re right. I was wrong to question you in front of everyone.”

“Has one night of freedom erased your training already? You will address me as Master, and so we’re clear, you were wrong to question me at all.” He unbuckled his belt and gestured to the desk. “Bend over.”

I didn’t dare hesitate. If I did as told, maybe he would go easy on me.
 

“Lift up your skirt. If you drop it, I’ll make your hands bleed.”

With shaking fingers, I lifted the back of my skirt and exposed my bare bottom.
 

“You’ve brought this on yourself, Kayla.” The slide of his belt shattered the quiet as he removed it. “If you ever let another man touch you again, I’ll do far worse.” The strap of leather came down hard enough to steal my breath.
 

I blinked back tears, knowing that leaving his office with blotchy eyes and streaking mascara was more humiliation than I could stand. I pressed into the desk to brace myself and gripped my skirt tighter in preparation for the next blow.
 

“How many strikes do you think you deserve?”

Was he fucking serious? How could I answer without getting ensnared in his trap?

“As many as you see fit, Master.”

“Very diplomatic answer. That’s one thing I like about you—you’re a smart woman.”

Crack! I jumped at the stinging bite. Holy hell it hurt.
 

“Do you think I enjoy this, Kayla?”

“Yes, Master,” I choked out.
   

“You’d be wrong.” He struck me again, and I couldn’t hold back a sob. I squeezed my eyes shut, but it did little to shut out the pain. “I won’t deny that the sound of your cries, the display of your submission and vulnerability, gets me hard, but I’d much rather get past the need to punish you at all.” The belt whooshed through the air again. I bit into my lip as it connected with my tender skin.
 

He stopped at ten. “Come here.”
 

I turned around in time to see him drop the belt. Upon my hesitation, he flexed his hands. Slowly, I crossed the three feet that separated us, my skirt swishing against my burning ass as I moved. He reached out and gripped my shoulders, pushing down until I was kneeling before him. The hard ridge behind his zipper stared me in the face.
 

Gage unbuttoned his slacks, and the slight tremble in his hands didn’t go unnoticed; he was worked up, though from anger or desire, I couldn’t be sure. “Unzip me.”
 

I raised my head, though I knew my silent pleading wouldn’t do any good.
 

“Don’t look at me like that. You’re only going to piss me off more.”

“Please, Master—”

“I want my cock in your mouth
now
.”
 

Holding back another sob, I pulled down his zipper, and his shaft popped out, hard and ready for my lips and tongue.
 

He fisted my hair with both hands and held me in place.
 

“Don’t make me do this, Master. Please, not here.”
 

His cock twitched. “Beg some more. It turns me on.”
 

I clenched my jaw. I wondered what he’d do if I refused? Did I want to find out?
 

No, I didn’t.
 

Several seconds went by, during which neither of us moved. He was waiting for me to take the initiative, and I was waiting for him to force me. It would be easier if he did. Every inch I gave him felt like a betrayal to myself. He tickled my mouth with the tip, bathing my lips with his desire. He’d win this standoff; I’d lost the game before I even knew how to play.

I darted my tongue out to taste him. More moisture collected at the head, and his salty taste lingered on my tongue. It’d been years since I’d given a blow job, but I was pretty sure I still remembered how. I reached out and fisted the base, and then teased him with my lips, swirling a wet path around the soft tip a few times before fastening my mouth around him.
 

Gage expelled a deep moan, and his grip on my hair tightened to an unbearable pull. The fact that his response tingled between my legs shouldn’t have shocked me by now, but it did. And it shamed me. A part of me got off on the power I had in this moment. He might have forced me to my knees, but I could bring him to his with the heat of my mouth, the kiss of my tongue. I took him in as far as I could stand and worked him for all I was worth.

His choppy breathing infused the air, and he began to thrust, forcing my head back with each forward motion. Pumping in and out, deeper, faster, keeping time to the friction of my mouth and hands. His gaze intensified, and unsettled with how he watched me, I closed my eyes.

“Look at me,” he ordered on a groan. I met his glazed-over eyes as he jerked to the back of my throat. His taste flooded my mouth, and when I tried to pull away, he immobilized me in his grasp. I couldn’t keep from gagging as his cum shot down my throat. The way he tightened his fingers, pulling against my tender scalp, told me he enjoyed making me gag as much as he enjoyed spilling into my mouth.
 

He withdrew, zipped up with casual patience, and then indicated the spilt coffee on the floor—the evidence of his rage and jealousy. “Clean this up before you go to lunch. I have a meeting I’m late for.” He picked up his belt and looped it through his pants, and just like that the bastard left me kneeling in the middle of his office, wet between my thighs as his cum dribbled down my chin.
 

I got up on jittery legs and stumbled to his private bathroom. A few splashes of cold water to my face, followed by the mindless task of cleaning up after his fit, helped me find composure. When I left his office, grabbing a file folder on the way to make it look like I’d had legitimate business in there, I did my best to appear unfrazzled. I cringed to think of the office grapevine catching wind of what Gage had forced me to do.

My lunch hour passed much too quickly, and upon my return I managed to avoid my coworkers and Gage for the duration of the day by hiding away with a laptop in a vacant windowless office. Privacy was a must, since I couldn’t sit without grimacing. I was unprepared for the whispers and incredulous looks as I gathered my briefcase and purse at the end of the day.

One glance into Gage’s office revealed it was empty. He was either away at a late meeting, or he’d already left. I stiffened when someone whispered the word “slut” as I made the long journey toward the elevator. From the corner of my eye I recognized Katherine. She laughed, her blond head bent close to someone else’s. They both snickered, and I felt their eyes bore holes into my back. I was content to ignore them until I heard the term “blow job” drift through the office.
 

Rage and mortification collided in my chest, and I hardly breathed as I sought refuge behind the elevator doors. I blinked, silently repeating
I will not cry
over and over again as the elevator descended. If everyone knew what had happened today in Gage’s office, then he must have told someone. Barreling out into the pounding rain, I was thankful for Oregon’s weather as the raindrops disguised my tears. I slid into the privacy of my car and pulled out my cell.
 

Gage answered on the third ring. “This better be important.”
 

“You’re damn right it’s important!” I dashed the tears from my face and lowered my voice. “Everyone knows.” God, how was I going to keep this job now? It was difficult enough to envision working for the devil himself after entering into a contract with him, but to withstand the ridicule of his employees . . . and not be able to defend myself with the truth . . . I couldn’t do it. Yet I had no choice. The pay was too good, and even with Gage covering Eve’s medical bills, I was still entrenched in debt. I couldn’t afford to change jobs.
 

I heard him speak to someone else, and then the distinctive sound of a door closing filtered to my ear. “What are you talking about, Kayla?”

“They called me a slut, and someone mentioned ‘blow job.’ How could you tell anyone? Haven’t you tortured me enough?”

“First off, watch your tone. Don’t forget who you’re speaking to. Secondly, I don’t flaunt my business, so I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
 

“Someone found out. They know what happened today in your office.”
 

He let out a heavy sigh. “I need to finish up here. Are you on the way to the hospital?”

“Yeah.”

“Are you alone right now?”

“I’m in my car.”

“Then why aren’t you addressing me as Master? This changes nothing. You’ll be punished for your lack of protocol tonight. Come to my house at nine.”
 

A violent shudder tore through me. Freedom didn’t exist within Gage’s contract—I wouldn’t be free for another five and half weeks. Like a trained dog, I replied, “Yes, Master.”

A small part of me wondered if I’d ever be free of him.
 

3. F
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The hair on the back of my neck stood on end as I rushed through the rain toward the hospital. The uneasy sensation of being watched settled over me, though in the back of my mind I knew the feeling was likely a result of what had happened in the office earlier. I felt exposed and on display, as if every person I crossed paths with thought the word “slut” after a single glance.
 

The instant I entered Eve’s room, my paranoid worry about gossip and rumors vanished. Dr. Leah Gordon’s weary expression threatened to strangle me. My heart plummeted, and I instinctively sensed something was wrong.
 

“Kayla, maybe you should have a seat.”

I shook my head. “No, just tell me.”
 

Her shoulders slumped slightly. “Eve’s blood work came in. It’s not encouraging.”
 

“But . . . but . . .” I suddenly couldn’t form a coherent sentence. The walls in the room closed in as the doctor’s words percolated in my head. “You said her chances were good . . .”

Dr. Gordon laid a comforting hand on my shoulder. “I was optimistic, yes, but we’re not seeing the results I’d hoped for.”

I brought a trembling hand to my mouth. Eve was fast asleep in bed, her skin so pale it nearly matched the pasty color of the bed sheets. My eyes zeroed in on the dried blood caking the skin underneath her nostrils. “She had another nose bleed?”

“Yes, and she became quite agitated. The nurse got her to calm down by rocking her. She’s been resting for the past hour.”

I grabbed a washcloth and ran it under warm water, then gently wiped her face. She stirred, but didn’t wake. She looked peaceful. Sick, but peaceful.
 

I faced Dr. Gordon again. “What can we do?”

“I don’t want to get your hopes up, but there is a clinical trial we can try . . . if we can get her enrolled in time, that is. It’s a long shot.” Her face softened in sympathy.
 

“Do it.” I blinked away tears. “Do whatever you have to.”
 

The doctor hesitated. “Getting her into the trial isn’t the only issue. Like the last treatment, your insurance won’t cover it. You’ve indicated your finances aren’t—”

“I’ll get the money. How soon can she get in?”

“I’ll do my best, but you might want to prepare . . . making her comfortable is about all we can do at this point unless something changes.”

I blinked several times until the sting in my eyes abated. A knock sounded, and the door creaked open behind me. Dr. Gordon gave me one last sympathetic look. “I’ll let the two of you visit.”
 

I turned around in time to see her nod at Ian on her way out.
 

“Hi.” His eyes traveled the length of my body, from the red locks of my hair to the spiky heels encasing my feet. “How was the business trip?”
 

“Exhausting.” That much was true; Gage Channing had put me through the ringer. Nothing compared to this, though. My eyes burned with more unshed tears.

You are not breaking down in front of him.
 

I turned back to Eve and planted a kiss on her forehead. “Can you give me a minute?” I closed my eyes and breathed in her scent. My throat tightened. “Please.”
 

“What’s wrong?” The rustling of his clothing reached my ears.
 

“The treatment isn’t-isn’t . . .”
 

“Kayla . . . I don’t know what to say. ” His breath whispered across the back of my neck. “I’m so sorry. I don’t have any kids . . . I can’t even begin to imagine what you’re going through right now.”
 

I couldn’t stop despair from overflowing, and when I sensed him reaching for me, I jerked out of his grasp. “Please . . . don’t.” Speaking to him about my daughter was one thing, but allowing myself to fall apart in his embrace was another. I wouldn’t be able to stop crying if he wrapped those strong arms around me; I remembered much too vividly the comfort and shelter they offered. I finally turned and faced him.

“Don’t shut me out,” he pleaded. “You need me . . . I’m here.”
 

“Why now?” I was playing with fire, but I couldn’t stop the question from escaping. “It’s been seven years, Ian.”

“Seven years too long.” He shook his head. “You pushed me out of your life, moved away, wouldn’t take my calls . . . why’d you disappear like that?”

“Can we not get into this right now?”