Knight (An Impossible Novel) (14 page)

“You’re going to listen to me now,” he told me coolly.  “You’re not going to protest and you’re not going to cry.  You’ll take deep, even breaths while I’m talking to you, and you’ll look me in the eye.  You are not allowed to panic.  You’ll accept what I’m saying because you don’t have the choice to do otherwise.  I expect your complete obedience, or there will be consequences.  Do you understand me, girl?”

I was utterly enthralled by him.  I took a deep breath and stared up into his captivating metallic eyes.  “Yes, Master.”

He gave a short nod, acknowledging my compliance.  “I don’t want you to think about the woman in your drawing.  You are not allowed to worry about
who she was or what happened to her.  But you will accept that she is a part of you.”

I flinched.

“Breathe,” he commanded sharply.

I obeyed.  I would never refuse him anything.

“Your name is Lydia.  And I’m going to call you by your name.  You will answer to it.  Understood?”

I could do that.  He could call me whatever it pleased him to call me.  I was his slave, and I would obey him in everything.

“Yes, Master.”  The tremulous note was gone from my voice; the words rang out clear and fervent.

His perfect smile hit me like a blow to the solar plexus, taking my breath away.  “That’s a good girl.  I’m very proud of you, Lydia.”

The praise sent joy bubbling through me.  And I was distantly amazed to find that I liked the way the name sounded on his lips.

My name.

I was Lydia, and I belonged to Master.

I stared at those full lips that had formed my name so perfectly, and I licked my own as longing rose up in me.  I wanted to be closer to Master, to somehow express the magnitude of what I felt for him.  My gaze flicked up to his eyes, and a little thrill shot through me at the hunger that shone in them as he watched my tongue swipe across my lips.

Surrendering to my desire, I leaned up into him and softly pressed my mouth to his.

He had ordered me not to do anything sexual for him, but this wasn’t sexual.  This was pure, desperate
need,
a painful yearning to connect.  I wasn’t doing this to please him; I was doing this because my soul craved to brush against his.

He responded instantly, a low growl rumbling from somewhere deep inside of him.  I caught it on a gasp, taking it into myself, relishing the way it reverberated through me.  His tongue delved into my open mouth, stroking me with almost feverish intensity.  The kiss wasn’t
sweet, and it wasn’t gentle.  The voraciousness with which Master claimed me let me know I wasn’t the only one who had been longing for this intimate contact.

My hands closed around the back of his neck, holding him to me more tightly as I drank him in greedily.  He nipped my lower lip in reprimand, and I moaned into him, savoring the sharp, sweet reminder of his dominance.  My head spun as he consumed me, controlling my very breath.  Just when my lungs began to burn from lack of oxygen, he jerked away from me.  I gasped in air, panting as I stared up at him, wide-eyed.

My wide, silly grin melted instantly in the wake of his anguished expression.  I touched my fingers to the creases in his forehead, trying to erase them.  He flinched away from me, his eyes tormented.

“I can’t do this,” he said raggedly.  He started to shift my body away from him, to put distance between us.  I tightened my hold around the back of his neck, my fingernails pressing into his skin.

“Please,” I begged hoarsely.  I couldn’t bear his distance.  Not now.  Not ever.  “Just hold me, Master.  Please.”

Uncertainty clouded his expression, his inner turmoil etched clearly across his handsome features.

“Okay, sweetheart,” he finally conceded on a sigh.  His lips thinned.  “Okay, Lydia,” he corrected himself.  He speared me with a significant look.  “I’ll hold you.  You didn’t do anything wrong.  I shouldn’t have…  We can’t do that again.”

My heart sank in my chest.  Master’s kiss had been the singular most glorious experience of my entire existence.  But as much as I hated the thought of never experiencing it again, the idea of him turning away from me was far more painful.  I would do anything to stay close to him.

All I could do was hope that one day he might change his mind.

Chapter 12

Lydia,
Master’s Slave

Three long days passed, and Master didn’t so much as bring his lips close to mine.  We returned to our regular schedule: I cooked our meals, Master and I exercised together in the afternoon, and he held me as I sat beside him on the couch.  But something had changed between us, and now he spent more time being absorbed by his work than he did laughing with me.  I longed to reestablish our closeness; I feared that I was losing him.  Sometimes when I called him “Master,” something shifted in his eyes, and I wasn’t sure if it was desire or disgust.

True to his word, Master called me “Lydia.”  I missed the endearments “sweetheart” and “girl,” and thrill shot through me every time he slipped up and used one of them.  I couldn’t deny that it was strangely fulfilling to hear the name “Lydia”
fall from his lips, but I didn’t want Lydia to fully replace who I had been before.  Lydia and Master’s slave were one in the same, and I longed for him to give equal acknowledgement to both sides of me.

I hadn’t touched my sketchpad since I had brought Lydia back to life, but I decided it was time for me to try again.  Butterflies fluttered in my stomach as I lifted the pencil, the result of both the fear that had gripped me after my first attempt at drawing and nervousness at my daring plan.  But this time, I had a clear objective, and I wouldn’t allow my subconscious to determine the image that flowed from my pencil strokes.  This time, I wouldn’t give form to something horrific that stirred unsettling memories.

Master glanced over at me curiously as I settled myself down at the kitchen counter.  I was pleased to notice that he was frowning slightly at my distance from where he sat working on the couch.

“What are you doing, Lydia?”  He asked.  “I thought we were going to watch a game.”

“I’d rather not,” I said, my voice a touch incisive.  Master had suggested we watch a Cubs game, but I had decided against it.  It was the first time I had chosen to do something of my own volition since he had taken me into his home.  But my purpose was more important than my reluctance to counter his wishes.  He hadn’t outright ordered me to sit beside him and watch TV, so I wasn’t technically defying him.

I was surprised when he gave me an encouraging smile.  “That’s the first time you’ve told me what
you
want,” he pointed out.  “That’s one rule you had yet to follow.  I’m proud of you, sweetheart.”

“You will always tell me if you want something that I’m not giving you.”

I beamed at him, all reservations regarding my defiance melting in the wake of his wholehearted approval.  And he had called me “sweetheart.”

His expression turned more serious.  “I want you to draw something that makes you happy, Lydia.  I don’t want you to get upset again.”

My smile took on a sly, secretive edge.  Oh, I fully intended to draw something that made me happy.  “Yes, Master,” I agreed sweetly.

He cocked his head at me, clearly trying to puzzle out my expression.  I ducked my head before his suspicions could become further aroused, pointedly turning my attention towards my sketchpad.  After a moment of silence, the clatter of Master’s fingers darting across his laptop keys resumed.  I was careful not to audibly heave a sigh of relief.

I chose a black pencil.  I intended for my sketch to be stark, commanding Master’s attention through rendering the image in bold black and white.

Considering the amount of time I had spent staring at him in wonder, capturing the perfection of Master’s face was more difficult than I had anticipated.  All of his features were accurately formed, but expressing his powerful, intoxicating aura was more elusive.  Even if I were an artistic savant, I would have been incapable of depicting that intangible quality about him that I found so rapturously enticing.

I set him aside for a while, focusing instead on myself.  I thought of the woman I saw when I looked in the mirror.  She was thin, scarred; she was somehow lacking the completion of spirit that was evident in my drawing of Lydia standing at the edge of Lake Michigan.

But that damaged woman belonged to Master.  And that made her far more beautiful than Lydia would ever be.

Contented with the image I had produced of myself, I returned to perfecting Master’s visage.  I hadn’t come close to succeeding when his voice cut into my reverie.

“So, what are you working on, Lydia?”  He asked.

Nervous apprehension threatened to grip me as he approached.  I took a deep breath, shoving it back.  I was determined to see my task through.

“Something that makes me happy,” I said definitively, looking him squarely in the eye.

His curious frown deepened to a scowl when his gaze fell on my work.  In my sketch, Master’s lips were crushed to mine, his hand tangled in my hair as he held me to him.  The lines of his face were harsh and hungry as he claimed me.  My eyes were closed, my expression beatific in my blissful submission.

“What is this, girl?”  His voice was low and dangerous, holding a rough, threatening edge.

But rather than being intimidated, I was emboldened by his reaction.  My fierce Master was back, and I thrilled at the sight of him, even if he was disapproving.

“Something that I want, Master,” I told him, my voice clear and steady.

His brows drew together, his eyes sparking as he turned his glare on me.

I didn’t flinch; I met his stare, lifting my chin in a silent challenge.  His lips twisted into a fearsome snarl as his dominant side took over, unable to permit my flagrant defiance.  His movements were harsh in his ferocity, lacking the fluidity of purpose that usually imbued his careful control.  This was a different sort of power.  I had tapped into the wild, untamed side of him that acted on his most primal urges.

My sharp gasp was one of delight when his hand fisted in my hair at the nape of my neck.  The small pain as he sharply maneuvered my body off of the barstool was exquisite.  The direction of his harsh guidance changed abruptly, pulling downward so that my head dropped back.  But the pressure didn’t relent, and I was forced to my knees before him.

“What have I told you about this, girl?”  He demanded roughly.  “That won’t happen again.”

He gave another sharp tug on my hair, reinforcing his control with the zing of pain that tingled across my scalp.  My lips parted, and a low moan was released from deep within me.  Heat pulsed to life between my thighs as I stared up at him, relishing his power over me.  This was what I had craved so fiercely: for Master to fully stake his claim, to allow me to slake his need.  A defined bulge appeared at his groin as his rapidly hardening cock strained against the material of his pants.  I longed for him to remove that barrier between us, and my fingers itched to caress him.  My mouth watered at the idea of tasting him.

Abruptly, he stepped back from me with a curse, releasing my hair.  I whined at the sudden distance between us, and I reached for him.

“Stay,” he commanded sharply.

His order connected with something deep within me, and a desire that had been perverted and tainted blossomed back to life.

I groaned as I finally realized what the almost painful pulsing between my legs meant: lust.  Automatically, I settled back onto my heels, parting my thighs and twining my fingers together behind my back.  For the first time I could remember, the action wasn’t driven by fear of abuse or a desire to please; this was for me.  This was what
I
wanted.

An answering lust flared in Master’s eyes as he admired my position.  He was clearly affected by the sight of me on my knees before him, inviting him to take control of my body. 
Begging him to do so.

His fists clenched at his sides as he visibly restrained himself.

“Fuck!”  He barked out.  His silver glare was resentful, pained.  “What am I supposed to do with you, girl?”  His tone was roughened with frustration, and I knew I wasn’t supposed to answer his question.  “I should turn you over my knee for this.”

I sucked in a breath, but the flames that licked my skin were borne of desire, not fear.  I craved the contact he threatened me with.

His eyes glinted at my reaction.  Then his brows drew together, and he took another step back from me, a growl easing its way up his throat.  The sound made me shiver delightedly.

“Stay here,” he ground out.  “Don’t move until I give you permission to do so.”

He began to turn from me, and disappointment lanced through me.

“Master, please -”

He paused, and his glower made my words instantly die in my throat.  “If I hear one word out of your mouth that isn’t ‘Yes, Master,’ I’ll leave you here all afternoon,” he threatened.

I swallowed hard, staving off the tears that stung at the corners of my eyes.  He had devised the worst possible punishment for me: denying me his presence.

“Yes, Master,” I whispered meekly, dropping my eyes.

I watched his boots as he quickly retreated from me.  The
bang
of his bedroom door slamming shut reverberated throughout the apartment.

I couldn’t stop the tears that flowed silently down my cheeks.  I hated his distance, his anger.

But did I regret what I had done?

No.  I didn’t think I did.  I had forced him to acknowledge that his desire for me was just as fierce as mine was for him.  And I had come to a shocking realization about myself as well.  All this time, I had thought I wanted to give Master my body so I could please him.  If I just pleased him enough, then he would never let go of me.  I still craved for him to stake a permanent claim; I feared one day the FBI might find Lydia’s family and force me to leave him.

But even more fiercely, I wanted him to take me because my body burned for him to do so.  I had thought that Bastard had robbed me of my capacity for lust.  His torment had been so cruel that I had forgotten what lust was.  Master had reawakened that within me.  It was another gift he had given me.

Even if I didn’t want to return to Lydia’s life before she had been abducted and broken, I found I did want to possess some of the characteristics that made her uniquely
her.
  Master had been right: we both loved art and cooking; we were Cubs fanatics; we preferred action films to insipid romances; our personal style was flirty and feminine.  And we both harbored dark, unfulfilled sexual desires.  I wouldn’t access her memories, but these qualities, these wants and yearnings, resonated with me.  I embraced them, accepting them as a part of me.

I was the version of Lydia that belonged to Master.  And I wasn’t going to deny my needs any longer.

My cheeks were dry by the time Master returned to me.  His eyes widened slightly in surprise when he took in my calm demeanor.  All of the furious tension had left him, and I wondered what he had been doing in his room that had siphoned it off.  A decidedly wicked conclusion flashed across my mind, and I flushed at the idea of Master stroking himself as he thought of me.

He bent and clasped his hands around my waist, helping me stand.  He steadied me as I bent my knees slightly and wiggled my toes, easing my stiff muscles.  When he was satisfied that my discomfiture had abated, he lifted me up in his arms and carried me to the sofa.  To my surprise, he situated my body
beside his, placing my head on his thighs.  He kept one hand curled around my hip while his other tenderly stroked my hair.  I sighed happily, closing my eyes as I melted against him.

Despite his anger, Master was comforting me after my punishment.  There had been a consequence for my defiant behavior, but it hadn’t damaged our relationship.  If anything, I felt closer to him than I had in days.  He had fully accepted his role as my Master, had re-committed himself to taking care of me.  My daring action had brought about a good outcome, even if Master hadn’t kissed me again.

He held me long into the afternoon, and although his touch was tender rather than demanding, the insistent throbbing in my loins didn’t abate.  My need was keen to the point of being painful, my newly re-discovered lust tormenting me.  But I didn’t dare push Master further that day.  As much as I relished his control, I didn’t want him to exert that control by leaving me alone again.

When I found myself in the solitude of the shower later that day, I surrendered to instinct.

Master fully commanded all of my thoughts, and memories of our more intimate encounters played through my mind on a loop: Master’s cock jerking beneath my cheek as I rested my head in his lap; the feel of his hardness beneath my fingers as I tentatively stroked him through his sweatpants; the heady beauty of his scorching kiss; the wild gleam in his eyes as he forced me to my knees before him.

I whimpered as my clit pulsed relentlessly.  My mind flicked to Master sating himself in the privacy of his bedroom, bringing himself to completion with wicked thoughts of what he might do to my body.  It occurred to me that I could do the same for myself.

Tentatively, I brushed two fingers over my hardened bud.  A small, sharp cry escaped me as pleasure shot through my body.  I had forgotten about this part of myself, about the bliss that certain parts of my body could give me.  I explored my erogenous zones, old patterns of touching myself clicking back into place with each area I aroused.  My fingers found the wet heat inside of me, gathering it up as I stroked myself.  I trailed the wetness up to my clit, rubbing in steady, practiced circles.  My nipples throbbed, begging for attention.  Air was sucked into my lungs on a delighted gasp as I pinched them, sending answering lines of pleasure sizzling down to my clit.