Yield (24 page)

For me to keep you, Wren...

My heart had squeezed in at that moment, and coldness had swept me. If I disobeyed him badly, if I dared attack him, he was prepared to dispose of me.

The stranger had only proven that by what he’d said.
You’ve got a new captive...

New.
He’d had other women here and they’d gone elsewhere or died.

I’d been sympathizing with him. He did care for me in some twisted way, but if he couldn’t have me, he would kill me or sell me. I was a mere owned thing to him. I had to remember that.

If I ever tried again to escape, I needed to be more than sure of succeeding and I needed to kill. To kill him, I’d need him facing away from me, because I must not see his eyes. Stupid not to acknowledge my weakness.

He could hold me with them. One look from him, alive with condemnation, with that strength he held over and above mine, and I’d falter and my knees grow weak. If that happened, I might die, not him.

I had to remember the man I’d been so close to being in love with: Glass. So close the difference between being in love with him and not being in love had become impossible to see...or to feel. I kept him fresh in my mind by recalling how he’d felt as he cuddled me, how safe I’d felt on that beach after the plane landed, even after he ‘flip-flopped my butt’, as he termed it...remembered even that last time in the restaurant when he’d shoveled food in his mouth and I’d had an
ohmigod I love this man even when he’s fricking eating
moment.

My doubts from then were paltry, stupid. The yearning to be in his arms got to me at the dumbest of times, made me blubber like a baby in the darkness some nights, but it helped too.

If I ever got back to him, I’d say those words – that I loved him. That I might one day say those words, it was my talisman that kept me hoping and strong.

I had to stay strong.

The days wore by and I learned how easily
he
could break that resolve.

I kneeled to him every day. Every night I made my resolve again:
stay strong
.

One day, after hours restrained in his basement area, he visited me. Night had fallen, yet I was led away from the room I’d lived in for weeks. He showed me to a luxurious bedroom. His, I assumed. I noted the main features as I padded across the tiles and thick rugs. My little silk dress swished against my thighs.

The color scheme was a mix of cream, bronze, and gold, with hints of azure and emerald. Ocean view, a huge solid-glass window I’d need a crowbar to break. Sofas, wall-to-wall TV opposite the bed, and the bed...was different. The height off the floor meant there were steps at the end. Beneath the bed was a space walled in by bars.

Hell.
This was a cage. A cage under a bed. I could see pillows and bedding.

“You’re sleeping here from now on.”

“Oh.” I glanced at him and back to my new home. The big open room with the hard leather bed seemed wonderful compared to being in there. Such perversions as this shouldn’t shock me anymore.

“Don’t like it?” One eyebrow tilted and his lips almost managed a smile.

Did he expect a yes? Some days I still felt ornery, or bratty as he called it.

“Nooo,” I drawled out. “It looks claustrophobic. I’d rather...”

He shook his head, slowly. “Good. I like that you don’t like it. There is no
rather.
If you’re good, one day you’ll sleep up top.”

Fuck
. I stayed silent and merely looked dubious.

Seriously, being good should now be my priority. Sleeping next to him was a step closer to freedom.

“Here.” He crooked a finger and climbed up to sit on the bed.

I followed, trying to look happy. He was going to spank me, something I found exceptionally humiliating. I’d rather be strung from the ceiling naked and whipped than be spanked but I guess he’d figured that out.

“Lap.” He pointed.

My sigh was close to silent and I obeyed, wriggling across his lap and wishing I wore something other than this pale blue dress. My matching panties were as good as a gift from the gods, since it was rare he gave me underwear. They weren’t likely to stay on.

“Your ass would inspire a poet.”

Huh. A compliment. The man was slipping.

I felt him hook his fingers under the elastic and slide the lacy fabric down to my upper thighs, so that he no doubt had a clear view of my pussy. Knowing he was looking made me feel wanton. I nestled my forehead against my arms and waited for the first strike as he circled his palm over my butt cheeks.

Then, nothing happened, except more playing with my butt. After a few minutes, I simply
had
to wriggle against his legs. Lying like this was a hot trigger for me. Positive reinforcement? I detested spanking but had found I liked the position once I was there. He’d given me a hundred incredible orgasms after being hurt and I couldn’t help myself. No blame, no shame. Except it was easier to think that than to really forgive myself for getting turned on.

I understood why but hated myself too.

“You couldn’t tempt me more than you do now, woman.”

Uh. Okay. Stick your finger in me already.
I buried my eyes and nose in the quilt and huffed. I might, hopefully, suffocate.

The darkness made all the sensations he evoked the only ones in my head – nothing else but him, stroking me, teasing me.

He ran his finger down the cleft of my ass, pushing aside each cheek, going feather light across my asshole then almost to my slit. I wriggled again, impatient for a more intimate touch. He’d called me woman? Not slave or some diminutive? I rubbed one thigh against the other, trying, in an obvious way, to encourage that finger to go inside me.

“Want something, Wren?” His big hand snuggled down onto my neck, squashing me harder to the bed.

I grunted, hazing out but then remembered to say, “No Sir.”

“Are you lying?” He shook my neck.

Crap.
“Yes, Sir.”

His laugh was energizing and my eyes snapped open.

“While I have you here, I thought I’d ask you some questions. We can have a chat.”

What the? A chat while he threatens to either spank me or do, something, nicer... His finger dipped lower.

“My finger is now very wet. Tsk, tsk. Your fault.”

No kidding.

That same finger was circling my entrance, in smaller and smaller orbits.

I grunted again, nearly inhaling quilt in an attempt to calm down as he snuggled his finger onto me, the whole length of it resting over my slit while the fingertip swirled at that perfect place for making me want to hump something. I felt the expanding warmth of arousal as he nudged at my hole ever so damn sneakily.

“Are you listening?”

I made a noise, at best, and he snorted.

“You’ve never asked me my name, Miss.”

Now I was awake. He would tell me this? I swallowed down my lust, stilled that primitive urge to fuck something, even if it was only a finger. What I’d been reduced to was... I didn’t know how to express it. Sad?

I wanted to be with Glass again. His question reminded me of my old life. Of when I had choices.

Finding out his name could be important for when I was free. When. And how likely was that? If he told me this, it would be a milestone. To not have told me yet, it seemed to follow that he thought I might reveal it to someone else.

When he told me his name, would that be the day he thought I was truly no longer free?

Dread made my heart beat faster but I was compelled to ask. Curiosity killed the kitten, perhaps.

“I never heard you say I could ask you. Sir.”

“Hmm. You didn’t. I can’t tell you it anyway. Not my commonly known name. You may already have guessed I am Vetrov?”

Thank god. He wasn’t telling.

He
was
Vetrov.

Relieved that wasn’t his real life name, I lowered my head, having arched up my neck to hear his announcement. Though...even knowing he was Vetrov was scary. I’d guessed but it wasn’t the same as knowing. So this man on whose lap I lay ran slave houses, perverted ones.

Hope dwindled ever more with each passing day.

“I knew,” I said hoarsely.

“Yes. You’re smart. I don’t like it as a name. You can use Master for my name, for now, if not Sir.”

Master? Ugh. No.

He stroked my nape and began to talk. “I’m sure you still hope to escape me, Wren. I understand that. I understand, but I will not condone it. Trying to escape is futile. You’ll learn that I want you for more than sex or someone to play with. I want you for a companion. Someone to share thoughts with.”

He must be joking. But...but, wasn’t this good? I shouldn’t disdain such an idea. I needed sustenance that was more than food or I’d end up a giggling fool staring at walls. I had to embrace this opportunity even if I never gave up on freedom.

“I’d like that, Sir.”

“Master.”

I squirmed inside, hating this next level of dominance he enforced.

“Master.”

“Good girl.”

His touch, his hands on me, played with my head. The man could massage like an angel. He’d kept his hand between my legs as if to hold me in place but kept those fingers still.

“I’ve taught you to like the whip, haven’t I?”

True. He’d made my appreciation for pain soar, but saying it to him seemed like another betrayal of myself.

“Answer me. I will know if you lie.”

He couldn’t know. Could he? He might. The doubts got to me lately.

His fingers between my legs reminded me of what he might do. Was that the faintest stir of his finger? Eyes shut, I listened to everything in my head, feeling the pulse of blood in my female parts and the weight of his arm on my thigh, and terribly aware of the spread of my legs before his gaze.

“Answer me, sweetheart. I know it’s hard for you to say.”

Oh fuck. Sweetheart?
Impromptu tears welled and seeped onto the quilt. Mind-fucking-reader.

He was a master of mindreading, if nothing else. I blinked into the quilt, torn.

“Yes, it’s true.”

“Thank you. I love you when you’re honest. It pleases me. I want you to suck on my finger while I make you come.”

Love.
The word fell past me. He dared say that?

His finger arrived at my lips and I opened.

He tasted glorious. The only way to describe this. His finger in my mouth said possession and man and a whole bunch of things that stemmed from everything he’d ever said or done to me.

Training.

I didn’t fucking care.

Liking this
didn’t
make me bad. I was just a victim. I was...

I sucked as he thrust his thumb slowly into my entrance and started toggling my clit in time with my sucking on his finger. I ceased sucking, he stopped too. I began again and,
damn
, I groaned and managed belatedly to suck on his finger while he played maestro with my clitoris. He tasted of chocolate biscuits as well as him and I vaguely wondered if he’d eaten Tim Tams while my body gathered up all the sensations unfurling in my now not-so-private parts and sent them thrumming into me, awakening my nipples. They poked up and rubbed on the dress. Awakening his cock too until his erection dug into my stomach.

My one power over him.

“Good girl,” he murmured as I writhed on his lap. “That’s it. I reward you if you suck. You worked that out so fast.”

Put in the coin, Wren does what he asks. I was prostituting myself for a finger fuck.

No. Not so. And thinking took too much from me. I shut down and
felt
.

“Yes. Be mine. Let me fuck you while you show me your little wet cunt. Keep going. Let me see you come. That’s my favorite after seeing you cry when I whip you red.” I felt him bend and bite the hair at the back of my head, then he moved downward and bit my ass.

I squealed.

Whipping.

Mentioning that while he stuck that thumb deep inside me and I sucked on his finger, it made me fuzz out more than a little. Time blurred. The two ends of me, mouth and pussy, connected in some glorious fucking circuit and sensations built and spilled lust, a monstrous, expanding storm of lust.

The hold he had on the corner of my mouth, his cock sticking up at me, that had been
in
me so many times...I needed...needed...
.

I groaned and squeezed down on his finger in my pussy, bit the one in my mouth, feeling that relentless force take me up and
throw
me at the universe. Gasping, squeaking, spasming on him, and unable to stop until I wound down into a feeble limp heap of spent woman, and then, then...I knew he had me.

“There. Beautiful, as always. You’re mine, Miss Wren, Just proved it there.”

I didn’t have the energy to weep. I was too busy gasping.

He left his finger in me until he knew I was done and I sighed at its removal, feeling that suction as my pussy clamped down a last time, regretting the emptiness in me and the loss.

“My turn.” He moved me off him then shifted me further onto the bed. “Turn over and look at me.”

Vulnerable after the orgasm, yet I rolled over and faced him. I’d be flushed, red of cheek, but I made myself return his gaze. Be damned if I’d be ashamed.

The amused triumph I saw there was worse than a leer. It always fucked with my head – that he could bring me to climax in spite of my distaste.

“I’m not going to tie you down today. You’re going to do what I ask you to while I fuck you. Bend your legs up and show me your cunt.”

I hesitated, squeezing shut my eyes for a second, and made to wriggle down my panties, only to have him growl at me.

“No. Leave those. I like them where they are.”

Halfway down my thighs?

Slowly, I bent my legs until my knees were up to breast level and I was peeking at him through the gap between them and my underwear.

“I like you, like this.” His voice purred harshly, like he was a big, hungry jungle cat. “As if I caught you walking down a hallway at a party and pushed you into a bedroom. And now I’ve got you all messed up because I made you come while I pinned you down. You’ve tumbled onto the bed and opened your legs to me. You want me to stick my cock in you, don’t you girl? Me, a stranger. Because...” He swept his gaze over my body, studying my exposed pussy then wandering up to my breasts, then to my mouth, my open mouth. I licked my lips as he shook his head at me, seemingly dismayed at my display of my cunt. “Such a slut.”