It wasn’t like I lied to myself and thought I was doing something good for the boy. I wasn’t. But this was the best way for me, and in time, he wouldn’t care anymore — or so I told myself yet again.
I washed the dishes and tidied up the kitchen, going through the house and poking half-heartedly at different things before ending up in the office where I could monitor him.
He was lying on his back in the dog bed, his eyes open as he gazed at the ceiling. I wondered what he was thinking, but his thoughts, at least, would be his own — for now. I was pretty sure I could guess anyway, and they had to be going to the tune of utter despair.
I didn’t want that for him. I didn’t want him to have a life of misery and desolation. I wanted him to be as happy as he could, to realize this could be an easy life of luxury.
He raised his hands in the air, looking at the mitts on his hands, and even through the camera I could see the miserableway he looked at them. He hated them just as much as he hated me — maybe more, really.
Without them, though, he would find it so much easier to disobey, and I’d have to punish him. I didn’t want to punish him again, especially not this early in the game. I wanted to give him positive reinforcements and teach him to crave my touch.
Was that really so wrong?
17
Ryder
“Come,” he told me.
I sighed and started to stand up, but he grabbed one of the handholds on the harness and pushed me firmly back down.
I glared at him. “You told me to come. I’m getting up so I can do what you fucking wanted.”
“Not that way,” he said. “Hands and knees.”
“No fucking way,” I told him. “I’m not going to do that.” Not only would it be demeaning as hell — one more slip in the downward slide — but it would hurt like a bitch. The concrete wasn’t exactly kind to my feet as it was. The mitts would protect my hands, even if they would make it hard as fuck to move, but my knees would get torn up.
“Are we really going to go through this again?” he asked, like I was a child refusing to get dressed and go to school instead of a captive refusing to fucking crawl.
“Yes,” I grumbled, refusing to move my ass an inch.
“You know you’re just going to give in anyway,” he told me as though it was simply a done deal. “Why are you fighting this?”
I didn’t admit he was right.
“Because I have to,” I said honestly.
He considered me a moment, then slowly nodded. “That’s only going to take you so far, Toby—”
“Ryder!” I interrupted him hotly.
“That’s the problem. You’re still thinking of yourself as Ryder, when you’re never going to be that person again.” The words were spoken gently enough, yet they felt like nails being driven into my coffin. “Let go.”
“I’d like to see you just let the fuck go,” I spat, staring up at him as he continued to hold the harness in place.
His eyes flashed, and I hesitated, not liking what I saw in them. “You really, really don’t want me to let go,” he said. The softness was gone from his voice, replaced by something ironclad and horrible.
I tried to shy away from him but couldn’t get far with his grasp on the leather. “Dude. Dude, okay, chill out. I was just—”
“Be careful how far you push me,” he warned.
It was like he was a different person entirely in that moment. I didn’t recognize the man who had been firm but patient, who had been cruel but almost…kindabout it at the same time. This man was harsh, with lines that would be easy to cross, and there was a beast simmering beneath the surface where it waited to break free.
For some reason, that scared me more than if he’d been fucking and torturing me the whole time.
“My knees,” I finally said, reluctant but not wanting to see that look in his eyes any longer, not wanting to see his face twisted in the way that made his scars look demonic instead of just… tragic.
He frowned. “What about your knees?”
