How chivalrous.
He then walks around and drops to his knees right in front of me, breathing hard. He lifts my chin with one finger, the chains restricting how far I can look up.
“You’re fucking incredible.” He’s just full of compliments tonight. “I’m going to keep you forever.” He kisses me chastely. The word forever rocks my existence. I almost burst into tears. Then he unlocks the chains around my ankles. “Go clean up.” I stand up straight, my muscles in agony. I walk into the bathroom and wipe away the arousal dripping down my leg. That’s when I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. My face is red, my hair is a mess, and both chains are still dangling from my collar. I don’t know what to make of myself. Only one word fits. Whore. Kayne’s whore.
“Ellie,” Kayne summons me.
Fuck.
I clean up quickly then hurry back into the bedroom and stand in front of him.
“Go to bed,” he orders. I crawl onto the mattress. Kayne’s fully dressed and jingling a set of keys in his hand. The keys that can liberate me.
“How do you feel?” he asks as I kneel in front of him.
“Tired.”
“That was only the beginning.”
I inhale a steadying breath. “Beginning of what?”
“Your new life.” He removes one of the chains from my collar, and then shackles the remaining one back to the headboard. A puppy played with then put back on her leash. He yanks me toward him and kisses me brutally on the mouth. My lips swell he sucks so hard. “Fucking all mine. Stay kneeling until I leave.”
I place my hands on my thighs and drop my head. “Such a good girl.” He runs his thumb under my jaw. I grind my teeth. I despise that fucking patronizing tone. Kayne silently exits the room. Once I hear the door click, I collapse onto the comforter an exhausted, misused mess.
And weep.
SUNLIGHT FLOODS THE ROOM. Isquint as my eyes adjust to the brightness. This time of the morning, when it’s quiet and I’m alone, I pretend my prison is a fairy-tale dream. The room is beautiful, open, and airy. The furniture modern but still feminine and the large white rug blanketing the hardwood floor brings a sense of warmth. A princess residing in her castle in the sky. Then I move and my fairy-tale dream turns into a nightmarish reality. I remember I’m trapped, like Rapunzel, chained to the bed. My energy is drained, my limbs hurt, and I feel empty.
And everything that happened last night is going to happen all over again. And again, and again.
I am owned. A pleasure kitten to be touched and prodded and fucked as my owner sees fit. He demonstrated his ownership last night when he chained my collar to my ankles and had his demonic way with me, bent over and helpless. I wish I could get up on my own accord and move around the room. But I’m at the mercy of others, always at the mercy of others in this house. I have a ridiculous fear that one day Jett won’t show up and I’ll be trapped on this bed forever. My fears are put to rest when the door clicks and Jett appears with breakfast.
“I could have been Kayne,” he reminds me. I didn’t shoot to my knees when the door opened.
“My legs hurt.” And I don’t care to obey at the moment.
“That doesn’t matter. If he wants you kneeling when he walks into the room, you kneel. Don’t cross him. He doesn’t like to hurt you.”
“Could have fooled me,” I say bitterly, rubbing my ass. I still have red marks from when he whipped me.
“Cranky this morning. Last night wasn’t satisfying?”
Physically yes. Mentally, no.
This whole situation is utterly fucked-up. No one deserves to live like this. At the mercy of others. Beaten if they don’t obey. Treated like an object, a pet, a ...slave.I used the word.It’s sickening. I can’t believe it’s become my life.
“I hate him sometimes,” I confess, as Jett removes my collar.
“That’s fine, just tell me, not him. Release your aggression when you fuck. It’s one of the few outlets you have.”
I sigh. Sure, sex is a great stress reducer and anxiety reliever. And sex with Kayne can have your blood pressure skyrocketing one minute, and taking a nosedive the next. That’s how physically demanding he is. But emotionally? It means nothing. It’s empty. I’m empty. When I used to fantasize about Kayne Roberts, his mischievous personality and charismatic smile were always center stage. He was nothing like the tyrant who keeps me captive. Whenever he came into Expo, his demeanor was always professional, but every now and again I would catch a twinkle in his eye or a roguish smirk. I always suspected under that tailored suit was a man with a secret life—someone extreme who liked BASE jumping or race car driving. Never did I surmise his private life entailed an upscale prostitution ring and client list. Or kidnapping and sexual slavery in the first degree.
“Take a shower. Then we’re going to do some yoga,” Jett says.
“Are you serious?”
“Deadly. Kayne complained you’re not limber enough.”
