Chapter Twenty-Six
Joshua
I march her into the bathroom, and this time I run the bath water and climb in with her. I make her get on her hands and knees, and fuck her again right there in the bath. I slam into her so hard that her whole body rocks, her breasts hanging down into the water. She comes within minutes, her tight tunnel convulsing, and I feel the answering rush of ecstasy swelling up inside me. I’m not wearing a condom, so I pull out and splatter my seed over her gleaming wet buttocks.
When she settles down and slumps against the tub, facing me, she flashes me a sullen, defiant look. “Is that the best you’ve got? I thought you were going to punish me,” she sneers.
At that, I laugh. “Now you’re just being a bratty sub, Toy.”
“I’m being a what?” Her face is comical in its confusion.
“It’s a BDSM term. A submissive is expected to obey her dominant and do her best to please him, but some subs deliberately misbehave and act like little brats so that their dominant will have to discipline them. Because being punished turns them on and makes them fucking come like a bitch in heat.” My lips curl up mockingly.
She meets my gaze with a look of manufactured boredom. “Whatever helps you sleep at night. Speaking of which, can I get back to my fucking cell?”
“No, you cannot.” I look at her across the sea of frothy bubbles. “I’m going to ask you again, Toy, why did you try to kill yourself?”
She sits up abruptly, exposing her shiny clean breasts. Again I feel my cock stirring. God, she’s magnificent when she’s fierce. “Because you made me into something I wasn’t. Something disgusting. Something I hated.”
“I hated it too,” I murmur before I can stop myself.
She launches herself at me so quickly that I barely see it coming, and throws her full body weight on me, screaming like a banshee. My head bangs painfully against the tile wall, and her nails claw at my face.
Furious, I scramble out of the bath and haul her with me, dropping her onto the tile floor. Water sloshes everywhere. I kick her in the ribcage, and she lashes out with her leg, hooking it behind me, and brings me down to my knees. She’s screeching like a madwoman the entire time.
I slap her in the face, twice, so hard that her eyes briefly lose focus. Then I grab her by the throat and squeeze until she’s gurgling and wheezing and her face goes red. The whole time, she’s glaring at me with a killing rage.
When she settles down, I release my grip a little bit.
“You motherfucker!” she howls. “You put me through hell for nothing! For nothing! And you lied to me just to control me and make me weak, you revolting little bitch!”
“It worked, didn’t it?” I taunt her because I’m angry. And I grab her wrists and pin them over her head, lying on top of her on the soaked bath rug.
I’m rock hard again, but her mood has flipped. I can feel her body go rigid with disgust underneath me, her flesh practically trying to crawl away from mine.
It hurts me.
“Settle down,” I snap at her.
“I will chew your face off in your sleep, shithead! Coward!” Her body is as stiff as a board underneath me.
I squeeze her wrists hard enough that she grunts in pain, but she never stops glaring at me. “Listen the fuck up, because this temper tantrum shit is going to get old fast. I’m not going to let you go, and I’m not going to kill you. And I’m not going to let you kill yourself. So you can just get that out of your head right now.”
She doesn’t say a word, and her gaze drifts off to somewhere over my right shoulder. She’s ignoring me, dismissing me from her mind. I need to give her something more.
I loosen my grip on her wrists. “I’m going to say something I’ve never said to anyone before. I made a mistake. This situation with you… My entire survival drive depends on me seizing control of everything and everyone around me, dominating every human being who gets close to me, but with you… I went too far, Toy. I won’t go that far again.”
“Tamara.” Her beautiful brown eyes bore into me, trying to stab me to death with the force of her hatred.
“I prefer Toy, and I’m still in charge here, sweetheart.” I see a little flicker on her face, a twitch of muscle that she isn’t even aware of, and I remember that she always reacts that way when I call her sweetheart or baby. I decide I will do it more often. Positive stimuli to get positive results.
“When I lied to you, I thought I was helping you.” At her disbelieving laugh, I shake my head. “Truly. I was afraid you were going to force me to kill you. You’re so fucking strong. It was so hard to break you down that I needed to cheat, and that was weak of me. You’re right about that. It was beneath me. The truth is, the director at the homeless shelter and your landlord both reported you missing within a few days. Your neighbor Heather never did, but she also moved out of her apartment right after I took you. The director never gave up. She’s been a thorn in my side, going back to the police again and again. She organized the employees at the shelter, and they’ve been calling too, checking up on the case several times a week.”
Her muscles relax a little and tears shimmer in her eyes. I bend down and kiss her shoulder.
“Are you actually apologizing?” Her voice is husky with emotion. Not for me, I know. For her lost friends, her lost life.
“That’s not something I am capable of doing.” I make my voice gentle, and I stroke a wet lock of hair from her face and tuck it behind her ear. She stares up at me, eyes shining. So beautiful. My precious, lovely Toy. “I don’t want to lie to you again, and to say that I was sorry would be a lie. Being sorry would require a conscience, and I’m not wired that way. In my world, I define right and wrong. For me to apologize would mean that I was saying I thought what I did was…bad. You want me to be honest with you? I’m not sorry. What is right is what benefits me. End of story. But I am saying that I should not have gone so far when I punished you. And we’re going to have to work out a new set of rules and a new way to get along. Because I’m not going to lose you.”
“Why?” she demands despairingly, her face twisting with anguish. “I just want to be free. I hate it here. I hate you, and if I could kill you, I would. I will keep trying to kill you, myself, and Elizabeth, until I succeed. Do you not understand that?”
“I do. And all I can do is watch you day and night so I can protect you from yourself,” I say, and something dull and ugly that might be sorrow flows through me. I cannot bear to make her into a helpless slave again, and I can’t bring myself to end her life, so sooner or later, the inevitable will happen. I’ll slip up. She’ll kill me, or herself, or Elizabeth.
And yet I’m still not going to kill her. Even to save myself.
Once upon a time, I thought she was nothing like me. Now, as I look down at her wretched face, I see tiny facets of myself in her. Survivor of a poisoned childhood, someone who put themselves back together and came out stronger for it. She’s got hidden reserves of toughness that I never even glimpsed. And she’s got a mean streak in her too.
I like that about her. I like it a lot.
I like everything about her. If I were a normal man, I’d say that I love everything about her. She makes me wish that I could be what she needs, what she deserves.
But I am the man that I am, hard and unchanging and incurable.
I lean down and press a gentle kiss to her forehead. “Come on. We’ll go into the media room and watch a movie together—you can pick the movie—and then we’ll go to bed.” She goes stiff again. “What?”
“Watching movies just hurts me. It’s like looking through the bars of my prison at what I can never have.” Her shoulders slump and her muscles melt completely. Tears brim in her beautiful eyes and spill onto her cheeks. When I bend down to kiss them, she twists her head away. “For the love of God, Joshua. Please. I’m begging you. I want this to end. You could do it painlessly. If you’re not going to kill me, end my suffering. Let me go.”
I slide off her and sit up. She sits up too, hugging her knees and staring at the floor. Tears are streaming down her face now. I’ve made her cry oceans. The thought drives a splinter into my soul.
“Things will be different now. I won’t put you back in the cell, ever again. We’ll resume our sparring, and I can let you get on a computer that’s not connected to the internet, and you will sleep in my room. You will have to speak to me with respect, and as long as you do that—”
She’s shaking her head, her long, wet locks sliding across her back.
I have just offered her so much. It should be enough, right? I don’t understand what the problem is here. “You’d rather be dead than spend time with me? You’d rather be dead than let me make you come every day, feed you exquisite meals every day, give you the run of my library and any movie or TV show ever, talk to you, laugh with you, spar with you, dress you in the most beautiful clothes…?”
She shakes her head, crying quietly.
I heave a sigh of frustration. “Okay. It’s still not going to change my mind. I’m a selfish bastard, Toy. I don’t understand my feelings for you, but I can’t be without you. I need you, all right? When I think about losing you…it…it’s not what I want.”
I groan out loud at my utter failure to say what I mean. “I can’t find the right words for this, Toy. I’m articulate in many ways, but I’m not fluent emotionally. But the bottom line is, I can’t do it. Don’t ask me again. Instead, I’m going to make you content to be here. I will find a way. I always get what I want, Toy. You’re wasting your time trying to fight me.” Yes. This is a challenge, and I will solve it.
I will.
I have to.
I scoop my miserable, heartbroken slave up in my arms and carry her toward my bedroom.
Her body is limp; she’s not bothering to fight. She’s a sleeping tiger, though, and I can never let my guard down around her again.
When we get into the bedroom, I carry her over to my closet and set her down, keeping an eye on her as I fetch her a T-shirt to sleep in. We’ll go to bed early. I’ll chain her to the head of my bed, so she’s sleeping right next to me. A woman sleeping next to me, all night long. That will be a new experience. New experiences are good, aren’t they?
I don’t know. Looking at her miserable face is a drag on my mood. I’m actually being affected by someone else’s emotions. My earlier elation has fizzled, and whatever sick, leaden feeling has taken up inside my chest now, I hate it.