He couldn’t breathe. The hand on the back of his head pushed him into the pillow, cutting off his air supply while another hand used a switch to beat him. The sting of the switch caused him to cry out, which only brought the punishment down harder on him. The hand on his head clawed into his scalp, pulling his hair as his head was reefed back and another sharp sting was administered to his bare buttocks re-opening the barely healed stripes from his previous indiscretions.

He could smell the rum laden breath as it hissed across his face and the verbal vitriol that accompanied it was almost worse than the repeated strikes against the bare skin of his back and thighs and arse. His throat ached, burned with the need to breathe as his neck was bent back almost to breaking point and he forced his mind to blank and his panic to recede as he found the cold vacuum where he could retreat, where the pain and the words didn’t bother him, the place where he welcomed the death that he knew would surely come.

A loud thump woke him from the nightmare, his breath ragged, sweat beading on his body, his skin prickled with goosebumps. It took him a moment to realise that it had only been a nightmare, that he was safe, that he no longer lived in the condemned fibro house, he no longer slept on the stained and smelly mattress, he was no longer at the mercy of his abuser.

He took some deep breaths to clear his mind and another loud thump from next door brought him crashing back to reality. What the hell was Abby up to?

He swung his legs out of bed and stood, his muscles tense and cramped from the nightmare that still lingered. He stretched, forcing his mind to let go of the images that haunted him, consciously making his body relax. He had nothing to fear now. The past was in the past and there was no way that it could hurt him anymore. He walked into his bathroom and splashed some water on his face before returning to the bedroom to dress. The loud noises from next door continued and it was about time for him to confront her over them. He knew she was probably dismembering another pig, what he couldn’t work out was why.

Comfortably attired in soft, well-worn jeans and a t-shirt, he thumped on Abby’s door. Everything inside the apartment seemed to still, eerily holding it’s breath. Mason thumped on the door again, this time adding his voice.

“Abby? Open up. I know you’re in there.”

It had been a couple of days since that night and they hadn’t even run into each other in the hall. He didn’t know if she had been avoiding him, he did know that he had been avoiding her. Not because he didn’t want to see her, but because he knew he would barely be able to control himself if he did. His dreams, all bar this morning’s nightmare, had featured her and he had a list of things he wanted to do with her, but he’d thought it prudent to give her a bit of space and let her come to terms with what a change in their relationship would mean. Plus, he’d been a coward. He hadn’t wanted to give her the chance to turn him down, hadn’t wanted to see the rejection in her eyes.

He raised his fist to knock again when the door opened and there she stood in one of her horrible house dresses and a ratty cardigan. Her skin was pale and her eyes big. The pulse in her neck pounded and he knew she was nervous, but was it because she was seeing him or was it because he had interrupted whatever it was she had been doing and she was concerned about being caught?

“Abigail,” he said, using his Dom voice. She drew in a quick breath and he saw the change in her as her pupils dilated and her skin flushed. “What the hell are you doing in there?”

She dropped her eyes and her cheeks flooded with colour. He tucked a finger under her chin and lifted her face, capturing her eyes with his gaze. “I know about the pigs,” he said and resignation flooded her eyes. “I just don’t know why.”

She didn’t say anything, but swung the door wide and motioned him to follow her. He closed the door behind himself and walked behind her, trying to take in her apartment as she led him to the second bedroom. With eyes downcast, she swung it open to reveal a sight he had not expected. The entire room was covered with plastic sheeting. Not just the floors, but the walls and ceiling as well. It was well lit and a stainless steel bench dominated the centre of the room. He was pretty sure it was an autopsy table and on it was a pig carcass that had large chunks of meat carved off it. Another carcass hung from a deadly looking hook in the ceiling and that one looked to have been flayed, the skin peeled away to reveal the flesh beneath.

“What is this?” he asked softly.

“It’s my murder room,” she said, her voice dull.

He shot her a look and then turned back to what was in front of him, putting the pieces together. “You use pigs because they are closest to humans, genetically speaking,” he said and she nodded. “This is where you practise what happens in your books, the murder scenes?” She nodded again and he smiled.

“Ballistics gel is too expensive,” she said, “And I don’t have time to continually mould bodies in it. The pig flesh simulates human flesh more accurately than anything else. I have a deal with the local butcher—”

He turned to her and cupped her face, kissing her hard and fast on the lips. “It’s brilliant,” he said, a smile on his face as he looked down at her, her eyes lit with something akin to hope and then the flare died or was shuttered away.

“I know it’s weird,” she tried to drop her eyes, tried to hide from him, but he refused to let her do it.

“To the average outsider it might be weird,” he said gently, “But for an author who writes scary as hell trillers, it’s really quite ingenious.” He hadn’t let her face go and he watched the range of emotions as they crossed her face. Disbelief and wonder and, there it was again, hope.

“It doesn’t disgust you?”

“God, no,” he said with a chuckle, “I think it’s badass.”

She smiled, snorting a little chuckle which was the most adorable thing he could ever imagine. He kissed her again, just because he could, just because he wanted to. She lifted her hands and he released her face, grabbing her wrists and freezing in place. The echoes of the dream bombarded him and the joy he’d so recently had drained away as anxiety took it’s place.

Abby saw the change come over him, saw his eyes fade, like he was no longer in the room with her, but somewhere else, somewhere dark. His grip on her wrists were firm, not painful, but she knew she wouldn’t be able to extract herself from them. She stood still, knowing instinctively not to struggle, not to fight with him. She had seen this change in him before, when Bailey had touched his shoulder, she knew he was fighting his own demons and she tried to make herself as nonthreatening as possible. He was looking at her, but not seeing her and she knew that whoever he was seeing had caused him immeasurable pain.

What had happened to him? What had caused this amazing man to be so haunted that he couldn’t stand to be touched. She remembered the discussion they’d had in the chat room about his need to bind his sexual partners and she understood that whatever it was that had happened to him, was the reason.

She watched his body as it stiffened as if to prepare for an invisible blow and the desire to help him, to soothe him, to comfort him overwhelmed her. She stepped closer to him, not trying to remove her wrists from his hands, but to add her strength to his. She laid her forehead on his chest and he flinched for a moment, but when she didn’t move or do anymore, he began to relax. She felt the fight in him as he struggled to control his breathing. She felt the racing of his heart as it thumped against his chest wall. She felt the tightness and tension in his muscles as he tried to control his reaction. She breathed deep, willing him to breathe with her and stepped closer still, pressing her chest against his, willing her heartbeat to calm his.

Time became immaterial as they stood there, frozen, while Mason battled for reality. She stood with him, adding her strength to his, giving him her silent support, knowing that she wouldn’t leave him like this, wouldn’t abandon him when he needed her.

He released her wrists and she dropped her arms, linking her hands behind her back where they wouldn’t be a threat. His arms came around her, trapping her arms against her torso, and he held her tightly against his chest, resting his cheek on top of her head. She burrowed into his chest, softening against him, using her body to soothe him. They stood in a plastic room surrounded by a scene that would disgust most people and yet… she felt closer to him than she ever had.

“Abigail,” his voice croaked as he nuzzled her hair. She lifted her face to him and he kissed her, his lips sliding across hers delicately, tenderly. “I’m sorry,” he whispered against his lips and she kissed the words away, wanting him to know that he didn’t need to apologise, that, although she didn’t know what he was going through, she understood. He deepened the kiss, taking control and she gave it to him, melting into him, her muscles going slack and compliant. “I need you Sweet Abby,” he said, his voice husky, “I need to feel your skin against mine, I need to be buried deep inside you, I need to feel you tremble around me as you come.”

Her voice was breathless as she replied, “Yes, Sir.”

His eyes darkened and his nostrils flared. He bent to capture her lips in a searing kiss before tugging her out of the room and down the hall to her bedroom. He let go of her and stood in front of her, watching her. Gone was the terrified little boy she had glimpsed and in his place was the very in control and grown up Dom. Her stomach swooped with anticipation and the slightest bit of uncertainty. Was she ready for this?

“Strip,” he said, his voice commanding but not cold.

She hesitated and his eyes narrowed, forcing her into action. She removed her cardigan and her fingers fumbled with the buttons on the front of her dress. He watched her patiently, his eyes eating her up as she peeled away the dress and let it fall to the floor. She blushed, embarrassed to be standing before him in her granny panties and simple white utilitarian bra. She dropped her eyes and he took a step towards her, his bare feet coming into her field of vision. He lifted her head and brushed his lips across hers.

“Don’t hide from me, Sweet Abigail,” he murmured.

He stepped back and waited. She took a deep breath and removed her bra, her breasts full and aching for his touch, and then stepped out of her panties. The need to cover herself from his gaze was strong. She knew that she wasn’t the ideal body shape, her Rubenesque pear shape having gone out of fashion before she was even born.

“Look at me,” he commanded and a tremor went through her at the depth of his voice.

She looked up at him, not realising until then that she had once again dropped her eyes. His gaze devoured her and she felt the warmth of it skim over her skin as if he caressed her with his hand. He stepped closer and reached out a finger, dragging it lightly down her cheek, her throat, across her décolletage and down between her breasts. She shivered at his touch and her nipples bunched into tight little nubs, begging for his fingers. She felt the warmth of her arousal between her thighs, no thigh gap for her, and she swallowed thickly.

“Beautiful,” he murmured as he leant down to kiss her mouth.

He pressed his body against her, the rough denim of his jeans rubbing against her stomach and forcing her to walk backwards until the backs of her knees hit the mattress of her bed.

“Get on the bed, sweetheart,” he said and she scrambled up, compelled to obey him. “Lie back, hands above your head.” She complied, watching him as he swept his gaze around the room. He strode across to snag a scarf she had casually tossed over the corner of her mirror and then he was back, kneeling on the bed and wrapping the silk around her wrists. He was gentle, but still her breath hitched, excitement and fear mixing in her gut. Once her hands were secure, he looked down at her, cataloging her expression. He ran a finger down her cheek. “It’s okay Sweet Abby,” he murmured to her, “I’ve got you.”

She nodded and bit her lip, his nostrils flared and his breath huffed out raggedly.

“You remember your safe word?” he asked.

“Red,” she whispered and he smiled his approval.

“If you get scared or anything hurts, you use your safe word and everything stops. If you’re unsure, you can say yellow and we’ll discuss what’s happening. Okay?”

She nodded.

“I need your words, Abby.”

“Yes, Sir,” she said after a small hesitation.

He nodded and his eyes praised her. “Your hands are bound together, but not to the bed. I need you to keep them above your head, can you do that for me?”

She started to nod and then caught the look in his eye and spoke instead. “Yes, Sir.”

He kissed her, teasing her lips, nipping and sucking and licking until her mind began to fade away. He moved so that he was suspended over her, his forearms either side of her head supporting his body, his legs straddling her. He was still fully dressed and she was naked, bound and vulnerable beneath his large body. Her breath staggered and her mind switched on, popping her eyes open as fear grabbed her throat.

Mason cupped her face, his thumbs circling gently on her cheeks. “You’re okay, sweetheart, you’re okay.”

She looked into his eyes and saw the desire there and the care and she relaxed. He would look after her, he would take care of her.

He kissed her again and she closed her eyes, giving in to him, giving up control, letting him take over. She felt the freedom of having someone else lead and her stomach swooped again, her core flooding with heat and moisture.

“Good girl,” he murmured as he kissed down her neck. He moved his legs so that they were between hers, forcing her thighs wide as he settled in the cradle of her hips, his jeans rough against her sensitive core.

His hands finally touched her, cupping her full breasts as he nuzzled her throat, nipping at the soft place where her shoulder met her neck. His fingers found her hard nipples and plucked at them, heat streaking straight to her core with each tiny pinch. She arched her back, begging for more, wanting his hot mouth on her peaks, needing more. He sat back on his heels and her eyes popped open, looking up at him as he watched her.

“Patience, Sweet Abby,” he said with a grin and she scowled. He chuckled as he lifted his shirt and pulled it over his head. Her mouth dried with the sight of his well-defined muscles, the skin tight across his chest and stomach. The ink that she had only glimpsed under the sleeves of his t-shirt, swirled over both shoulders and across his chest. It was a bird, a phoenix. The wings spread wide across his chest, over his shoulders and down his arms, the feathers tipped with flame. The tail swirled between his pectoral muscles and the stern eyes and wicked beak were fierce. It was beautiful and terrifying.

“Eyes on mine,” he said and the command in his voice made her eyes snap to his, even as her core trembled. “Good girl,” he said as he lowered himself over her.

His skin touched her, burning her as if the flaming bird inked on his skin was alive with fire. She arched up into him, craving it, craving him. He pulled a nipple between his teeth and sucked hard causing a moan to escape from her throat as she threw her head back, exposing her neck to him in submission. She felt a hand close around her naked throat and her breath hitched. He didn’t squeeze, but he held her firmly, not enough to restrict her breathing, but enough for her to know he was in control of her. It was fucking hot.

She thrust her hips up into his denim covered pelvis, feeling the outline of his erection and wanting it in her. She had never felt this wanton, this crazed by desire. Her mind was fogged with need and her senses overwhelmed with his touch. He slid down her body, settling his wide shoulders between her thighs. He took hold of her ankles and bent her knees, placing her heels against her butt and then pressing her thighs outwards, exposing her most private area to his gaze. She tried to close her legs but he held them secure, She struggled for a moment against her bonds - the scarf around her wrists, his hands on her thighs - and the tug of restraint heightened her desire. As she realised how completely at his mercy she was, a strange sort of peace settled over her and she stopped struggling. She didn’t need to think, she didn’t need to tell him what she needed, he was in control and the relief of it swamped her.

He shifted so that her thighs were under his biceps, leaving his hands free to explore. He stroked a finger through her wet folds and her hips tried to buck, but his weight held her down.

“Look at you,” he whispered in awe, “Wet and pink and swollen for me.”

He used his fingers to spread her lips and she knew she should be embarrassed that he was examining her so closely, but she couldn’t muster it. Having him holding her down and taking his pleasure was causing her body to flood with heat and her mind went blank, logic and reasoning fleeing and leaving nothing but feeling.

He placed a soft kiss on her mound just above her clit and she moaned. He chuckled, his warm breath dusting over her wet curls and causing her inner muscles to clench.

“So pretty,” he murmured before taking a long, slow lick of her.

“Oohh,” she moaned, the inarticulate sound being wrenched from her throat by the exquisite touch of his tongue on her.

“You taste like honey and peaches,” he murmured against her, licking her again, swirling his tongue around her clit but not touching her where she needed it.

She struggled against him, needing more, needing him to touch that hard nub of bunched nerves to give her release.

“Steady Abby,” he said, his voice stern, “Your body is mine. Your orgasms are mine.”

She mewled in objection, but couldn’t form words as his tongue teased her again, his arms holding her thighs wide, his hands on her hips holding her still. She didn’t know how she would survive, she couldn’t see past the next touch of his tongue on her. Her fists clenched and her arms strained against his command to keep them above her head. Her thighs trembled and her core quivered with need. She thrashed her head, and cried out against his sensual assault on her. Just when she thought she could take no more, he sucked her clit into her mouth and her eyes went blind as her climax crashed violently over her. He rode her bucks and thrusts, suckling her as she came and came and came. And then he was gone.

She heard the noise of his zip being lowered and the crinkle of a condom wrapper as it was opened, but she was blind, her eyes shut tight as her body throbbed with the aftershocks of the most intense orgasm she had ever experienced. And then he was there, suspended over her, the head of his cock nudging her sensitive entrance. He slid into her slowly, his thickness stretching her, her plentiful lubrication easing his way. She could feel the rub of his denim clad thighs against her naked ones and then the soft, scratchy feel of his pubic hair as he seated himself within her. He filled her completely and it felt uncomfortable at first. He held still, stretching her, waiting for her to adjust. He kissed her, his mouth devouring hers, the taste of herself on his tongue as he owned her mouth. She felt her desire rise again, shocking her. How could she be peaking again already? He started to move and she groaned into his mouth as he pushed into her, faster and harder with each thrust. Her arms strained to hold on to him, but he held her bound wrists down with his hands. He pounded into her, his cock finding that spot deep inside that felt like he was pressing against her clit from the inside and she was inundated with sensation as an orgasm rose up powerfully within her. She cried out with her release and Mason bit her neck as he followed her over, his cock swelling and throbbing within her and sending her into another climax.

He slid back into bed with Abby after disposing of the condom. She was still in a daze and barely registered his presence. He had unbound her before he had left to clean up, but she was deep in the aftereffects of their coupling and hadn’t moved from where he’d left her. He gathered her to his body, wrapping his arms around her and snuggling her against his chest, his cock nestled between the cleft of her buttocks as he spooned her. He had her arms secured in front of her so that she couldn’t inadvertently touch him and he allowed himself to relax against her.

He loved the feel of her soft skin against his. He’d finally removed his jeans and relished the feel of her bare thighs against his. She was so soft and he needed the connection with her. He hadn’t intended to take her today, hadn’t expected it to be so overwhelming for both of them, but after the nightmare and then the panic attack he’d had when she’d nearly touched him, he’d needed her more than he was willing to admit. The way she had submitted to him had only increased the impact and now he felt shaken and unsteady.

She was fucking perfect.

The thought tore at him, opening old wounds, wounds he’d thought he had hidden, like the scars he hid under his tattoos.

She hadn’t flinched when he’d panicked, she had waited, stood with him, gave him her support and her strength. She hadn’t peppered him with questions or demanded an explanation, she had just offered herself to him and like a selfish bastard he’d taken. Taken what he needed, pushed her limits, something he’d promised himself he wouldn’t do, and yet she had yielded to him, her submission driving his lust, his need. She had given him everything he’d needed and more, giving herself to him and rewarding him with her beautiful responses. He didn’t deserve her, he didn’t deserve her beauty.

He was such an arsehole. He should never have lost himself in her like that, she hadn’t been ready. He hoped that he hadn’t damaged their fledgeling relationship with his selfishness, but… God, she’d felt good, right. In her he’d found a peace that he had been searching for for what seemed like forever. When he had her under him, her body soft and willing, her big brown eyes looking up at him with such trust and desire and want, it had done something to him, changed something within him.

It was more than sex. More, even, than kinky sex.

There had been a connection there, but he’d already known there would be, it was why he had avoided her for so long, why he had fought his attraction to her. He knew he had crossed a line with her, a line that he had thought cemented in stone. A self-imposed line for the protection of not just himself, but also for his partner. She had drawn him across it, her sweet nature, her trusting submission, her fierce heart and determination to silently support him when she had no idea of the darkness that lurked within him. His Sweet Abigail, Abby, sweet, wonderful, beautiful Abby with her murder room and her dark novels and her gorgeous face and lush body. Everything about her called to him, called to that deep part of him that he had thought dead and buried, killed by the person who should have loved him and instead hurt him. He had thought himself incapable of connecting with another human being on the level with which he had just connected to Abby. It was like she had imprinted on his soul and it scared the fucking shit out of him.

But he couldn’t let her go, couldn’t move away from her, not yet, perhaps not ever. He held her in his arms, but she held his heart even if she didn’t know it. He hadn’t even realised he’d given it to her until now, until the thought of leaving her bed caused his guts to clench.

He’d demanded honesty from her, as a Dom he knew how important it was between him and his sub, so he could hardly not be honest with himself. He was falling for her, had already fallen for her, and he knew, because of that, he would only hurt her. He wasn’t cut out to love, his past precluded him from the luxury. He was the harbinger of death and he destroyed everything he touched. He knew he should let her go, that he should leave her alone because he did love her and he didn’t want to hurt her, but he couldn’t, not yet.

He tightened his arms around her and she snuggled into him, her body pressing against his as she sought his warmth, his skin. He knew he would have to let her go eventually, but not yet, he needed more time, he needed more of her. He would fill himself with her and then he would let her go and he would survive on his memories. The day would come when he would have to walk away, but not today, not yet.

He buried his face in her hair and breathed in her scent, He closed his eyes and made his body relax around her, drawing her in almost like he could join them through osmosis, like he could pull her into his skin so that they would never be apart. And then he slept.