CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
SERAPHINA
After beating me, humiliating me, fucking me and threatening me with worse, Aiden eventually gave up on extracting the names of my previous captors from my head. I wasn't sure how much time had passed, how many strikes of the crop had impacted my body, how many orgasms I'd provided him before he finally tossed the crop aside and reminded me of how useless I was to him.
His tongue was as sharp as the tools he used on me, but even his cold violence wasn't enough to break me, to dissect me, to force me to crawl.
Still chained against the wall of his admittedly impressive playroom, I hanged limp from the cuffs locked at my wrists, alternating between pushing up on my toes to give my arms some relief, and dropping back down to hang just centimeters off the floor to allow my calves to rest when the muscles bunched and locked.
It wasn't the worst position I'd ever been in. At least it was air conditioned and I wasn't struggling to take a breath in the damp heat that comes with summer. At least there was light for me to see and not a rectangle of promise created by a cement lid shoved over the underground pit where I'd been kept. At least I hadn't been dropped down to a dirt floor with open, bleeding wounds that itched and burned when the ants and other insects decided to explore what meal they could make of me.
You see, it wasn't the pain of a beating that terrified me so thoroughly in the place from which I'd escaped, it was the feeling of being buried alive, of being forgotten, of smelling the decomposing bodies of the slaves they'd played with before me - the ones who'd died in the deep shaft where I was kept, and who were left there to rot by the men who'd once held me captive.
Nothing Aiden could do would top the fear of being left in a hole to rot. Not a damn thing.
My fingers had grown numb from the amount of time I spent hanging, the tingling in my fingers a wash of sensation that pulled me from the boredom of staring at an empty room. Touching the pads of my fingers against my thumb, I passed the isolated minutes controlling the level of pain, the amount of pins, the rush of blood that could creep beneath my skin awakening my nerves to something other than the cold in the room.
Not even a clock was nearby to tick away the passing time.
My eyelids grew heavy, exhaustion swaddling me in a blanket of misery and shame. And just as I drifted off into the dreams tucked inside my head, the door to the room clicked open, the bottom softly brushing the carpeted floor, opening wider to reveal the man who entered from the other side.
Dressed impeccably and carrying a tray, Anthony stepped in without saying a word. He placed the tray on a small table to his right, rolled back his shoulders before turning to pin me in his inscrutable, amber gaze.
Silence hung heavy between us, only broken when he cleared his throat and opened those sculpted lips to entrance me with the foreign cadence of his deep voice.
"Do you have no sense of self-preservation?"
I should have felt relieved to hear something beyond the insufferable silence, but I couldn't find that relief within the air pregnant with uncertainty.
I wanted to blow him off or offer some vague response that would anger him and chase him away. But when I looked into a set of eyes that appeared weary - when I felt the sadness that rolled off him in crashing waves - when I took a moment to truly see the man standing before me - all that rolled off my lips was a confession. "No."
My will to fight was lost, every bit of hatred bleeding out of me through the cuts his gaze struck across my skin. There for only a moment and gone when he pulled his expression back into the familiar blank mask, I could have sworn in that brief second I'd seen another person as haunted as me.
"You should take care not to irritate Aiden any further. He is quite adept at what he does. Cruelty is nothing new to a man like him."
Still shaken by what I'd seen before he spoke, I had to blink several times to regain the image of a man who'd trapped me in this place, who'd taken me and caged me when all I wanted was to fly. "Is that supposed to scare me?"
"No," he breathed out, his voice as tired as my body. "It's supposed to be a warning. I prefer not to witness him making you hurt."
The chains creaked above me, my feet pointing down until my toes touched the floor. "Are you only giving me the warning to prevent your own pain?"
"I feel no pain," he answered, making me second guess the emotion I believed I'd seen. "But you will. Physical, mental, emotional ... spiritual. That is what a man like Aiden can do to you." He paused, his words lingering between us until he banished them with a question. "Why break yourself even more than you are already broken?"
Sad laughter bubbled from my lips. "You must have forgotten I've been trained by Aiden before. Many years ago, but he hasn't changed-"
"He has," Anthony interrupted me. Stepping forward he clasped his hands behind his back, the soft tendrils of his midnight hair slipping down to brush his forehead. "What you remember is a young, inexperienced man who had neither the patience nor the sophistication to have honed his skill. But that was, as you said, many years ago. He's evolved, Sera, as a Master and as a man incapable of emotion or concern."
While his words sunk in, hunger drove my eyes to the tray he'd left beside the door. Shifting just slightly, Anthony twisted to follow the path of my eyes.
Turning back, satisfaction flashed in his expression, the curl to the corners of his lips drawing my focus. "Are you finally hungry? It's been at least two days since you've eaten."
He scanned my bare body from foot to head, a slow trail as he inspected and catalogued every mark, old and new. "Or judging by the bones protruding out, it's been longer than that since you've had a decent meal."
"My former Masters fed me scraps every once in a while, and the hospital food was awful. I left pretty quickly after being taken there."
"Because of the food?" he asked, his voice edged with humor.
My lip twitched, but burdened by the exhaustion, the heartache, the fear and humiliation I'd endured, I couldn't bring myself to smile fully. "Among other things."
Pulling his hands from behind his back, he stared at me for a few seconds before asking, "Would you like something to eat?"
My mouth watered at the thought of food. It didn't matter what kind. Just something that would fill the hollow ache of my stomach. Over the years, I'd learned to distrust food - and the kindness that came with it. But even when I knew all the horrible things men could put in it, I'd eat it regardless. It was better than the pain of starving.
"Yes."
"I'm pleased to hear it," he answered.
Moving my wrists, extending my fingers, I rattled the chains that bound my arms above my head. "Only problem is I can't feel my fingers to hold a fork."
Dragging a bark of laughter from his lips, my words also created sparks behind his amber eyes. "I'd be lying to say I don't enjoy the vision of you chained and helpless, but I don't plan on feeding you in the position you're in. You also have no need to worry about a fork. You won't be the one using it."
He crossed the room on a graceful stride, unbothered, unhurried, and with a sense of calm I hadn't seen in him since the moment we met. Although I wanted to remain hidden behind the walls of indifference I'd so carefully crafted over the years, I found myself peeking through fissures, actually enjoying Anthony's company despite what he'd done.
Setting two chairs facing each other in an open space between a silk covered bed and a leather bench intended for the most wicked of sensual torture, he moved to me next, his gaze easily trapping mine as he released the cuffs at my wrist, catching me at the waist with one strong arm and holding me upright while lowering me to the floor. My legs couldn't hold my weight, and I was thankful for the way he supported my body as if I weighed nothing more than a soft feather blowing in a lazy, summer breeze.
I was settled into the cushioned seat of the chair, his hands rubbing at the marks on my wrists the cuffs had caused. Slowly, his fingers traced up my arms, a decadent touch that filtered through me with promises of pleasure I wasn't sure I'd ever been permitted.
Fighting against the heady burden of my body's visceral and traitorous reaction, I closed my eyes, felt him move around me to tuck my arms behind the backrest of the chair, securing my wrists together with a small plastic tie that was tight against my skin, but not painful. Anthony swept my matted hair from my shoulders to fall loosely down my back, and as he did so, his warm breath fanned over my chilled skin, a caress so wicked that I shivered beneath it.
So focused on the manner in which he moved as he crossed the room to retrieve the tray, I was tragedy caught in splendor, a battered butterfly attempting to escape the net in which I'd been caught. My skin tightened over my bones, my lips parted on the held breath I could no longer contain. Dizziness flooded me, my eyes traveling over his elegant, sensual stride, the masculine strength and beauty of a body built for admiration.
Accosted by thoughts that, days earlier, I would have raged against until I was falling down into deep caverns of misery and dread, I imagined both Aiden and Anthony in my mind, realized that whereas Aiden was seductive in his beauty, Anthony was hypnotic, mysterious and proud. But even in the surety of his steps, the obvious strength within his muscles and the grace of his movement across the room, there was the weight of crushing sadness over his shoulders, the air of turmoil so deep and disturbing it reached for me in places I thought long dead and buried.
I knew I'd been tortured over the years since waking up in a dark place, but for some reason I couldn't explain, I was beginning to believe that Anthony, in his own life, had been tortured just the same.
With tray in hand, he sat before me, his knees brushing mine, spread out so that the weight and length of his legs trapped mine like kindling between them. Each brush of his pants legs against my skin stoked the embers coming to life inside me, and when he lifted the silver dome off the plate, when he selected a small bite of watermelon and lifted his gaze to mine, I damn near burst into flames.
While holding the fruit in one hand, the crisp red temptation glimmering beneath the light of the room, he reached up with his other hand and slid the pad of his thumb across my dry, cracked lips. The salt of his skin seeped into the fissures, the sting widening my eyes, the taste conjuring in me a feeling I could not name. Warmth maybe? Or need? Neither could be so simple an explanation for what reared its magnificent head inside me.
My lip was trapped as he crooked his thumb, plunging the taste of his skin inside my mouth. He locked the tip over my teeth, pulled my mouth open with such sensual slowness that I shivered against my seat. I expected him to smile in the knowledge that he'd won. It had to be obvious, my body reacted in all manners visible to the eye. But, instead, his lips parted just slightly, want flashed behind his amber eyes, the line of his jaw moved beneath his tan skin so slowly that it forced me to follow the light and shadow created across his cheek.
The watermelon he held just inches from my lips glistened with its sweet temptation, and when I thought he would place it in my mouth, he softly rubbed it across my bottom lip instead.
Cold, wet, crisp, it soothed the cracked flesh, seeped ever so gently into my lip as Anthony's gaze followed the motion of it across my mouth. The son of a bitch was seducing us both with something as simple as a piece of fresh fruit.
His breath was a soft beat against my face, the scent of watermelon floating up until I was helplessly ensnared. When he used his thumb to pull my mouth open wider, he slid the sweet taste across my tongue, back to front, stopping when the moisture had eased the arid agony within my mouth, before releasing me to bite and swallow it down.
I groaned, embarrassment flooding my cheeks, but I didn't care. I could feel the bit of fruit slide down the back of my throat, easing the torn flesh and beginning to fill my stomach now growling with the need for something more.
It was ridiculous how my body responded. My breasts tightened into agonizing points, swelling and throbbing with the need for touch, for a kiss, for the delicate pressure of fingertips against my skin.
Hips squirming over my seat, I didn't dare open my eyes to look at his face. Catching him staring, seeing the predator behind his gaze would only knock me off the thin precipice of control upon which I was desperately perched.
And all because of a small bite of food.
If he could do that to me with nothing more tantalizing than a piece of fruit, what could he do if I handed over my entire being into his skilled hands?
Ripping me from the echoing chamber of desire edged with agony, his voice was an exotic lilt against my skin. "How does it taste?"
Before I dared open my eyes, I felt the cold moisture of another piece against the hollow of my neck, knew the sweet juices pooled in that space until he dragged it down further between my aching breasts. I opened my eyes to find his gaze following the path he'd made down my body.
"What?"
"The taste?" he answered, not looking up to see my astonished face. "How is it?"
What was I thinking? What was I doing? What was I saying?
"Maybe you should find out for yourself."
His eyes flicked up to mine, his body leaning closer as he held my stare. I was undone when the tip of his tongue peeked out from his lips. I was overtaken when that tongue swept over the hollow of my neck to taste the juice warmed by my body.
A small moan escaped his throat, his tongue licked over his bottom lip. "Sweet," he whispered. "Ripe and perfect."
My wrists pulled at my bindings, my fingers desperate to run through his hair that smelled of the exotic spice of expensive shampoo. I didn't care if the plastic tie cut into the wounds already circling my wrists. The pain of moving pulled me away from the temptation sitting before me.
Straightening in his seat, he fed me piece after piece until the fruit was gone, my lips sliding over his fingers, my teeth grazing his skin, my eyes closing with each delectable bite.
I wanted to cry when the plate was empty, wanted to earnestly grieve the loss of a moment such as this.
"There, I want to see how that settles in your stomach before giving you anything heavier. My purpose is not to make you sick, but to heal you."
A tear rolled down my cheek, a confession over my lips. "I'm not sure I can be healed."
Our eyes locked, sorrow a flicker behind the amber color. "Only time will tell."
The door opened at that moment, my head spinning left to find the demon who'd started my own personal nightmare leaning lazily against its frame.
"Anthony, our guests have arrived."
Sighing, Anthony reached up to chase a drop of moisture from the side of my mouth with his thumb, his eyes meeting mine when he licked the taste of me from his skin. He began to rise from his seat when I whispered, "Wait. Please."
Rather than responding verbally, he simply cast a glance at Aiden, a silent thought passing between the two men until Aiden stepped out of the room and closed the door behind him.
Standing over me, Anthony stared down, his palm stroking softly over my matted hair.
My forehead creased as I stared up at him. Gathering my strength, I didn't waste the opportunity to ask him a question that lingered in my thoughts since the moment he tempted me into desire. "Is there any way for me to correct my mistake? I want you as my Master, need you in ways I've never needed any person before."
I was lying, of course, attempting to deceive him into believing I had well and truly fallen. For a moment I thought he believed me, but then reality came crashing down.
His hand stroked down, his warm palm coming to rest against my cheek. "Ah, Sera. If only it were that simple."
Pausing long enough to allow his words to sink in, he broke the silence with the heart wrenching truth. "But you belong to another man. It is to him that you owe your submission. And when you give it to him, make sure you embrace it, glorify yourself in it, trust your submission and his authority with all your heart and soul."
Tears escaped my eyes. They rolled along my cheek, puddled at his hand. "I trusted him before, and look what happened to me."
Leaning over, he pressed a kiss to my forehead, the scent of his cologne tugging at places deep inside my body. On a whisper he said, "We don't know what happened to you. You haven't told us."
A heavy breath poured out of me, carrying with it the battle that, until now, I'd refused to give up. "I'll tell you. Everything. Every single horrible detail."
He smiled, sorrow and heartache contained in the expression. "Those details are not for me. They are for your Master." His finger touched the tip of my nose before he stepped away from his chair. I watched him cross the room, place his hand on the doorknob and pause before turning back to glance at me.
"Submission is your freedom, Sera. Once you learn that, you will learn to live, learn to dance and learn to fly."
He was gone a second later, and I was left alone, bound to a chair, kept company only by the tears that continued rolling down my pain stricken expression.