Collateral Damage (10 page)

Yet, as much as I wanted to believe that, I had to admit, he probably
was
enough like Cyrus for Lacy's suggestion to work.

By the time she returned, I'd calmed down enough to pull off decent composure.

"So," she said as she applied cream to the most painful parts of my legs and butt.

"Have you figured out what you're going to do for Vince?"

I pursed my lips and turned my head so I could see her. "I've already had sex with him—several times. And given him a blowjob. What more is there?"

She laughed and sat back on her heels. "You're kidding, right?" She shook her head when I made it clear I wasn't. "Aww, honey, the next little while is going to be rough on you. Let me think . . . ." Snapping her fingers, she hopped to her feet. "I might have an idea. How do you feel about knives?"

"Knives?" My stomach did a little flip. "Umm, probably the same way any sane person does. Why?"

"Has he fed from you yet?"

"What?" Letting out an irritated sigh, she plunked down on the bed, making the mattress squeak. "Did he bite you?"

"Yesss." I didn't get where she was going with this.

"Good. Then he has a taste for your blood—" She giggled when I gaped at her.

"Oh, don't look so shocked. You know what they are, don't you?"

Nope. Not going there.

Gingerly rolling to my side, I winced as my wounded flesh stretched. "You just said he'd be upset about seeing my blood."

"Not your blood, the fact that he hurt you so bad while punishing you. I doubt he meant to do that." She cocked her head. "I could be wrong though. How often have you made him use the belt on you?"

"A couple of times."

"All right, maybe he
did
mean it. But he doesn't enjoy handing out punishments.

However, if you let him use a knife on you and make little cuts—if you trusted him enough to do that. Well, first of all, trust always means a lot to guys like Vince. Cyrus isn't fussed about that." Bouncing a little on the bed, she leaned forward, like she was excited about our plan. "Second of all, he'll get off on enjoying your blood without having it thinned with alcohol. He doesn't often. Not unless—well never mind that.

What do you think?"

You're insane.
But I didn't voice that thought. Instead, I nodded slowly. Vince had pierced my skin. There'd been no marks after, anywhere, but I couldn't convince myself that I'd imagined the sensation. Or his and Cyrus' exchange after. Granted, it was a little disturbing, but I had to get around the fucked-up way Vince had been raised before I could make him see that. And I'd get closer if I let him in a little more.

Maybe I was going a little insane, too, to even consider it, but really, there was no place for normal reasoning in this situation.

"Okay." I pushed myself up, doing my best to kneel despite my wounds and my stuffed ass. "I'll do it."

* * * * *

Vince came around dinnertime. While Lacy and I knelt by the bed, he set a tray on the table and then came to put a bowl of plain, rich, brown beef broth on the floor in front of me.

Brow furrowed, I watched him lean against the wall with his arms folded.

"Master?" Lacy said, sweetly.

"I'm not
your
Master." Vince gestured towards the table. "Your food is there."

She hurried to the table, digging right into the plate of ribs and French fries.

Vince cleared his throat and pointed at the bowl. "Go ahead."

I shook my head. "You haven't uncuffed my wrists."

"Very observant."

You son of a bitch.
He obviously wanted to make a point. Fine. I bent down, moving slowly and stiffly to lessen the pain, and lapped at the broth, slurping quietly as I could. Every sound mortified me. Him watching made it worse. By the time I'd gotten all I could out of the bowl, I was picturing his very bloody death at my hands.

"Good girl." He took the bowl, patted my head, and then turned to leave.

Lacy threw something at me, and it bounced off my forehead. A French fry. I scowled at her, and she mouthed 'Do it.'

Oh, yeah.
"Sir?"

He stopped, and his shoulders went stiff. "What is it, Nicole?"

"I want you to cut me." I held my breath and then said softly, "Please."

Some of the tension eased from him as he turned to Lacy.

She froze with a bone between her lips, and her skin went white.

"You put her up to this."

"She wanted a way to prove she was sorry!" She cowered in her chair as he strode towards her. "Please, please don't hurt me!"

Grabbing her arm, he towed her to the door and then pushed her into the hall.

"Go play your games with Cyrus. I'm not interested in them, and neither is she."

He slammed the door in her face and came at me. I curled up into a ball, cringed as pain lanced up the back of my thighs, lost my balance and toppled over. His hands came around under my neck, and he unhooked the leash. Then he picked me up and carried me to the bed.

"You're shaking." He stroked my back, and his breath teased the hairs around my ear. "You're scared of me."

"I screwed up. I broke my promise." I pressed my face against his chest, muffling my words. "She's right. I asked her for a way to prove how sorry I was."

Sighing, he shifted me onto the bed, took the cuffs off my wrists, and then delved into his pocket, coming out with the key to my collar. "I want
you
. Not an imitation of her. I just thought . . . anyway, you're clearly not ready for this."

The collar I hadn't wanted him to put on, I now desperately didn't want him to take off. I covered my neck with my hands and shimmied out of reach. "You said you'd keep me! Are you changing you mind?"

"Of course not."

"Then leave the collar and . . . and if you won't cut me, do something else. Please, please do something that will make things right. I want—no—I need to know I belong to you. No matter what happens." I was sobbing, sniffling, no longer sure how much of this was an act and how much was real. His disappointment made me feel alone. Here,
alone
was very bad. "Let me belong to you."

A high-pitched scream from the hall, coming from right outside my door, turned me into a blubbering mess.
That will be me. That will be me.

"Here. You left this in my room." Vince put the key to my collar away and then brought out the mp3 player. "Focus on the music, and try to relax, little one. I have an idea."

After hooking my cuffs to his belt, Vince swaddled me in a white sheet from the bed, made sure my ears were plugged with the earbuds, and then carried me all the way up to his room.

For the first time, I got to see Vince's room with the lights on. Cuddled up on a big arm chair set between a tall metal lamp and a bookcase, I looked over the room while he stripped his bed down to the fitted sheets. The décor was minimalistic. One solid-looking oak dresser, the reading area where I sat, a small corner desk with a laptop. At the end of his king-sized bed was a trunk with a black, padded top.

Once he was finished with the bed, he went to the trunk and shuffled through it.

Then he tossed four long straps and two cuffs—much like the ones I'd worn earlier—

onto the center of the bed. He didn't have a headboard or a footboard—the bed was on a plain, black platform—but he attached the straps to something under each of the four corners of the mattress.

"Come here, Nicole." He waited a few beats, nodded slowly, and then perched on the edge of the bed. Hands on his knees, he settled in like he was willing to wait all night.

Every nerve in my body grew taut enough to snap. I realized he'd give me the time I needed to come to terms to things on my own. My whole being loosened up.

Despite the dull ache rolling up from my butt and thighs, I was able to cross the room without much difficulty. Able to relax at his side and smile when he wrapped his arms around me for a quick hug.

"You make me very happy, Nicole, you know that?" He toyed with a strand of my hair, a wistful tilt to his lips making me wonder whether he was thinking about me, or someone else. "Every time you stop faking, stop hiding. Every time you're truly with me."

At his words, my pulse quickened, and my eyes filled with unshed tears. This worried me. It should all be fake. But it wasn't. "Where else could I possibly be?"

"You could be in your room, by yourself. I was willing to leave you for a bit. I can't offer you much peace and solitude." His jaw ticked. A hint that my training not being completely under his control pissed him off. Then he ran his tongue over his teeth. "But I can offer you tonight."

"You'd let me go back to my room instead of . . . ?" I glanced at the bed.
Instead of
what exactly?
"But why?"

"Why not?" He shrugged. "Forced—or pretend—submission, means nothing. I'm warning you, though, if you give it to me, you can't take it back if you lose your nerve."

You can leave now.
Reason prompted. But both he and I knew I wouldn't. The opportunity to get close to him was too good to pass up—no, that was a lie. Truthfully, I wanted to stay.

"Nicole?" Vince held out his hand.

A gesture to show the words weren't necessary. I bit my lip and lay my wrist on his palm.

"That's my girl." His wink said he'd caught on to how much I liked him saying that. His lips curved a bit as he put the cuffs on my wrists. "Yes. I caught that. And I will do my best never to call you 'good girl.' Cyrus spoiled that particular endearment.

Besides, I need you to know . . . ." He ran one finger down my cheek. "I know you're not an animal."

I couldn't stop my tears. I believed him.

He kissed them away. "Lie down and get comfortable. As you may have guessed, I plan to use restraints, but I don't want you to be afraid."

As I settled on the bed and let him attach the straps to my wrist cuffs, he continued speaking, his tone soft and deep. Lulling, keeping fear at bay. A kind of heaviness came over me as he bound my ankles, almost like falling into a trance. His voice caressing, he gently massaged the soles of my feet, then ran a finger beneath one cuff, then the other. Moving up, he pressed deep into the muscles of my calf.

I groaned. "You didn't have to tie me up for this."

"But I did. You could hurt yourself if you panic." He switched to the other calf and then kneaded both my thighs as he worked his way up my body. "This is to help you drift into a place where you will experience both pain and pleasure in a different way. It's very important that you learn to do this."

"Why would I panic?" My lips hardly moved as I asked. The only thing I saw happening at that moment was me drifting off to sleep.

"Silence, love. Just listen." He splayed his hands over my belly and hit a ticklish spot under my ribs with the tips of his fingers. "I—"

I giggled and writhed. "Please tell me you're not going to tickle me!"

He chuckled. "Not this time. And I said silence."

"Not like you really meant it."

"True enough." Sliding further up, he framed my breasts with his thumbs and fingers. "Now as I was saying about pain."

"I'd rather not talk about pain." I met his level gaze and frowned. "My butt and thighs are still sore, and I think you've done something irrevocable to my asshole with that thing you put inside me."

His head tilted. "Irrevocable. We're being quite dramatic tonight, aren't we?"

"Please take it out?" I batted my eyelashes and made a little moue with my lips.

Lifting my breasts, watching me as he brought them to his mouth, Vince flicked one nipple with his tongue, then the other. "Pain"—he sucked on a nipple until it tightened into a hard, sensitive peak—"can be surprisingly erotic."

My nipple tingled as he grazed it with his teeth. He bit down, and my back arched. White-hot currents sizzled around my nerves. Moisture gathered below, and I gasped as he slipped a finger inside me.

"The right amount releases chemicals into your blood, giving you a natural high."

He bit the other nipple, and my hips bucked. Another finger joined the first. "Like any high, it's better if you don't fight it."

"Ah!" Wiggling, jutting my hips up and down, I tried to fuck myself on his fingers. Climax hovered so, so close. I whimpered when he withdrew his fingers and rolled off me. "Vince—"

"Soon, sweetie." He went to the chest at the foot of the bed. "Patience."

Struggling not to whine, and not to tug at the restraints that kept me from giving myself a release, I watched Vince bring a leather bag to the bed and place it by my hip.

He opened the bag and laid out several unfamiliar objects . . . and several familiar ones.

The red plastic container—a cold sweat broke out over my flesh.

"Vince?"

He dropped several rows of individually wrapped hypodermic needles onto the bed. "Yes?"

"What are you doing?" My eyes widened as he picked up a small, white square packet from the supplies. "What is that?"

"An antiseptic wipe. I don't want to risk infection." He began meticulously cleaning my stomach, from just below my ribs, to just above my pelvis.

I began twisting my hips to avoid the strokes of the cold tissue.

"Be still." He took out a fresh wipe and swabbed around and inside my belly button. "You have to trust me."

"I do not!"

"Do not trust me, or do not have to?" After shoving the wipes into the red box, he snapped on some gloves. Then he tore one needle from a row and gave me a hard look.

"Answer me."

"Neither." I panted. Hot and cold spilt over me in waves. My stomach muscles spasmed. "Why are you doing this?"

"Because you asked me to." He opened the package and then bared the needle, holding the purple hub between his thumb and forefinger. "This will hurt a great deal less than a knife."

I jerked away from him as he tried to pinch a bit of flesh in the middle of my stomach.

He sighed. "Unless you move."

"I've changed my mind. Let me go." I licked the sweat off my upper lip. "I'll accept your offer of a night alone."