Enslaved (Devil's Kiss) (3 page)

“We used to mean everything to each other.” He drew in a breath. “I came back for you, Kayla.”

I wanted to lean on him so badly. He’d been my rock, the one person I could trust no matter what. But leaning on him was off-limits. Gage would go ballistic if he found out I was talking to him. “Eve and I will be okay,” I whispered, needing to believe it was true more than anything. “Dr. Gordon mentioned a clinical trial.”

“She’s a fighter,” he said. “Just like her mom.”
 

No three-year old should have to fight so hard to live. Another piece of my heart broke off and shattered. If I lost Eve . . . I couldn’t fathom living.
 

“Is there anything I can do?” he asked, looking about as helpless as I felt.

I shook my head. Ian couldn’t step back into the role of protector and comforter . . . lover. Things change, and as much as I hated to admit it, the only person who could help me now was my sadistic boss. I’d do whatever Gage wanted, so long as he made sure my daughter had a fighting chance. With his money and resources . . .
 

“I just need some time. Please, Ian.”
 

He ran his hand over his mouth and reluctantly nodded. “You know where to find me.”

“I know.”

He went to the door, and I sensed him wavering. “I’ve missed you,” he said as he slipped from the room.
 

I stretched out next to Eve and pulled her into my arms. “I’ve missed you too.”
 

4. S
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It was fifteen past nine when I pounded on Gage’s door.

He jerked it open, and I immediately recognized the hardened glint in his eyes. He halted and did a double take. I could only imagine what I must look like; tear-streaked face, drenched hair and clothes. I was broken on the inside and tattered on the outside. I imagined my eyes were depths of vacancy.
 

“I—” My voice hitched on a sob. Until that moment, I had’t allowed myself to acknowledge how scared I was. I’d had so much hope that the treatment would work. Now it felt as if someone was gripping my heart and squeezing a little more as each second passed.
 

“What’s wrong?”

“It’s Eve . . .”

“Come here.” He grabbed my arm and pulled me inside, and then pulled my shivering body into his arms. “What happened?”

I clung to him. “The treatment isn’t working.” A hiccup escaped as he rubbed some warmth back into my body. “I need more money. There’s one last trial her doctor wants to try . . .” I untangled from his embrace and fell to my knees. “Please, Master. I’ll do anything you want.”
 

His hands sifted through my hair. “I’m a bastard for being so turned on right now. What I want is to hurt you. Will you let me?”

Nothing could hurt worse than the terror eating away at my insides. “Yes, Master. Do as you wish. Just save my daughter.”
 

He pulled my hair until I tilted my head back. “Your lack of faith in me is insulting. I told you I’d take care of her.”

“This is an additional cost, Master. A really expensive one.”
 

“You have my assurance. I’ll drop off another check at the hospital first thing in the morning.” He paused, and his steady gaze froze me to the spot. “So long as you fully submit to me.”
 

“Master . . . I have.” I forced the words out. “I do.”
 

He shook his head slowly, as if taking the time to weigh his words. “No, you haven’t. Not completely. There’s a strong, stubborn . . .
independent
. . . part of you that still resists.”
 

I parted my lips, but nothing came out; what he said was true.
 

“Tonight won’t be easy.” His gaze lowered to my mouth. “I’m going to push you to your limits. I’m tired of playing games. I shouldn’t have to punish you so often.” He let go of my hair, and his face hardened with determination. “You want my help? I want your total submission. Are we clear?”

I searched his eyes for a spark of empathy and found the slightest hint of an ember. “Yes, Master.”
 

“Did you break any of my rules?”

I chewed on my lip. “I made myself . . .” I really didn’t want to say the words. My cheeks warmed at the memory because I’d been thinking of him as I came.

“Go on,” he prompted.
 

“I made myself orgasm.”
 

“How many times?”

“Once.”
 

“Anything else?”
 

“I haven’t eaten much today.”
 

“I see.” He frowned. “What is your least favorite food?”
 

I squinted up at him, wondering where he was going with this. “Master?”

“Answer the question.”
 

“I guess . . . fish.”

“Then you will eat fish every night this week for dinner. I’m sure this menu will make you grateful for the one I expect you to follow.”

I became nauseated at the thought, but wisely remained quiet. He’d proven time and again that arguing or questioning him wouldn’t change the outcome of what he decided, and I couldn’t afford to piss him off. I needed to be on my best behavior . . .

Do it for Eve.

“As for your forbidden orgasm, you’ll be denied again tonight. Get up.”

My stomach dropped as I stood. Wordlessly, he led me down to the basement. Rather than turn on the lights, Gage took the time to set several candles ablaze. “Strip.”
 

I obeyed his command without hesitation. Our eyes never wavered as I shed my clothing piece by piece. My nipples ached, forming two hard pebbles that drew his hungry gaze, and the magic spot between my legs began to throb. I swallowed the self-loathing that rose in my throat.
 

“Leave the heels on. I like them.” He held out a hand. “Come.”
 

I slid my hand into his, and in that moment—a moment I instinctively recognized as a pivotal one—I knew I’d succumbed. I was at his mercy, and there was no going back. The fear still lingered, as did hatred, but renewed purpose filled me. The confusing part was how I hated and craved him so much at the same time.
 

Gage led me over to the big X on the wall. I couldn’t stop shivering as he encircled my wrists and ankles with chains.
 

“I’m so cold, Master.”

“You won’t be for long.” He pushed me against the wall, and his dexterous fingers locked me in place. I stood spread-eagled, naked except for my heels.
 

“I want to void your safe word, but I’ll leave the choice up to you.”

Why did this feel like a trick? “Why, Master?”

“It’ll be a sign that you’ve given yourself to me completely. You said you’d do anything, and I believe you. Will you relinquish your safe word?”

I swallowed hard. “For tonight?”

“No, until our contract ends.”
 

A shiver drifted across my breasts. He wanted to shatter my last thread of resistance. There would be nothing to stop him from doing as he wished—not that there was much now that would cease his torture. But knowing I’d had the option to end it at any time . . . somehow that small, inconsequential thing made his demands bearable. Now, if I couldn’t handle what he dished out, my only option would be to flee and turn myself in.

“I-I can’t use it, Master. I can’t go to jail.”

“It’s a yes or no question, Kayla.”
 

I wanted to say no. Something deep inside—self-preservation, perhaps—set the word on the tip of my tongue. Yet . . . if I eliminated the option, there would be no way out. I’d never have to face the temptation of wagering Eve’s life against my pain and torture. She’d be safer this way.
 

“Yes.”
 

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, Master.”

He moved quickly, taking my sight with a blindfold, the ability to beg and plead with a ball gag. Nausea rose with panic, and my heartbeat thundered in my ears as he silenced everything with earplugs. I could hear nothing past the roar in my head, see nothing beyond the suffocating darkness pressing on me. Gage had effectively isolated me within my own mind. I made protesting, terrified pleas—garbled muffles to my plugged ears—and pulled against the restraints. Legs trembling violently, I barely had the strength to keep myself upright. Had I not been chained to the wall, I would have crumbled to the floor.
 

What have I done?

At the first graze of his teeth to my nipple, every muscle in my body stiffened. I held my breath, not knowing if he planned to serve pain or pleasure, and not knowing was excruciating. He sucked my nipple into the scorching cavity of his mouth. I wasn’t sure if I whimpered or moaned—maybe it was a little of both. His fingers teased my other breast, and he trailed a hand down my stomach, making my muscles quiver beneath his touch. He dipped a finger into my wetness, teasing a moment before he pulled away.
 

Nothing could have prepared me for the first strike between my thighs. I would have screamed if he’d left me with the choice. Good God, he was whipping my most intimate place. He wasn’t kidding when he said he wanted to hurt me. My legs cramped with each strike, and I sobbed for mercy as tears escaped the blindfold.
 

Several long minutes passed. I was beginning to relax when the heat of his mouth replaced the whip. I jerked to my toes as his tongue swirled the pain away with expert strokes, delving deeper as he simultaneously released my ankles from the restraints. He lifted me, urged my legs around his shoulders, and probed my ass with a finger as he kissed me intimately. The closer his tongue brought me to oblivion, the more I gave myself over to him.
 

I wanted to come so badly—was certain I begged for it in muffled pleas—but knew it was off-limits. Gage Channing knew how to take a woman to the edge, and he was even better at pulling back at the last second. He did it relentlessly. Tears dripped from my chin onto my heaving breasts, and I could think of nothing but how I wish he’d let me come . . . let me fall into oblivion where nothing had the power to touch me.
 

He abruptly pulled away, leaving me suspended in a combination of anticipation and apprehension. I had no way to measure time, and the longer he left me there—bound, gagged, unable to see, hear, or speak—the closer I reached hysteria. Where was he? Surely he wouldn’t leave me alone like this? In the midst of my thundering heartbeat, I suddenly remembered his words over the weekend.
 

“You need to learn to trust me.”

Was this a test? Gage wasn’t careless—he’d said as much himself. He was probably standing in front of me, enjoying my internal struggle not to let blinding panic take over. I couldn’t help but wonder what made a man like him tick. He’d certainly pushed me to my limits and beyond, and I was positive he was sporting a raging erection at witnessing my helplessness.
 

I jerked when something cold pressed against my nipples, and when he clamped them to an unbearable pinch, I screeched around the gag, my throat on fire from the strain. Only his tongue on my clit had the power to distract me. He took me to the edge again, almost pushed me over, but like the cruel sadist he was, he pulled away at the last second. Gage removed the gag, blindfold, earplugs . . . released my hands. I slumped into his arms, and his mouth plundered mine as he carried me to bed. We dipped into the mattress as one.
 

“Do you belong to me?” Bracing above me, he looked into my eyes.
 

“Yes, Master,” I mumbled, studying him through the haze. “Why do you like to hurt me?”

He brushed a lock of hair out of my eyes. Several moments went by, in which he ran his hands through my hair, trailed his fingers down my collarbone, teased the valley between my breasts. He pulled on the clamps and yanked painfully.

“Knowing that I can do anything to you, that I can bring you intense pain or pleasure . . . there’s no better feeling than that.”

His mouth was on mine before I was able to respond. He removed the clamps and fondled my breasts, then squeezed and pinched, refusing to let go until I begged him to stop. Sitting back long enough to unbutton his slacks, he kicked them off before carelessly flinging them across the room. He attacked my mouth again, burying his hands in my hair as he wedged apart my legs. I moaned deep in my throat as he slid into me.

This was not the Gage I’d come to know over the weekend. This man was different, his brutality in direct contrast with his gentleness; he confused the heck out of me. So did my eager response to him. He laced our fingers together and held my hands to the bed. Every thrust was sensual yet demanding, each plunge a testament of his possession and power.
 

“Look at me, Kayla.”

 
I found his eyes and couldn’t have looked away if I tried.
 

“Who am I?”

“My Master . . .” I curled my fingers around his until my nails bit into his skin. He didn’t even flinch. I arched up to meet his thrusts. “I want you,” I gasped. “Let me come, Master.”

“No.” He let go of my hands and gripped my hair, yanking my head back hard. “Control it, you don’t have my permission. I’ll deny you all weekend if you disobey me.”
 

“Oh, God! Please . . . I can’t . . . please . . .”

He pulled out and pumped his cock in the palm of his hand, until he spilled onto my stomach.
 

I stared at him in shock. I’d been so out of my mind, I’d failed to notice that he hadn’t used a condom. The mixture of our heavy breathing filled the basement for several long moments. Gage broke it with a voice left husky from his orgasm.

“I want nothing more than to make you come. When I do, you’ll never want to leave me.” He collapsed beside me and rolled onto his back.