Embracing Fate: A Captive Hearts Novel Page 17

  There was nothing about me hidden from him. Naked or clothed, he knew every inch of my body. He’d seen all of me.

  But, he had yet to force himself on me.

  Who did that?

  Evidently a man who spent millions on a woman he never touched.

  No one in their right mind would spend that amount of cash and not indulge in what it gave them. But My Monster wasn’t most men.

  I had to remind myself of that as he sat beside my bed at night, reading aloud to me from our book. Each night, he lulled me to restless sleep with the magic of his voice. I think he enjoyed reading to me because he worked hard to make all the voices distinct, set the mood, and make the story come to life.

  He was actually very good at it, and I hated how much I looked forward to the times when we shared something as simple as a story.

  Secretly, I hoped we finished the book before I recovered. I treasured those moments because I could forget the rest of the horrible things he did. I know it made no sense, but I adored the monster who sat beside my bed and read to me.

  Nights were private, nonthreatening times. He left me alone to sleep. These were moments where I cuddled beneath the comforter and allowed myself to lower my defenses and tumble into the worlds he created by the power of his voice alone.

  Days brought the challenges of his rules and protocols. He instructed me in how he expected me to act. More often than not, I failed. He told me what he wanted. I tried to comply. When I failed, swift and painful punishments followed.

  Those punishments never let me forget my place or the very real threat to my safety I faced each day.

  I lost count of the number of times he took me over his knee, but I marveled at his restraint. The spankings excited him. The evidence of his arousal poked me in my belly each time. And yet, he still hadn’t done anything other than touch me. No kisses. The dreaded rape never came. His touch remained oddly platonic. Intimate and affectionate, the massages he gave were the most sensual, nonsexual, experiences I ever endured.

  And I did endure them.

  I didn’t want to be soothed by his touch, yet I relaxed beneath his hand. The foot rubs curled my toes, but released the tension bunched in my muscles. He massaged my arches and worked my calves until I became putty in his hands. The knots in my spine, shoulders and arms melted away beneath his deft touch.

  And I can’t describe the exquisite pleasure when he dug his knuckles into the tight cords of my neck or ran his fingers through my hair. He massaged my scalp; magic fingers attacking all my pressure points until I surrendered in blissful defeat. When he gently tugged on my hair, lifting from the roots, I floated in a beautiful place.

  Not once did I worry about him touching my breasts, or his fingers delving between my thighs. He stayed far away from anything remotely sexual.

  But my senses? He played my body like a master, controlling me with nothing but the sureness of his touch. I couldn’t process the dichotomy of my life. The monster who touched me with the sweetest softness had no problem making me scream with the power of his hand.

  We had been at this for what seemed like forever and it was time for his arrival. A glance at the clock told me I had only a couple minutes to properly greet him.

  The demands he made increased with each day. I wanted to stay in bed. Since the auction, I hadn’t had a single restful night and I felt I could sleep for a week straight. Yet another of the many wretched symptoms I endured.

  With a groan, I forced myself from bed and prepared for his arrival. I found it odd that I still didn’t know his name. He forced me to call him Sir, but in my head, he was My Monster.

  I slipped on a white dress. I had more clothes now. Whenever I achieved one of his milestones, rewards followed. Dresses were one of those, although panties and bras were still denied me.

  With a minute to spare, I knelt in front of the door. His arrival, always punctual, heralded the start of our day and continued my training. At nine sharp, the lock to my door disengaged. I leaned forward and pressed my forehead to the floor. My arms went straight out, palms to the floor in front of me. A whole-body shudder overtook me because these sessions brought unsettled emotions. I was beginning to feel things I shouldn’t.

  The sharp slap of his heels was the only sound in the room except for my ragged breathing. My heart rate spiked, and I bit at my lower lip in a desperate attempt to hold on to my hatred.

  But that was impossible.

  The more time I spent around this man, the harder it was to ignore his overwhelming presence, his tender touch, and the smile which did strange things to my insides.

  “How did you sleep, Clara?”

  The low tonal inflections of his voice danced down my spine, awakening nerves and sending sensations flooding through my body. I refused to acknowledge what those might mean and struggled to remind myself he was my adversary.

  “Poorly, Sir.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that. How are your symptoms?”

  “Maybe a little better, Sir. Thank you for asking.”

  He appreciated when I showed gratitude, so I made sure to thank him often. This man controlled my fate. I would kill him with kindness and win him over, or die in the process. Once he saw me as a person, a woman he adored, maybe even loved, then that’s when I would get him to free me.

  “When was the last time you threw up?”

  “Night before last, Sir.” The hard floor pressed against my knees, but I didn’t dare move from my position.

  “Good, that seems to be improving.” He walked in a circle around me, examining me from all sides.

  “I suppose so, Sir.”

  “And the cramping and diarrhea?”

  Talking about my bowel movements made me cringe, but he insisted in going over all my symptoms each morning. We spent nearly twelve hours together every day since my arrival.

  “You did not make your bed, Clara.” He gave a low tsk.

  “No Sir, I did not. It was hard getting out of bed this morning. I slept in as long as I could.”

  “Understood, but from now on, you will greet me with your room in order. The time for leniency is at an end. We’ll add that to your list of infractions.”

  My list grew by the day, and it was a struggle to remember all the things expected of me.

  I ground my teeth and gave the robotic reply. “Yes, Sir.”

  “And one more thing, Clara…”

  “Yes, Sir?”

  “We’ll lighten up on the honorific. You’re required to use it only when answering a direct question, or when you wish to please me. Is that understood?”

  “Yes, Sir.” He couldn’t see my joy with my face plastered to the floor, but this was how our day began; me kneeling in supplication while he questioned and quizzed.

  “You were spanked five times yesterday. What were your infractions?”

  I hated this part. It made me question my sanity. I should be focused on how not to get spanked, but this question had me obsessing over the spankings. I didn’t like where my mind traveled because none of those thoughts made any sense.

  “I was late to greet you.” That carried an automatic twenty swats. He wanted to spare me too much pain, and I went over his knee whenever the count hit twenty. “I failed to call you Sir fifteen times, and I rolled my eyes.” Well, at least three and a half of those punishments would disappear if I no longer had to say Sir every time I opened my mouth.

  “Correct.” He sounded amused, but then his voice hardened. “From now on, when you fail to call me Sir, I’ll know it’s willful disobedience, therefore, the count will increase from five to ten for each infraction. Is this understood?”

  I gritted my teeth and nearly growled. “Yes, Sir.”

  “Now tell me, what were you thinking during the spankings?”

  These were the questions I hated most. He dug in, demanding I explain in intimate detail everything I thought, and felt, during his punishments.

  “I was thinking how much I hated you, Sir.”

&
nbsp; “What have you learned about telling the truth?”

  I gritted my teeth. “The truth binds us together.” His words spilled from my lips, dragged out by the force of his will; that and the near constant repetition. I felt like a robot most days, spewing back the phrases he forced me to say.

  We spent most of our day in this odd back and forth.

  “And when you disparage the truth?”

  “I deny what we are, Sir.”

  “And what are we?”

  “Monst—um, Master and slave, Sir.” I balled my hands into fists. “I’m sorry Sir, that slipped out.”

  He came to me and pressed his hand between my shoulder blades. “I take the word for the endearment it is, but you must not become comfortable using it. I won’t tolerate it slipping out in front of others.”

  “Others?”

  “Yes. What did you think? That I would keep you here forever?”

  Chapter 21

  Others? Why did this fill me with such fear?

  Because you allowed yourself to think he cared about you, idiot!

  I hated that incriminating voice in my head. It was always right.

  Did this represent an opportunity for escape?

  “Answer my question, slave.”

  The harshness of his tone said my tender monster had left the premises, leaving in its place the seething beast he barely controlled.

  What would happen when his restraint finally crumbled?

  You’ll be raped, silly. This is just a reprieve.

  This question came at me often because that day would come. I had to constantly remind myself this man was evil. He was not my friend. Not my savior.

  I had to guard my heart against the tender moments we shared because in those moments I saw a man who could unravel my heart.

  Did I think he would keep me here forever?

  Yes!

  That’s exactly what I thought.

  “I thought that was why you locked me in this room, Sir. Of course, I thought you’d keep me here forever.”

  “You are wrong.”

  “I suppose so.”

  “Watch your tone with me.” Gravel rumbled in his voice, a warning that I stepped out of place. I was standing on thin ice with cracks spreading out beneath me.

  “Forgive me.” In the spirit of Being smart, I swallowed my pride and groveled. “I didn’t mean to be disrespectful.”

  “It seems I have not rid you of your spirit just yet.”

  “Is that your plan?”

  “Does that surprise you?”

  I swallowed against a thickness in my throat and debated how to play this. Fatigue decided my path. I didn’t have it in me to fight him.

  “If I’m being honest? Yes, it does.”

  “Interesting. Explain what you mean.”

  “You don’t seem like the kind of man who wants…”

  “Wants what?” His voice cut through the air, and my heart shuddered.

  I should fear our exchange, but I was too tired, and yes, I was a little confused.

  “You don’t seem like the kind of man who wants a sniveling…”

  “No man wants a sniveling anything. Use a different word.”

  A different word?

  “Okay…” I needed a moment to think, but then it hit me. “You don’t want someone who’s broken, who’s afraid of you, and does what you say out of fear. You enjoy our talks. You want to know what I’m thinking. You…” What was it he wanted?

  “And?” He prodded me, genuinely interested in my thoughts. Maybe a bit too eager for me to finish.

  “You want me to follow your rules, not out of fear, but because…” My voice drifted at the sudden realization. Like a ton of bricks, it hit me.

  He wanted me to want him, to want this…whatever this was.

  My shoulders slumped when I realized what it was he wanted, and I shook my head. “It’ll never happen.”

  “Is that what you think?”

  My fingers curled until my nails bit into the palms of my hands. “I hate you.”

  “I don’t believe that’s the case.”

  “I don’t want to be here. I’ll never want this.”

  “Never say never, Clara. You have no idea the things you’ll learn to love.”

  “You’re wrong.”

  “Am I?”

  I was not behaving as an appropriately docile slave, but he encouraged me to speak my mind. It was as if he craved my thoughts. All of them. Even the ones which painted him in a bad light.

  My Monster.

  It was not an endearing term, although he had somehow turned it into one. There was shame in admitting not all my thoughts about him were bad because I should hate everything about him.

  “Tell me what it is you hate about me.”

  Without hesitation, I replied. “I hate your rules. I hate how you make them so that I fail. I hate that you use your rules to toss me over your knee because you like hurting me.”

  If he wanted honesty, I had no problem giving it to him. He promised I would never get in trouble for telling the truth. I know how foolish it was believing his promise, yet I did. I believed he would never go back on his word.

  He promised to punish me and never once stayed his hand.

  He promised to reward good behavior, and my growing wardrobe testified he was a man of his word.

  He promised I could always tell the truth without fear of consequence.

  He also promised I would pay if he ever caught me in a lie.

  I tested his promise daily because I never once held back in giving my thoughts. I kept to his rigid rules, showing deference and respect as he demanded, but when he asked what I thought, I told him everything—the good, the bad, and the ugly.

  I hadn’t the first time, holding everything in, but that landed me across his lap. Withholding the truth wasn’t allowed, and if he sensed I wasn’t being honest, my ass burned for hours.

  “Only two of those statements are true. Now, tell me which one is false and why?”

  I curled my fingers against the carpet. He was keeping me in what he called the Welcoming Pose far longer than normal. I knew how this game was played; instant and complete obedience led to reward. To defy him resulted in pain. How many times I went over his knee was something I determined. Not him. I didn’t dare tell him my innermost thoughts, but could I afford to lie?

  “I sense your hesitation, Clara. Haven’t you learned that won’t be tolerated?”

  “I’m sorry, Sir.” The words tumbled from my lips in a rush to appease him. “I was trying to remember what I said.”

  “Is that so?”

  Crap, he knew I was being evasive.

  My voice trembled. “Yes.”

  “Let me refresh your memory. You said that I use my rules to toss you over my knee because I like hurting you. Is that true or false?”

  “True.” I knew where he was headed and my shoulders slumped in surrender. He had me and I would pay.

  “Very good. You said I make the rules so that you fail. True or false?”

  “Definitely true.” I would’ve given a vigorous nod, but with my forehead plastered to the floor that wasn’t possible. “You want to spank me.”

  His low throaty chuckle sent a warm shudder down my spine. “I do enjoy spanking you.” He made every effort to show me exactly how aroused he became each time I went over his lap.

  “That leaves us with only one other thing, and you know how I feel about the truth. You said you were thinking how much you hate my rules, but I know you like them. You’re finding more out about yourself than you ever knew. So, tell me, sweet Clara, do you hate my rules?”

  “I don’t like them.”

  How was I going to get out of this? The truth was incomprehensible. His rules spoke to me on a level I didn’t understand, and I wasn’t prepared for how the rigid structure quieted my mind. I wasn’t ready to accept what that might mean.

  He gave a snort. “From the way your body is shaking, I think a choice is in order.”<
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  I didn’t like his choices. Choosing between the lesser of two evils still forced me to choose evil.

  “Admit the lie and we continue with our day. Or deny that my rules bring you a sense of peace and accept five strikes of the cane. We haven’t explored the cane yet, my dear, and trust me when I say you’re not ready to feel its bite. Consider carefully how you wish to proceed.”

  I wanted to sit up. According to his rules, I couldn’t move until he granted permission and released me from the subservient pose. I could, but that would result in five strikes of his unrelenting hand. The way he spoke about the cane decided my course.

  “It’s not a lie to say I hate your rules. You assume too much.”

  “Is that so?”

  “Yes, Sir. I don’t like your rules. Not all of them make sense, many are degrading, and—”

  “You’re being evasive.” His sharp retort made me jump.

  “Not evasive, I hate your rules, that’s the truth.”

  “But not the whole truth,” he added. “Trust me with the truth.”

  “So you can use it against me?”

  He wanted to use that truth against me, and I couldn’t stomach giving him the ammunition he needed to destroy me.

  “Not against you. It’s my desire to use the truth to help you.”

  “Help me? How does any of this help me?”

  “You feel those answers stirring in your heart. You don’t want to admit it, but you will. You’ll embrace your destiny.”

  “I want to go home.”

  “You are home.”

  “No.” I refused to believe it. “This is not my home.”

  “Wherever I am, that is your home, Clara. I’m your Master. You haven’t yet accepted it, but you will. With time, you may even embrace it. Know that you can never escape it. The life you knew is gone. I am your everything.”

  A sob escaped me. He slammed his version of truth at me while I grasped for any vestige of freedom. I slowly realized his words might be true and hated it. There was no way I was escaping this fate.

  “You worry I’ll use the truth against you, but your words give you away. You crave the solace my rules bring, and you’re discovering something else.”