Debt Inheritance (Indebted #1)(37)

He’s the monster I know. He’s not sweetness and light—but he’s mine because I choose him to be. The defiance was yet another stupid score against the beast called Jethro Hawk.

Straightening my back, I tried to figure out a way to possibly get Kite to soften—just a little—then everything would be a lot easier to bear.

Kite007: Tell me, then make me come. You’ve got two jobs to do. Do them.

Taking a deep breath, I opened a fresh message.

Needle&Thread: Tell me if this is out of bounds, but in answer to your question—why do I sound different—I suppose it’s because I feel different. Everything is different. I thought I’d always fight against different. I like normal. I like routine. I thought different would ruin me. But…then…I changed.

Kite007: Changed? You really going to make me drag this out? My cock is hard and balls want to come. Spill it, so we can get to the second part of your to-do list.

Needle&Thread: I’m the one who’s different now. It’s as if everything I’ve been dealing with suddenly doesn’t matter. It’s just gone….

Kite007: Gone?

Needle&Thread: Yes. It’s liberating, scary as hell, and confusing. But something’s changing inside—it feels as if I’m…growing up.

I sighed. He’d send something horrible back—my response had been too personal. I knew that. But I’d sent it anyway.

Kite007: Out of bounds. Get back to the subject. Let’s try this, here’s something you obviously want: I’m happy you’re growing up—makes me feel a lot f*cking easier knowing I’m not jerking off to a kinky fourteen year old. And now for want I want: Too bad for you, I’m not gone or planning to before you finish doing what you started. I’m done with the cryptic crap. Pay attention, because I’m sliding my cock into your mouth. You try to talk but you choke on my length, your voice is humming against my balls. Stop trying to communicate and settle in to your task. Suck me.

I sighed. Two emotions swirled inside—exasperation and gratefulness. He’d replied to my overshare. He hadn’t shot me down or been the pillock he usually was. Progress.

The tentative softness inside was enough to get me through the next few hours.

Shouldn’t you want more?

My heart hardened.

Kite had replied to my veiled hints for encouragement but I’d hoped…

It doesn’t matter what I hoped.

It seemed everything I wanted in this world wasn’t available—including more than one kind word from Kite. We’d been so close to a normal conversation. Learning, sharing, building a connection despite the complications of sexting.

He’d let me in for a microsecond then shut me out once again, using sex as a tool to keep me in my place and remind me I didn’t factor in his life—either as a friend or even associate. I was the unseen whore. The unpaid prostitute who lived in his phone.

I couldn’t let him hurt me. I couldn’t let him weaken me.

He’d done what I needed—reminding me I was strong enough. There was nothing else to do but finish the conversation, so I could leave the soul-sucking fantasy and return to the tragedy of my new world.

Kite007: You’re not sucking. Fine, I’ll give you some encouragement. If you blow me, I’ll return the favour. I’ll flip you onto your back, spread your legs, and bury my face between your legs. I’d bite you, f*cking you with my tongue until you forgot everything and came.

My stomach attempted a small swoop. It wasn’t romantic, but it did give me a tiny bit more warmth I needed.

Before I could reply, another message vibrated.

Kite007: Tell me where you are right now. Are you naked? Finger yourself for me. Take a photo if you’re brave.

I laughed. The sound shredded the space that Jethro had so kindly given me for the night. Laughing was the only thing I could do. Take a photo? Of what? The bruises on my palms from crawling to the kennels last night? How about the cuts on my knees?

Maybe he wants a picture of my elegant bedroom and wonderful bedfellows.

Looking up for the first time since I woke, I let the uselessness of my situation get the better of me. The bravery I’d been clutching to like a raft in a rolling ocean, splintered and drowned. Painful despair saturated my heart, weighing me down like the anchors I so often clung to.

By all standards, the kennel was sheer luxury. The roof was watertight. The floor clean and sanitary. It was even draft free.

But it wasn’t just mine. I had to share.

Squirrel, my favourite of the eleven canines I’d spent the night with, nudged my arm. I’d named him after the tree-climbing rodent thanks to his slightly bushy tail. With a doggy smile, he wheedled his way under my arm, leaning heavily against my torso.

I’d never had pets growing up. As a family, we were too busy working or travelling to exotic places to source more material and merchandise. Until last night, I’d had an adolescent fear of dogs.

That had evolved to terror when Jethro threw me inside.

I shuddered, hugging Squirrel closer to me, stealing his gentle warmth. Last night Jethro had tried to destroy me. Not through fists or rape or even harsh words. No, he tried to destroy me by removing any entitlement I had as a human. Marking me as no better than the dogs he kept.

He would’ve succeeded if my terror hadn’t mellowed into bewilderment then gratefulness. He’d done me a favour—I preferred the company of his hounds. They not only tolerated my intrusion but welcomed me into the pack.