Tragic Beauty (Beauty & The Darkness #1)(52)

My eyelids droop, and I wonder if I’ll pass out this time, but he opens his hand just enough for me to stay awake. “I could hear Travis crying, from the seat over, but all I heard was your voice, saying, ‘Stop,’ over and over again, like some record player that was skipping. I went and sat back down next to Red, laid my head back and closed my eyes, all the while hearing your soft, sweet voice, over and over, and thinking about one goddamn thing—how hard your nipples had been when you were standing. I swear, Ava, from then on, you were like this madness inside my head, I never could get past. I knew then, you would be mine. You would always be mine.

“And I had it all set up too, didn’t I? Then I waited. And waited. And waited. Then you went and did what you did.” He pauses, and my lungs go hungry again.

“But,” he says with a sigh. “I got you to marry me because of all that. And now I have your obedience too. It stings like a motherfucker—let me tell you what—knowing you obey me for him, but it gives me leverage, doesn’t it? Leverage I might of not had with just your ranch, or even those horses and that old man. But for him, you’ll do anything I ask.”

He keeps a hold of my neck, but gives me a breath to keep me conscious, then with his other hand, tugs up my shirt and reaches under to fondle my breast. “You’ll let me touch you.”

When my nipple hardens, he pinches it until I whimper. “Let me hurt you.”

He slides his hand down and shoves it between my legs. “Let me pleasure you.”

I gasp when he sinks his fingers inside me, while his other hand closes tight around my neck once more. The lingering hunger for a release is still there from earlier, but his words are too painful. I can’t get past it, making his pleasure so hard to take. But he keeps at it, moving back and forth inside me, then circling me in that place he knows so well.

“But that will change, Ava,” he says. “I know it will take some time, but I’m a patient man. Or at least I’ve learned to be. And eventually, you’ll do it for me. You’ll do everything for me. Won’t you, my little slave girl.”

I come on his hand, not because I want to, but because he knows how to make me do those things. He puts his fingers in my mouth and I lick them clean like I’m supposed to, his grip still making me dizzy.

He finally lets me go and air floods my lungs. “You’ll clean today. Supplies are under the sink. You can start with the come stain on the chair.”

When he leaves, I’m left staring at the mountains. They don’t look so beautiful anymore.





CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO




Ava




I used to like to clean. Even at my old house, when I got it all done up nice, and my father would get drunk and angry and destroy it all, I still liked getting it back nice again. I don’t know why. Maybe because that place was mine, or at least as mine as it could be. It was all I had then. Even those horses—as much as I loved them, they weren’t mine. And the Hanley’s, as much as they took care of me, they weren’t mine. But the house was. And the land was. My father didn’t care about those things, but I sure did.

But those things aren’t mine anymore.

Nothing’s mine.

When I get the bucket of cleaning supplies out and wipe down the chair, I find myself craving nothing but my dark little corner of the closet

He says this is my home, but it isn’t.

It’s not mine.

Nothing here’s mine.

But he said to clean, so I clean.

I finish the dining room, polishing up the dark oak farm table and sideboard, then move onto the kitchen, where I wipe down the sink, the rust granite counters and the stainless steel stove that’s set into a stone wall with a large copper hood. The fridge, freezer, and dishwasher have the same look as the cabinets, a dark rustic brown that ties in with the dining room set, and I wipe those down too, along with the built in double ovens and microwave. Above me, thick wood beams hover, looking down on me while I move onto the large island in the middle, covered in a thick dark butcher’s block, with a bunch of copper pots and pans hanging above it. There’s hardly anything on the counters, and the appliances look like they’ve never even been used, so it doesn’t take long to finish that part up. I find a dry-mop and a vacuum in a side closet, and start on the hardwood floors, which take a little longer, then vacuum the Navajo rug under the dining room table. When I’m done I look around, making sure I haven’t missed anything. I don’t like thinking this, but it’s a nice kitchen. It’s not the modern luxury like what Gavin had, but it’s still got that expensive feel to it. Only this is rustic, and strangely tasteful for a beast to call home.

I’m about to move on when I realize I hadn’t checked inside the fridge to see if it needs cleaning. When I open it, I step back and blink. I keep blinking, and blinking, at nothing but…bread. Six loaves of Roman Meal bread. That’s it. Nothing more. And when I open the matching freezer alongside, all I see is…Roman Meal bread. Loaves and loaves of it. That must mean—he’s been eating the same thing as me. I don’t know why that strikes me the way it does. I stand there for a bit, that strange feeling growing stronger inside me, then close the doors when I see it’s clean enough.

I leave the kitchen, feeling tired already. I’m not used to moving around like this, and I don’t have much meat on me for fuel. And my knees hurt. So I go slowly, trying to pace myself. The sunken living room looks barely touched, so doesn’t need much except some polishing of the large wooden chest of a coffee table and some end tables that butt up against the brown leather sofas that sit at an angle, facing the mountains through the windows, and a large flat screen on a side wall. In one of the corners is an enormous fireplace, built into the stone wall, with a thick wooden mantle across it, and above me is a large, striking, wrought iron chandelier, that I find myself staring at, wondering if the beast picked it out, or if a decorator did that. Seems strange, wondering something like that. So I move on, and again, it’s the wood flooring that takes up most of my time, and vacuuming the Navajo rugs that cover the floor in places.