Echo (Bleeding Hearts #1)(29)

It took me a full minute to realize that I was gasping for breath, but no sound escaped my lungs. When the second piece of leather sang through the air and exploded against my skin, I jerked on my restraints and fell forward. This time, there was enough air in my lungs to force a guttural sound from deep inside of me. It vibrated through every corner of the room, and it was so feral I couldn’t believe it had come from me.

Undiluted pain invaded every cell of my body as he struck me twice more. When the endorphins finally rushed into my blood stream, a ravenous hunger for more uncoiled from deep inside of me.

He struck me again and again, propelling me into another dimension. This was worse than a coke binge. Worse than black tar or the thrill of E. This was the devil himself snaking his way inside of my heart and bending me to his will. This was addiction, quickly morphing into obsession. And somewhere in the clouded fog that was my brain, I knew this was a game I was going to lose.

It went on forever. And even when he had bottomed out inside of me and filled me with his release, I didn’t want him to stop. I sagged towards the floor like a limp noodle, and he panted against my back. His heart beat savagely against my skin, echoing my own.

I was vaguely aware of a sting, but when he peeled himself off me I crashed and burned. The high I had experienced only moments before disappeared as pain licked along my nerves like fire.

I hissed in a breath, and my captor leaned down to whisper in my ear.

“I wanted to break you, Brighton. I never expected you to like it.”

A sob escaped me, and the dam broke. I didn’t know why I was crying, but I couldn’t stop. What was happening to me? What had he turned me into? And why did it always feel like he was punishing me?

He released the restraints around my wrists and pulled me into his arms. He held me against his chest and rocked me back and forth as if I were a small child. I didn’t fight him. I should have. But he was the only source of comfort I had, and I clung to it instead.

He kissed my tears away and whispered sweet words into my ears. Words he was too afraid to say out loud. He told me I was beautiful. That I was perfect in every way. And that, unconditionally, I was his.





Chapter Twelve



I tried to roll away from the heat penetrating my sore skin, but an arm wrapped around my waist, pinning me in place. I was still wearing the blindfold, and I wanted to tear it from my eyes.

He was cuddling me after what he’d done.

As if he cared about me at all. What a joke.

I wanted to hurt him. I wanted to hurt him like he had hurt me. I flopped onto my side, trying unsuccessfully to rip the blindfold away as I battered his chest with my fist.

“Brighton…” his voice was soft and calm, as though he’d anticipated this behavior.

I didn’t want him to be calm when I was so angry. But I was too weak, and it was no use. He wouldn’t budge as he wrapped his arms around me like a vice, taking the punishment I had to give him without so much as a sound.

“I don’t want to play this game anymore,” I wailed.

He pulled my head into the crook of his neck and rested it against his warm skin as he stroked my hair in a soothing rhythm.

“I think we both know it’s far too late for that,” he said softly. “We couldn’t stop now if we tried, baby girl.”

I made a noise in my throat somewhere between acceptance and denial.

“I don’t know what will happen when your six months are up,” he continued. “Even then, I might not be able to let you go.”



***



I’d never slept on silk sheets before because they were a luxury I could never afford.

But when I woke again, I was certain that’s what I was lying on. The cool material soothed my sore muscles, but it didn’t stop me from crying out when I rolled onto my back. It still felt like hell fire had rained down on me, and I quickly flailed back onto my stomach.

My tormentor’s voice whispered softly in my ear as his hand trailed up my spine, attempting to soothe me.

“Shh, Brighton. It’s okay.”

I wanted to tell him it wasn’t okay. That none of this was okay. I couldn’t believe I’d agreed to what he’d asked of me the night before. As though we were lovers and I would do anything to please him. There was something wrong with me. Clearly, I was insane.

This man was breaking down my defenses little by little, and I was nothing more than a fly trapped in his web. I didn’t want to like him. I didn’t want to feel anything when he touched me. But even now, my traitorous body was melting beneath his touch.

He squeezed something cool on my back and I hissed in a breath as he rubbed it around.

“It’s aloe,” he explained. “It will help with the pain.”

Admittedly, the cold gel soothed my burning skin, and I didn’t protest. But when his hand moved down between my legs, I whimpered. I was still swollen and sensitive from the night before, and the last thing I wanted was to have sex.

“Last night was about me.” His fingers slid inside of me. “But today is about you.”

I hid my face in the sheets so he couldn’t see my warring emotions. I couldn’t even articulate what I was feeling at this point, but whatever it was it felt private.

My body relaxed as his fingers glided in and out of me in a slow and calculated pattern. It didn’t take me long at all until I rode the waves of pleasure all the way to the crest. When I burst around his fingers, so did my resolve, and with it came more unexpected tears.