Broken Toy [Suncoast Society] (Siren Publishing Sensations) (26 page)

She felt the tears threatening to build under her closed eyelids. “Yes, Sir,” she whispered.

She felt the mattress dip behind her as he sat. She involuntarily flinched when his fingers touched her back, where she knew one of the scars lay. He slowly caressed it, working around the rope holding her arms securely at her side.

Up and down, back again, moving to another, and another.

“You’re trembling,” he said. “Are you cold?”

“No, Sir,” she whispered.

“Then what’s wrong?”

She shrugged.

His hands gently cupped her chin again. He turned her head. “Something must be wrong. Tell me.”

She had no answer for him. None that wouldn’t drive her to tears, and she was close enough to that already.

He stroked her back. “Did your grandmother do all of this to you?”

She nodded.

He released her chin and returned to caressing her back, her shoulders, her arms. He made no move to reach around the front of her.

It terrified her.

What did he see? What did he think?

Was he fascinated by how ugly she was?

Then she felt the bed move again as he shifted position, followed by the warmth of his lips on her flesh, on one of the scars.

She shivered, choking back the sob.

He froze, waiting.

Despite her best efforts to hold back, the first tear squeezed free, fortunately caught by the edge of the blindfold before it could run down the side of her nose and give her away.

“Why did she do this?” he asked, his breath brushing against her flesh.

She shrugged.

“I asked you a question, sweetheart.” Despite his gentle tone, the message was clear. She knew from her own experience as a cop that he wouldn’t stop asking until she answered to his satisfaction.

“I don’t know,” she whispered, not trusting her voice.

“Did she ever say anything?”

Of course she had. Where to start? Countless different imagined slights, failures on her part, sins against God and the Church, perceived and unacceptable willfulness that, Gabe knew from an adult point of view, mostly stemmed from Maria’s unreasonable hatred of Gabe’s mother and probably more than a little mental illness.

“Yes,” she settled on eventually.

His lips feathered across her scars for a few more minutes. Just when Gabe thought maybe she had her emotions under control, he spoke again. “What did she say?”

When she didn’t answer, his tone changed a little. Still gentle, but with an edge of firm control. “I asked you a question, sweetheart. Answer me, or code.”

Code?
Safeword for
talking
?

Hell, by the time she was nine, she’d learned to endure twenty strokes from Maria with a belt without blinking an eye, much less shedding a tear over it. When Maria discovered that no longer induced any kind of fear in Gabe, she’d started using switches, and eventually rods that raised welts, bruised skin, and drew blood.

This emotional flaying was something she didn’t know how to process, but she still couldn’t bring herself to code.

“She said I was bad, among other things.”

Bill was apparently even better than she was at self-control and hiding reactions. She felt a breath across her flesh, but that was the only action betraying his shock. Then his lips started trailing across her back again.

His gentle, whispered words a few minutes later hit her harder and rocked her more than any blow she’d ever taken in her life.

“You are
my
good girl, sweetheart.”

She froze, stunned, reeling.

“Say it,” he ordered.

She couldn’t. Her jaw locked up, throat closed, refusing to cooperate. Her brain rebelled, emotions boiling up from some deep, hidden well she’d sealed so many years ago in her childhood.

Before Bill, when was the last time she’d ever heard someone call her good?

Right before Mom and Dad died.

“Say it,” he said again.

She shook her head.

“Say it, or code.”

He’d backed her into a corner and he knew it. She
knew
he knew it.

Scrambling for an out, anything to defuse the situation without having to code, she mentally stretched. “It.”

Another of those breaths, amused this time, but she knew he wouldn’t give up that easily. “I want you to say, ‘I am your good girl.’ Say it or code, sweetheart.”

“Please don’t make me say it, Sir,” she begged.

He shifted positions again, pulling her to him so her back pressed against his chest, his arms around her, one hand gently cupping her by the throat, his left cheek resting against her right cheek. He whispered, “Say it or code, sweetheart.”

She was so focused on not saying it that the tears rolling down her cheeks from under the blindfold shocked her at first.

He kissed the tracks of her tears along her cheeks. In that same quietly firm voice, he repeated, “Say it or code. We aren’t moving until you either obey me or code.”

It felt like she spoke from the far end of a tunnel, alone, lonely, broken and emotionally bleeding. The little girl curled up in bed, silently weeping into a pillow in a dark, stark room.

She could barely pull air into her lungs to make sound. Somehow, he still heard her. “I am your good girl.”

He nuzzled his lips along her ear. “Say, ‘I’m your very good girl.’”

The sob escaped her first. “I’m your very good girl,” she eventually choked out after several failed tries.

“Again,” he quietly commanded. When she didn’t immediately respond, he firmly added, “Say it, or code.”

The world spun away, pain and anger and grief exploding. “I’m…your very good girl.”

“Again.”

Over and over he made her say it. Various inflections on different words, until she sobbed, screaming, crying, and at some point he’d changed positions and she hadn’t even realized it, now lying on their sides on the bed, her face buried against his chest, his arms around her.

“You
are
my
very
good girl,” he firmly insisted, kissing her forehead. Then he slipped the blindfold off her and stared into her eyes, her cheeks cradled in his palms. He leaned in and tenderly kissed her, slowly, sweetly, breaking down whatever barriers she thought she could hold against him.

How pointless and stupid that effort had been. He’d walked right past all her defenses, straight to the heart of what she’d thought had been her well-guarded core.

And proceeded to rip every last beam and timber down, every brick, every stone, every scrap of mortar and nail until nothing but the ravaged, barren landscape of her tattered soul remained.

“Whenever I ask you this,” he whispered, “I expect an answer, and I expect it immediately, and you
will
say the entire thing. Who’s my very good girl?”

“I’m your very good girl, Sir.”

He smiled, his thumbs gently brushing away the tears rolling down her cheeks. “Yes, yes you are. You’re my very good, very brave girl.” He kissed her again, swallowing her sobs and holding her as the pain ebbed and flowed inside her.

Had she thought she had her life together before she met him? Had she thought she was really just fine?

What a fucking joke.

He lifted his head again to stare into her eyes, a sweet, loving smile on his face. “You are my beautiful girl, my good girl, my sweet little toy.”

“I’m a broken toy, Sir.”

His smile faded as he shook his head. “
No
. You are
not
broken. You are perfectly you. Are you saying I’m wrong?”

She finally shook her head a little.

His smile returned. “That’s
my
good girl.”

Now she understood what it seemed like all the women at the club had said at some point or another about their partners. That
smile
.
That
smile. She’d recognized it before but never understood how deadly it was to any and all will she had. It sank a torpedo straight through the center of her heart, where it exploded.

She’d do
anything
for that smile.

Anything.

Needed it, craved it. Would do anything to make him smile like that. To keep smiling like that.

Everything it took.

No matter how painful.

He untied her, tossing the ropes onto the floor and stretching out on the bed, her body pressed against his and her face buried against his chest. His fingers stroked her back, along the scars.

She didn’t flinch.

He’d seen the thing she never thought anyone ever would, stared into the maw of her empty shell and loved everything about her, filling her with what she couldn’t supply herself, what no one had since her parents’ death.

“Such a good girl,” he cooed.

After a while, he rolled her onto her back and reached across her to the bedside table. He grabbed a set of handcuffs and propped himself up on one arm.

“Hands behind your head.”

She complied, lacing her fingers together.

The handcuffs clicked around her wrists, ratcheting until he had them snug enough around her arms that she couldn’t slide out of them, and loose enough not to dig in.

He smiled down at her. “Spread your legs.”

She did.

He reached over her again and grabbed an electric Hitachi vibrator from the bedside table. Apparently he’d plugged it in and set it up while he’d had her blindfolded.

That’s new.
She’d seen Tony and the others use Hitachis, but didn’t know Bill had bought one. It also had a round, six-inch-long attachment on it that curved out from the head at a ninety-degree angle, and looked to be over an inch thick.

“I went shopping,” he said with a grin. “Tony made some recommendations. This is going to be stronger than you’re used to, but I know you can take it.”

The vibrator clicked on. He slid it between her legs, parting her labia, making her gasp when the attachment touched her clit. “Who’s my good girl?” he asked.

Now she struggled to answer from the sensations pouring through her taking away her power of speech. “I’m…I’m your good girl.”

He grinned.

Oh, holy hell.
That was even more lethal than his smile earlier.

“Good girls get rewards.” He thumbed the control and it sped up, making her cry out.

“Come for me, sweetheart. Show me what a good girl you are for me.”

She gasped for breath, crying out as the first orgasm exploded, washing through her and making her moan.

“Don’t close your eyes,” he ordered. “Look at me.”

She struggled to keep them open as he kept the vibrator pressed against her clit and wave after wave of pleasure rocked through her.

“Who’s my good girl?”

“I’m your good girl, Sir.”

He crushed his lips against hers, swallowing her moans as he slid the vibrator’s attachment inside her wet cunt and started fucking her with it, the head of the Hitachi hitting her clit with each stroke while the end of the attachment perfectly stroked her G-spot with every thrust. Her back arched, her body beyond her control as she started rocking her hips in time with his thrusts.

He lifted his lips just above hers. “That’s it, sweetheart,” he hoarsely said. “Fuck it for me. Show me how good you are.”

Her eyes had started drifting closed. “Open your eyes.”

Her eyelids snapped open at his tone.

He stared down at her, that grin still on his face. “You know what I’m going to do, sweetheart? I was talking with Tony and Landry and the others. They said it’s easy to rewire the human brain. I’m going to condition you so that every time I call you my good girl, you instantly get wet. Do you like that idea?”

Surprisingly, she did. Not that it would be that difficult since it already pretty much had that effect on her anyway.

Or, maybe it was the feel of his hand slamming the vibrator into her swollen, throbbing clit with each thrust that buried the attachment deep inside her cunt.

“Yes, Sir,” she gasped.

“Tell me.”

“I…I like that idea.”

His grin widened. “Ask me.”

“Please train me to get wet when you call me your good girl.”

His mouth crushed hers again, her tongue eagerly meeting his. She felt his cock, hard, rubbing against her hip. That only served to fire her need, another orgasm racing through her, the muscles of her pussy clamping down on the vibrator inside her.

Holy…fuck.
She’d discovered a lot of things about her body she never knew before being with Bill, but this was different still. She’d never come this hard, or this many times at once.

Ever.

Evvvveeerr
.