Sweet Jayne (13 page)

“This fucker weighs a ton,” he complains as he wrestles the big wooden contraption into his bedroom.

I chew on my lip as my eyes graze over the dark stained wood. It’s solid and heavy. From experience, I know that the part that rests over my neck and wrists is unmovable even without the locks he always fits it with. There’s a small step behind it that sticks out just far enough and is just wide enough to put my knees on it, leaving my ass sticking out in the air. The wine from dinner has long left my system as adrenaline chased it from me. A shiver courses through me as I realize I did this to myself. Sometimes I wonder if deep down I really am a masochist. I taunt and tease the most hellish sadist into torturing me on a daily basis.

All so I can keep him out of the basement.

The basement is where he becomes the king of darkness.

Where he’s not afraid to crush my soul.

I’ll keep him out of there at all costs. At least up here, he’s more manageable. Even with all of his torture devices.

He eventually finishes setting it up and stands. For a brief moment, he seems exhausted. A flicker of uncertainty shines in his eyes, almost as if he wonders if he should continue. But when I latch on to that gimmer of humanity and plead with unspoken words via a quivering lip and teary eyes, the flicker is snuffed out. Almost immediately. He clenches his jaw, gives a slight shake of his head, and I watch with mixed awe and horror as any compassion and normalcy and kindness left in him drains away. Those penetrating dark orbs he loves to intimidate me with are on me in a flash and he takes his time running them over my face, searching for weakness. Weakness he can taste through salty tears and devour. He’s once more a predator. The predator whose life revolves around stalking me—his favorite prey.

“Naked. Now.”

The beast inside him is most certainly starved for me. His mouth is probably watering just thinking about how he’ll tear my soul apart.

“I said now,” he seethes.

His order jolts me to attention and I quickly tear off my dress. I must still have a small buzz because I stumble a bit. Once I’ve removed my bra and panties, I step toward him, awaiting his next instruction.

“You know what to do, doll,” he says with a growl.

I nod and make my way over to the device. Resting my knees on the step, I wait for him to lift the top half of the mechanism. Eventually I’m settled with the front of my throat on the curved wood and have given my wrists to the contraption as well. I swallow down my anxiety as he lowers the top part over me, effectively trapping me in. He tugs my hair out between the slats and gathers it in a messy ponytail. With quick fingers, he ties it up and out of the way. When he steps away, I close my eyes knowing what comes next. The snap of the padlock clasping into place sends a rush of anxiety galloping through me.

Go to a happier place.

I don’t have to see him to know that he’s walked around behind me. Rubbing my thighs together, I attempt to turn myself on some in hopes it’ll make the whole process easier to endure. When he touches my ass, I squeak out in surprise.

His laugh is cold and cruel. “You act like you’ve never done this before, doll. And while I appreciate your attempt at feigning innocence, we both know you’re well aware of what’s about to happen. In fact, I want you to instruct me on what to do.”

Tears threaten but I blink them away. “Uh, okay. Well, you need to apply some lube to the anal hook first.”

A pop of a cap behind me chills the blood in my veins. His heavy breathing is in cadence with mine. “And then?”

“Insert it into my ass,” I say in a whisper. “Dios mío, dame fuerza.”
Dear God, give me strength.

“Remember, your God isn’t here, doll.” He’s surprisingly gentle as he pushes the bulbous head of the hook past the tight rings of my asshole. Once it makes it beyond the opening, my body seems to suck it all the way in. I let out a gasp at which he chuckles.

“Now,” I instruct with a wobble to my voice, “attach the chain to the end and bring it over the top of the guillotine to my hair.”

The cold, thin chain slinks along my spine and goosebumps rise all over my flesh. He’s not as gentle as he ties the chain around the bun in my hair. It tugs not only my hair but at the hook inside of me.

“Ah!” I yelp out and then let out a rush of relieved breath when he releases the chain. “Uh, then, well, what do you want to do with my mouth?”

“Hmmm,” he says thoughtfully and rounds the contraption so that he’s standing in front of me, still in his work slacks. “I feel like gagging you. What do you want to be gagged with today?”

He starts undressing and I attempt to come up with the least brutalizing answer.

“Your cock. Fuck my face with your cock,” I suggest, a little too eagerly.

As if answering me, his thick, proud dick bounces heavily from his boxers as he shoves them down his thighs. Once he’s completely naked, he strides over to me. With no warning, he pokes the tip of his cock against my parted lips and then shoves himself all the down my throat.

I gag and fist my hands but I’m helpless against his assault. I’m trying to relax my throat to take his enormous size when he grabs on to the chain in my hair. A scream hums through me around his thick length as he jerks at the chain over and over again. It’s not that it necessarily hurts, but I hate the fact that I worry about what sort of damage he could inflict if he pulls too hard.

Instead of focusing on what I can’t control, I close my eyes and focus on the past.

Go to him.

To your mental safety net.

“I need to see Donovan.” My tone is clipped and cool. Darcy—with her platinum blonde hair, red razor claws, and long legs—is a real irritant. Every time I come to visit him, she has trouble keeping the plastic smile on her face.

For me, she sneers.

For me, she glares.

For me, she lets the ugliness hiding under the pretty façade show.

She clearly has other thoughts about her boss—my stepfather—besides those that include employee and superior. And it pisses me off more than I care to admit. Not because he belongs to Mamá. Not at all. In fact, I’m quite frustrated with my mother’s behavior since her marriage to Donovan. Even though I was shocked at their sudden nuptials, I soon realized he was simply a placeholder. Someone to fill a spot so we wouldn’t be lonely. They slept in different bedrooms from the beginning. And while they never argue—they actually seem to like each other, often tag-teaming against me when they think it benefits me to do so—they’ve not once been intimate or affectionate around me. Mamá’s never gotten over my father and quite frankly, I don’t think she ever will. That’s what’s so unfair to Donovan and why I attempt to fill the void of her mental absence.

But even if their marriage was on the fritz, I wouldn’t approve of Darcy’s blazing red fingernails anywhere near Donovan’s firm chest or broad shoulders. Darcy is a bitch with ulterior motives. And my stepfather deserves better. He deserves better than my mother, too, but I’d never voice that one aloud.

“He’s in a meeting,” Darcy sneers.

Yep, saves all of her catty bitchiness for me and me only.

“I’ll wait. It’s important. I’m leaving tomorrow and I need to talk to him.”

She rolls her eyes and drags her attention to her computer monitor. Her gaudy nails tap away at the keyboard as she ignores me.

Since she chooses to pretend I don’t exist, I give her the same treatment and make a beeline for Donovan’s office door. “Miss Jayne!” I hear her protesting in my wake, along with the sound of her chair scraping against the marble floors, but she’s too slow. I shove through the double doors to his office, abruptly turning and clicking the lock in place behind me.

“—the fucking mountain to its goddamned knees for all I care. The resort is mine, not theirs, Dan,” Donovan snarls at the man from across his desk as I enter, interrupting a meeting indeed.

I let out a sigh of relief to see it’s his CFO, Dan Reed. Donovan’s steely glare snaps to mine and for a moment, I freeze. He appears furious. But as soon as he registers it’s me standing in his office, the anger melts away like butter and a smile tugs at his lips.

“Hey,” I say with a wave. “I wanted to talk to you before I have to leave tomorrow.”

With a small nod, he redirects his attention to Dan and motions to the door. “I’m sorry, man. I don’t mean to take it out on you. Figure something out we can work with. We’ll continue this later this afternoon when I’m in a better frame of mind.”

Dan rises to his feet. He’s taller than Donovan, an old high school basketball superstar in our town, which means he’s nearly twice as tall as me. The man gives me the creeps but I never let it show. As his pervert eyes skim over my low-cut top, I roll my eyes and storm past him, ending his peep show.

Donovan is glaring after him by the time I reach his desk and sit down. The door slams shut behind us and silence fills the empty air. When his eyes find mine again, a fondness glimmers in them. I chew on my lip and try not to shiver under his gaze.

“Hey, sunshine,” he says, his voice low. “Couldn’t wait until dinner tonight? Your mamá reserved us a booth at your favorite Italian restaurant on Main Street.”

I drop my purse into the floor and thread my fingers together over his desk. When I lean forward, my heavy breasts sit on top of my arms. Unlike Creepy Dan, I actually like when Donovan notices my body.

And boy, does he notice.

Unashamed, his eyes drop to my lips for a brief moment before flicking down to my chest. A hiss of air leaves him before he clears his throat and finds my eyes again.

“I went to The Joint. I thought maybe I could interview some people to see if—” I start, but his fist slamming on the desk startles me and the words freeze in my mouth.

“What have I told you about going there?” he snaps and rises to his feet. “With Dale and all the other goddamned dirtbags in this fucking town? You know my stance on this, Nadia. You’re barely eighteen years old, for crying out loud!”

I bristle at his outburst and lean back in my chair. “I’ll be nineteen in a few months. Anyway,” I seethe, ignoring him, “I started asking around. To see if there were any drifters who could have passed through here last August. I know it’s been a year, Donovan, but people don’t forget stuff.”

His lips press into an irritated firm line but he lets me continue.

Nervously, I dig around in my purse on the floor until I retrieve a packet of gum. Without asking if he wants any, I tear open the foil wrapper, break the cinnamon stick of gum in half, and offer him the other half. Like always, his powerful fingers brush against mine, sending a jolt of something enticing through my body. This time, my eyes are on his mouth as he tosses the gum into it.

I shove mine into my mouth and let out a huff. “Mike Hyland. A trucker. They say he’s an off again on again resident here. The last time anyone saw him was right before Kasey disappeared.”

Donovan chews on his gum, furrowing his brows together in a thoughtful manner. This is one of the reasons why I love him. He’s got my back. Whenever I come barging into his office with another fire under my ass to chase a lead I think I have, Donovan always assists me. He has canceled business trips. Postponed meetings. Fought with Mamá. Annoyed the fuck out of the police. Whatever I need, he’s there to help.

Unfortunately though, every single one of my leads has come up empty.

Not today, though.

Today I have a good feeling.

“Hmm,” he says with a grunt, “I remember Mike. I’m pretty sure Logan’s had a few run-ins with him over the years, but I hardly think he’s a kidnapper. I could call Logan, though, and have him run a background check. See where the guy’s been these days.”

I jump from my seat and round his desk. By the time I reach him, he’s turned his chair and stood to envelop me in one of his strong hugs. A year ago, I pretty much hated Donovan and choked on his masculine scent anytime he was near.