Tearing Down Walls (Love Under Construction Series Book 2) (28 page)

For a second he was so overwhelmed that he couldn’t speak or breathe, and then he whispered, “Oh my god, you’re unbelievably beautiful.” As soon as the words were out, she turned shy eyes down to the floor.
Just like Nikki. Sweet lord, this is why Tony fell in love with her,
his mind screamed. Almost in the same instant, his mind went to Laura and her scars, and his head cleared.

“To the bench and mount it.” Within seconds she climbed onto it, her upper torso resting on the declining slant. The cuffs were already attached, and he fastened them around her wrists and ankles. Her ass was small and soft, and she was wearing some kind of lotion or cream on her skin that made it shimmer like a pearl.

But something else almost made him gasp out loud: Scars. Every fraction of an inch of her backside was completely covered in them, all kinds of lash marks. Some appeared to be from caning, others from – what was it? – rope, or chain, or something else with a bite. Vic had to fight to keep his concentration. He realized he’d hesitated too long and jumped in.

“Little one, what is your safeword?”

For the first time since she’d undressed, Evie spoke, and her voice was clear and enthusiastic. “Red, sir!”

“And your hand signal?” Evie held out both hands, flat and vertical, just as she’d do in someone’s face if she wanted them to stop.

Before he could say anything else, Evie asked, “Permission to speak, sir?”

“Yes. Do so,” he barked.

“Sir, permission to remain silent, sir.” The way she addressed him had an almost military-like quality.

Well, that was a new one. Vic wondered what that was about, then said, “Permission granted except for the count. I will expect you to count and I’ll ask for the count at random, so it will take great concentration to keep up. And I will check from time to time.” Random count commands helped to keep the mind engaged and keep the sub with him.

“Yes, sir. Very well, sir.” Her head dropped and she said nothing else.

“We will begin. There will be twenty strikes from the paddle to ready your flesh. Keep the count, little one.” The paddle made contact with her skin and she didn’t move. After the eighth strike, her ass was turning a deep red, the scars white against the rosy color. “The count?”

“Eight, sir.”

“Very good, little one.” Vic continued and when he got to fourteen, he asked for another count. Her answer was quick and without a hint of emotion. At twenty, she once again answered correctly.

“We will now begin the concentrated discipline. The sjambok will feel like no other implement you’ve ever experienced. Keep the count; I will be checking. Ready?”

“Yes, sir.”

Vic applied the leather. His striping was orderly and beautiful, even with the scars on her skin. He made one row of stripes on the inner aspect of her cheeks, then said, “
Preziosa
, the count.”

“Twenty, sir,” she said without a hint of emotion.

“Your safeword.”

“Red, sir.”

Vic let the sjambok snap, and more marks popped from the rosiness of the skin he’d prepared so well. The first twenty marks were welting up rapidly.

“The count.”

“Thirty-four, sir.” Her voice was strong and even.

Something was wrong. “
Preziosa,
what is your safeword?”

“Red, sir.”

“Are you approaching the use of it?” he asked.

“No, sir. Please continue, sir.”

What the hell? A fourth row was completed, and then a fifth, and he stopped to rub his hand in a circular motion over her skin, feeling its heat. “The count.”

“Fifty-six, sir.”

“Your safeword, little one.”

“Red, sir!” she answered with enthusiasm.

At that point, Vic started to get worried. He’d already given her more strikes than he’d been sure it would take, and she was still waiting for more. The term
pain slut
crossed his mind, and he squeezed it back out. Nikki’s face flitted through his mind, and then Laura’s, and he began the striping process again. He was running out of room on her ass and still no safeword. “The count.”

“Sixty-eight, sir.”

“Your safeword,
preziosa
?”

“Red, sir.” There wasn’t as much enthusiasm there as earlier, and Vic wondered if she was getting as tired as he was. The tension in the dungeon was thick as cement, a stifling presence hanging heavy in the air.

There were scars on the backs of her thighs and Vic realized, horrified, that she wasn’t going to safeword – ever. He could whip her until she was bloody and unconscious and she’d never back down. Was it some kind of point of pride for her? And why would that be? He continued with the striping and, just as he feared, he ran out of room. “The count.”

“Ninety, sir.”

“Your safeword.”

“Red, sir.” Her voice was still strong and determined.

He rained down ten more strikes, then stopped and ran his hand over them. Her skin was hot to the touch, the welts like row after row of tiny speed bumps. She said nothing at his touch, and he wondered if she could even feel it through the scar tissue. In that instant, he felt bad for her, felt bad about what he was doing to her. No doubt something was very wrong, and yet it was what she wanted or, to her mind, needed.

He continued to stripe her. She didn’t make a single sound, not a whimper, a cry, or a sob. He checked between her legs; she wasn’t wet, not even damp. When he’d reached his limit, he said, “The count.”

“One hundred twenty, sir.”

Vic stopped. “
Bella
, these are all the strikes I can give you with a clear conscience. May I ask if . . .”

For the first time, she yelled out and startled the big Dom. “Oh, god, sir, no, please continue! I need more, sir, please!” She struggled against the restraints, trying to see him and convince him that he should go on. Her demands were so emphatic that they tore through Vic’s chest and shot straight into that soft spot he held for bruised-up children and abandoned puppies. “Please, sir! Please, please, please!” she screamed.

Vic wasn’t sure what was going on, but he’d had enough. He grabbed a blanket and threw it over her, then undid her restraints and scooped her up, running up the stairs to the recovery room, praying everyone in the place couldn’t hear her. Ducking in, he slammed the door shut with his foot, then ran to a sofa and pulled her tight into his arms. She continued to yell and scream, “Why did you stop, sir? Why? Please, please, take me back there, strike me some more, make me feel it, sir! Strike me until I feel it, sir!”

That was it. Vic’s heart was slamming in his chest and his stomach churned. The scars, the enthusiasm, the begging for more – what in the world had this woman done to think she deserved to be beaten to death, to beg for it, plead for it? Visions of Laura’s scars began playing across his mind, the way she was so closed off, so . . . unfeeling. A heaviness slammed into the middle of his chest, and he had trouble breathing.

“Shhhhh, shhhhh,
cara
, please! It’s okay. It’ll be all right,” he whispered to Evie, rocking her to and fro, holding her tight, her face pressed against his chest. She was heaving big raspy lungfuls of air and showing no signs of calming. “Shhhh, precious, it’s okay. You’re safe, you’re here with Vic.” Bewildered, he kept stroking her face, clutching her to his chest, whispering to her, kissing her forehead. He managed to get half a bottle of water down her before she gave up and curled back into his chest.

After what seemed like forever, she quieted. Vic moved the blanket around so he could get a better look at her face. Instead of the usual dreamy look he got from most of the other subs, she had a strange, unemotional look to her, her stare blank and at nothing in particular. Before he could say or do anything, she looked up at him.

“Thank you.” That was all she said. Vic was dumbfounded. She leaned in and kissed the side of his neck, then said, “I suppose you wonder what’s wrong with me.”

“No judgments here, honey. I just want to know if I gave you what you needed.”

“No.” Her eyes closed, then opened again. “I needed about a hundred more.”

“I couldn’t do that, Evie. I was running out of room as it was,” he told her, as straightforward as he could get.

“Yeah, not much real estate back there, huh?” The corners of her mouth turned up in a sarcastic little smile. Vic couldn’t smile; he didn’t think there was anything to smile about. “I’m sorry.” Her smirk turned to sadness. “I should’ve warned you, but I didn’t. That wasn’t very fair. I was afraid you’d refuse me or argue with me about what I needed. But know that you didn’t do a single thing wrong,” she told him, kissing the tip of his nose. “That implement got me closer to where I needed to be than anything else has.”

“I’m sorry, sweetie. Where do you think it is that you need to go?”

“Straight to hell.” Vic’s eyes got big, and she looked down. “I had the world’s best husband. He was a wonderful guy. He loved me more than anything. But I had a coworker, a good-looking, lecherous guy who just wouldn’t take no for an answer. I went home early one day to wait for the guys who were going to pour our new driveway, and the monster showed up mid-afternoon. I tried to get him to leave, but then he kissed me, and it was passionate and erotic, and . . .” She stopped and took a deep breath. “And my husband came home to see how the driveway was coming along and found us.”

“So that’s why you need to be punished,” Vic said, pushing her hair back from her face, but she shook her head no. He cocked his head at her.

“He was very hurt and angry, and I don’t blame him. He didn’t deserve that. But he was so upset that he ran back out to the car and took off before I could talk to him. And I never got the chance.” She put her hands over her face. “He ran a red light five blocks from the house and was T-boned by a garbage truck. He died instantly. And
that’s
why I need to be punished.”

A lump formed in Vic’s throat. He pulled Evie’s hands from her dry eyes and put his palm against her face, and she leaned into its warmth. “It was all my fault. But something weird happened: I couldn’t cry. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t. All of that bottled up inside me, pain for what I’d done to him, rage against my coworker and myself, grief for his loss, the loneliness, the ridicule and finger-pointing from everyone. I just bottled it up and wouldn’t let it out, and it’s all still there, so painful sometimes that I don’t think I can go on.” She placed her hand on Vic’s cheek. “Thanks for helping me get a little of it out tonight.”

All of Vic’s European blood kicked in, and he wrapped his arms tight around Evie and pulled her to him, holding her as tight as he could. Her arms went around his neck, and she whispered in his ear, “And nobody’s cared this much about me in a long, long time.”

Without warning, Vic choked back a sob and buried his face in Evie’s hair. He thought he had problems, but this woman was suffering and no one could help her. He held her and stroked her back, rocking her the whole time, thinking of Laura and her pain. Then he pushed her back to look at her, and she smiled.

“Oh, honey,” she whispered to him, “you’re the sweetest thing I’ve met in a long time. Your significant other must be a lucky person.”

“Don’t have one,” he sniffled. “I’m almost fifty-five and I’ve never been married. And no prospects. I keep getting involved with the wrong women, the always-unavailable kind.”

“You just keep looking.” Her smile was warm. “Some lucky woman is going to fall in love with you, and she’ll be the happiest woman alive. But don’t look too hard. If you look too hard, you’ll miss her. She’ll come to you; probably already has and you don’t even realize it.”

“Thank you, precious. You okay to sit here alone while I go downstairs and get your clothes?” She nodded, and Vic ran down, picked them up, and ran back to her. He closed the door and said, “I need to look at your skin.” She stood and turned her backside to him; no broken places. “That’s going to hurt tomorrow, but there aren’t any open wounds. It’ll be okay.”

“Good. I want it to hurt. It has to. It’s the only way I can get through the day.” Vic helped her dress, then kissed her goodbye. She turned and looked at him over her shoulder as she walked away.

After downing a bottle of water, Vic sat down to think for a minute. He’d started out thinking of Nikki when he’d first met Evie, but Nikki was lucky. Tony had talked about how hard losing her family had been for her, the sad look always on her face, the way she sobbed when she talked about them.

Laura, on the other hand, had been holding everything in for years. At least Evie’s coworkers and family knew why she was hurting; no one knew the secret Laura had kept all those years until recently. And she had to look at her scars every day. Not only were they painful, they were a direct result of her rape, something she had nothing to do with. All of a sudden, Evie’s words came back to him:
She’ll come to you; probably already has and you don’t even realize it.

Vic couldn’t run fast enough. He jetted up the hall and threw open the door to Steve’s office. Steve’s sub had her mouth down over his cock and was going at it as hard as she could. “Cabrizzi, what the . . .”

“Steve, you’ve got to talk Laura into letting me work with her. And it needs to be as soon as possible.”