Torn from You (9 page)

And I wanted
him to carry me away ... and then ... then I wanted to kill
him.

The door
opened a while later. I was half-aware of Logan’s hands on my
wrists as he undid the ropes and the blindfold. I was too weak and
tired to do anything except fall into his arms.

He picked me
up and carried me to a bed and then pulled a white silk nightgown
over my head. I thought I heard him whisper something to me as he
laid me down, but the pain in my body overrode his useless words as
my body screamed with agony.

He walked away
then came back, and the mattress sagged as he sat beside me. He
took my right hand first, gently washed it with warm water then
applied cream to my burned-raw skin. He slowly massaged my cold,
numb fingers then repeated the process with my other wrist and
hand. I closed my eyes and let him do whatever he wanted. It felt
good, and yet I wanted the pain as a reminder of what he’d done to
me.

He placed the
cream on the nightstand, and grabbed a bottle of water beside it
and held it to my lips. I didn’t hesitate as I greedily drank. When
I’d drained half of it, he pulled it away, and put it back. I
watched as he stood, peeled off his clothes until he stood naked.
Was he going to sleep with me? Have sex with me? Was he going to
make me? Did he think it was okay because I’d willingly had sex
with him once?

He stared down
at me. I stared back. Neither of us moved for what seemed like
minutes but was probably only seconds.

He looked
beautiful, and it pissed me off that he could look so beautiful
when he was so ugly. He pulled back the sheet and then slipped in
beside me. I turned around and tried to scoot away, but he expected
it and was ready, arms locking around my middle and dragging back
against him, so my back was tight to his chest. I tensed as the
pain from the welts intensified. He didn’t lighten his hold as he
then hooked his leg over mine like an anchor, the weight pinning me
in place.

It was weird,
the touch of his warm skin and his arms around me ... it was
comforting. As if I’d been starved that feeling of kindness, and
that I’d take it from the man who had stolen it from me in the
first place.

God, was I
that weak to take any gentleness that was offered?

His lips
pressed to my ear, and my breath caught in my throat. Why? Why was
he doing this? I was so confused at who he was. Cold and unattached
one moment and now ... now he was holding me in his arms as if he
cared.

Logan’s
fingers splayed over my stomach just below my belly button. I
wanted to cry. Not for the pain that he was putting me through but
for this moment that made me love him again.

I needed him
to be cruel. It was easier to be disgusted by him.

But this
...

I tried to
push his arm off and move away, but he tightened his hold. “Stay
still, Emily.”

I stopped.

He won. He’d
told me that once. He always won.

As I lay in
bed staring at the wall, my wrists sore, muscles aching from
shivering for so long. I felt myself slipping. Not my mind, but
myself. It was as if my body was separated from my thoughts and
emotions.

I realized it
felt safer this way. My body was just an apparatus, something to be
used. It had no real value any longer. I could let it go and drift
away to safer pastures with my mind. Some place where no one could
reach me.

Even
Logan.

But I missed
him. It was crazy, I knew, but somewhere a part of me still loved
the man that I’d fallen for. The man who kissed me and made love to
me as if he thought I was the most precious woman in the world.

But that tiny
memory of the Logan I knew was slipping past my reach. He was
fading, and I wanted to latch onto him before he slipped away from
me forever. In the darkness, in the familiar arms of a man I once
loved, I pretended. I pretended that he was the Logan I fell in
love with and he was here to protect me from the daylight and the
reality that came with morning.

I closed my
eyes; the heat of his naked body up against mine and then ... then
just as I was falling asleep I felt his fingers interlink with mine
and his lips kiss the back of my shoulder.

Day 8

I woke to find Logan still curled around me,
his head nestled in my shoulder, lips on my skin. His heated breath
was slow and even to match his heartbeat against my back. His arm
lay heavy over my side, and our fingers weaved together like lovers
after a night of passion.

I squeezed my eyes shut imagining nothing in
the last week had been real and that I lay in Logan’s arms after he
made love to me. He’d wake up and kiss me, and I’d be lost within
his touch.

I felt the ache between my legs as I let my
imagination roam. His thigh resting over mine, hard and warm. Him
on top, the feel of his weight making my desire flood every nerve
in my body.

His hands caressing my skin, soft then
possessive as if he couldn’t get enough of me. I moaned as I
imagined his fingers playing with my hair while his other hand
squeezed our interlocked fingers. Then his lips kissed my shoulder,
and I nearly leapt out of my skin when the desire shot right
through me, and I realized it was no longer my imagination.

I scrambled out of his arms so fast that I
fell off the bed. When I came to my feet Logan was lying on his
back an arm casually laid over his abdomen. He turned slightly to
look at me, and I felt the coldness in his gaze trickle over
me.

“Go shower, Emily.” He nodded to the right
where I saw a door.

I didn’t think twice about following his
orders as I ran to the refuge of the bathroom, but before I could
shut the door he said, “Leave it open.”

My hand dropped from the door handle even
though all I wanted to do was slam it shut and lock it; of course
there was no lock to keep him out. Regardless, a deadbolt wouldn’t
keep Logan out. I suspected nothing would.

In a way, that was partly why I fell for
him. He was determined and focused. Unfathomable. He was confident
with no fear. A steady resolve as if nothing could break him. It
was a scary hot, and it made me feel protected. Now ... it scared
me. Because now I didn’t trust him.

I started to undo the buttons of my white
nightgown he’d given me to wear, and when I looked in the mirror I
gasped. He could see me. From the bed he watched me in the mirror
undressing. His hands were locked behind his head, and his face was
unreadable as he stared.

My fingers fumbled on the buttons, and it
took me several tries to get the last one undone. I closed my eyes
as I slid the silk material off my shoulders and let it drop to the
floor. I wasn’t going to look at him, I tried to stop myself, but I
opened my eyes and froze.

Heat. Blazing desire in the dark depths of
his eyes. He looked me up and down slowly, casually as if he had
all the time in the world ... And he did. He controlled everything
about me now. If he became bored or annoyed with me he could sell
me without a moment’s hesitation. That alone made me do anything he
wanted.

I lowered my head so I couldn’t see his
expression, and then opened the frosted glass door to the shower
and stepped inside.

Was he going to come in after me? Would he
touch me? Hold me? Make love to me? What was I thinking? There
would never be making love again, it would be fucking. The question
was whether it would be willing or not.

I turned on the tap to straight cold wincing
as the freezing water hit my skin. It jolted any desire I was
foolishly feeling over Logan right down the drain.

I quickly washed my hair then picked up the
washcloth to scrub the stench off my skin. I rubbed so hard that my
skin turned bright red. I lightened the pressure on the back of my
legs and avoided my back, where my skin was still raw. I needed to
get the feeling of Alfonzo and Jacob and Raul off me. Logan? Why
hadn’t I even thought of Logan? Why wasn’t I sick to my stomach at
the thought of him holding me all night?

“Come out here.”

The washcloth dropped from my hands as I
looked and saw the outline of Logan leaning up against the counter,
arms crossed.

I turned off the taps and came out. He
looked me up and down and frowned then reached over and grabbed the
towel hanging on the hook. He came toward me, then began drying my
skin. There was nothing methodical about it either. It was slow and
sensual; he held the towel in his palm, so his thumb could brush
over my skin with each stroke. His hand slid over my abdomen then
lower until his hand rested on my mound. He stopped and looked at
me. “Open.”

I swallowed. Then inched my legs apart
closing my eyes. I had mixed emotions, because I felt embarrassed,
and yet there was a flicker of desire. There was a fine line he was
drawing here, and I just wasn’t sure which way it would go.

He stepped closer. His thumb skimmed between
my legs with the towel trailing. I held my breath. He never took
his eyes off me as he discovered the smooth silky moisture of my
craving. I stopped breathing, hating that he knew I was turned
on.

His eyes narrowed, and his jaw clenched.

Then like it never happened, he quickly
dried my inner thighs then threw the towel on the floor. “Leave off
the nightgown. Go kneel by the bed.”

I opened my mouth to ... What, tell him off?
Tell him no? Refuse to do what he asked and risk being beaten or
thrown in the basement with Jacob? Or worse sold?

I walked out of the bathroom and heard the
water turn back on just as I knelt on the floor. I knew what this
was about; I wasn’t stupid. I figured it out the second I saw the
girls in the dining room. He was training me.

I was Logan’s sex slave, although sex had
yet to come into play, but I had no doubt it would. He’d brought my
birth control pills for Christ’s sake. I was to do what he wanted
without question—never disobey, never speak unless asked to, and
submit to all men. I belonged to him, and it was not by free
will.

Logan came out of the bathroom naked. “Eyes
down.”

I could hear him getting dressed, the
cupboard door opening, rustling clothes, and then a click as the
cupboard shut again. His footsteps drew close then stopped in front
of me.

“Open your mouth.”

I did, and he put a slice of apple in my
mouth.

“Today you will come with me to my training.
You must learn what to do when in public, Emily.” His fingers held
another slice of apple, and I opened my mouth, and he slid it
inside. “Behave like this, and we won’t have any issues.”

My stomach churned at the thought of
witnessing the last scene in the dining area. I was afraid I’d
panic and run or fight. Logan tried to feed me another piece of
apple, but I turned my head away.

“You have to eat.”

I shook my head.

“Open.”

“No. I can’t. Please. I feel sick to my
stomach. Logan plea—” I stopped suddenly knowing instantly that I’d
used his real name when I was told not to. I still had the red
marks on my skin from the whip and never wanted to feel the cruel
slice of it again. I lowered my head. “I’m sorry. I forgot.”

I started trembling.

When his hand came down on my shoulder I
lost it and started crying. Was going to whip me? Or take me to
Jacob? It was a mistake. I didn’t mean to call him by name.

“Emily.” I kept sobbing, my head in my hands
rocking. “Look at me.”

I did. I had to or suffer something worse
than what I anticipated.

He cupped my chin and rubbed his thumb over
top of the crevice just below my lower lip. “You cannot use my name
here. Ever. I think you know that.” I nodded. “If you need to call
me something, it must be Master.”

My breath hitched.

“Say it.”

The word was trapped in my clogged throat; I
was filled with denial of what I had to do. For some reason the
idea of calling any man Master was ... It was humiliating,
degrading. God, it made me feel like an object with no
self-worth.

His hand tightened on my chin. “Emily.”

It was just a word. It was just a word.
“Master.”

“Good girl.” He didn’t smile; actually he
frowned, and then he got up abruptly and went into the bathroom and
slammed the door.

I waited on my knees until he finally came
back out a cold mask of determination on his face. I didn’t like
that face, it wasn’t mad or calm or smiling; it was unreadable, and
that was dangerous.

“A girl will bring you clothes. Wear them.
I’ll be back to get you in a half hour.” He didn’t even bother
looking at me as he walked past, unlocked the door, and left.

When he came back I was dressed in a black
dress that dipped so low in the front that it barely covered my
nipples. It fit tight to my body, over my hips to my upper thigh.
It wasn’t sexy; it was trashy, and I felt that way. I would have
rather worn the white nightgown than this dress.