Wicked Beloved (6 page)

Mouth dry, he watched her huddling against
his leg like he was her sole protection in the universe. She needed
him. He had to be strong. He had to maintain control. He had sworn
not to hurt her.

He reached down to his pet and, with a few
quiet words of encouragement, pulled her up onto his lap.

She came willingly, tucking up her legs and
curling her body like she hoped she could make herself unseen. He
felt the quick, ragged puffs of her warm breath as she hid her face
against his neck. Pleasure spiraled up from his groin and his
abdominal muscles twitched.

“
Ah, yours is shy!”
someone called out.

“
She won’t be after
tonight,” another yelled and a wave of giggles snuck through the
room.

A tremor shuddered through her once, but she
said nothing. No pleas, no crying. She didn’t make a sound. Just
huddled against him like she wished she could press right through
and hide behind his chair.

Without thinking, he wrapped both his arms
tight around her. She sighed and relaxed into him.

“
Thank you, Master,” she
whispered. Her breathing evened out.

The girl had been on the verge of panic
several times tonight, yet she had never given in to hysterics nor
acted out in any way. The other members had no idea how frightened
she truly was. Her deportment was a credit to him, though he did
not deserve it.

“
Vonn! Your slave’s turn.
Send her over here.”

Her breath caught in her throat and her
entire body tensed.

The gathering all looked to him, eagerly
awaiting the next performance. Ballaj was fingering the large
paddle and eyeing her like she was a prime cut of meat. The greedy
bastard.

Dzer-Jin’s distaste for
the man was irrational. None of the other masters had a problem
with Ballaj punishing their slaves. So why did he want to chop off
Ballaj’s hands and feed them to him for even
thinking
of touching his
girl?

They were all still waiting for him to send
her over. He wondered what she’d do if he gave the order. Would she
obey, as the perfect slave, or would she remind him of his duty not
to let her be hurt? They were both valid responses, according to
their agreement. He wondered which would win out, loyalty to him or
self-preservation?

“
Would you go?” he
whispered to her, curiosity getting the better of him.

She whimpered against his throat. “Please,
don’t.”

“
Would you go?” Dzer-Jin
repeated, his voice harder.

CHAPTER
SEVEN

She’d made a promise. He had saved her life
and he hadn’t hurt her, and in return she’d promised to obey him
absolutely. If she broke her word, he could start beating her—or
worse. She could end up at the shelter again. Cast aside once more.
Waiting for death because she was useless. No. She had to prove she
was worth keeping. She had to keep her promise.

As a storm of frenzied butterflies invaded
her stomach, she straightened her legs. Her limbs didn’t want to
obey. She felt mired in quicksand, her every movement a chore. But
he wanted her to go up there, so go up there she would.

Her heartbeat thundered in her ears. She
sighed brokenly. “Yes, Master.”

She hopped off his lap and stepped forward.
Suddenly she found his arm wrapped around her middle, a steel band
halting her. He pulled her back up on his lap and pinned her in
place.

“
No,” he called across. “I
don’t think so.”

“
What?” Ballaj’s shock was
clear in his voice.

“
No one touches her but
me.” Her master’s voice was gruff and the tone final.

She gripped his arm like the safety bar of a
carnival ride, listening to the company’s complaining groans and
noises of disapproval. He didn’t relent. Relief surged through her
as they reluctantly moved on. Ballaj called the next new member’s
name and the paddling started afresh.

Swiveling on her master’s lap, she clutched
hold of his shirt while her body, flooded with adrenaline, quivered
uncontrollably.

“
You’re safe,” he
murmured, wrapping his arms about her and holding her close. His
chin rested on the top of her head. “That was wrong of me. But I
wanted to know how far you’d carry out your obedience.”

Anger at the test flashed within her and
quickly died. After all, he hadn’t ordered her to do anything until
tonight. How would he know if she’d obey him or not? She really
wasn’t fulfilling her part of the bargain, being the perfect slave.
He hadn’t made her do any of the things slaves normally did, like
have sex with him. She should probably clean his apartment or
something.

The punishment parade continued. He was the
only owner who didn’t order his slave to go. She nudged her nose
against his neck. He smelled nice, like a mixture of spices and
musk. She closed her eyes and just breathed him in, ignoring
anything going on beyond their chair. So successful was she at
shutting out the rest of the room that she missed when the paddling
stopped and Ballaj started addressing the company again.

She started paying attention when a circular
platform with two evenly spaced tall posts was carried into the
room. Heavy manacles hung from the tops of the posts and more cuffs
were attached to the bases. She had the unhappy thought that the
space between the posts was just right to position a human,
standing spread-eagled between them, ankles chained to the bases
and wrists hanging from the tops.

“
Tonight’s theme is
knife-play.” Ballaj flourished a knife that had apparently been
brought in with the platform. “Your slave’s body is a canvas just
waiting to be drawn upon, just begging to flourish in varying hues
of crimson. Will you shave off the skin, one snip, one tiny layer
at a time? Or will you push against tensed muscles and force in the
penetrating blade?”

He called over one of the men who had
carried the platform and the slave immediately came to his side.
“Will you draw out the agony?” He dragged the knife down the man’s
arm, the blade moving slower than the rivulets of blood it created,
and the slave whined between gasps of breath. “Or will you go
straight for the screams?” He stabbed into the man’s thick shoulder
muscle and she covered her ears at the slave’s shriek of pain.

Ballaj waved the slave off and began to
stalk the circle of chairs. “What style shall we see tonight?” He
slowed as he approached their chair. Silently she pleaded for him
to keep going, her heart plummeting through her stomach as her
veins filled with dread. This was so much worse than a
spanking.

The universe ignored her pleas. Ballaj
stopped in front of their chair and held out the dripping knife to
her master. “As you did not participate earlier, Vonn, I give you
the honor.”

To her everlasting gratitude, he shook his
head. “I have honor enough.”

Ballaj stared at him, eyes
narrowing quizzically. “I don’t understand. I can tell you want
to.
Everyone
can
tell you want to.”

She’d been trying to ignore it, but she
could tell he wanted to, as well. His excitement lay hard and
unyielding against her hip. Any time she shifted on his lap the
movement caused a hitch in his breathing.

Glancing at his face, she could see what
they saw—the twitch of the muscle in his tightly clenched jaw, the
slight sheen of perspiration on his skin, and the way his
desire-dark eyes flicked between her and the knife.

Nonetheless he gamely answered, “I don’t
know what you mean.”

Whispers swirled around the circle. The
other masters were looking at him funny. Her stomach felt cold and
her heart started to gear up to fight or flee.

Ballaj snickered. “You should have told us
if you have a bodily infirmity preventing your participation, Vonn.
Or are you one of those citizens with…abnormal urges?”

She wanted to scratch Ballaj’s smug eyes
out. She hated Ballaj. She hated this world, where having scruples
was considered deviant. But she knew what she had to do.

Her master was fighting against his natural
instincts, and revealing what this pack of hyenas would call
weakness into the bargain. Taking such a course was perilous on
this planet. She couldn’t let him continue.

After all she’d suffered at the hands of her
hated first master, she could go through at least as much for this
one. He was trying to protect her. He deserved her protection in
return.

She nudged her nose against the underside of
his jaw. “It’s okay. Let’s do this.”

“
You’re certain?”
Unconsciously he licked his bottom lip.

“
Yes, as long as it’s you.
Only you.”
And only
for
you. I’d only ever do this for
you.

He accepted the knife.

Ballaj led them over to the platform. Stupid
thing was waist high on her and had no stairs. Her master helped
her up before effortlessly following. The man had the grace of a
tiger.

He turned and called out
something to one of the slave-assistants who’d brought in the
platform and the man tossed him a piece of white fabric. He caught
it in his off hand with ambidextrous ease. A cool, biting, chemical
scent wafted to her as he wiped the knife.
Always clean your toys
, she thought
as she positioned herself between the two posts.

Looking out at their audience, she waited to
be shackled. The chains and manacles reminded her of her first
master’s dungeon and she quickly forced that thought away before it
overwhelmed her. She couldn’t think about that.

Her master needed her to be strong now. She
could do this. He wasn’t like her first one. This wasn’t that
dungeon. She was not there. This was not then.

She sensed her master behind her before his
hand touched her shoulder. “Look at me,” he ordered quietly.

She turned around. His expression was
impossible to read, so many different emotions hovered there,
everything from the dominant lust to…a flickering shadow of
remorse. She had the sudden urge to tell him everything would be
okay, as if he were the one who needed reassurance.

“
Restrain her,” Ballaj
prompted.

“
No. She doesn’t need
that.” Although he was answering Ballaj, his burning eyes never
left hers.

Murmurs of surprise came from the group.

“
You’re not serious. You
haven’t even trained her to heel properly. You think she won’t try
to escape from being cut open?” Ballaj sounded
incredulous.

“
She’ll stand free, of her
own volition.” He gave her a small smile while his gaze continued
to hold hers. She smiled back. They’d show this group something,
all right.

Again the gasps of shock, and Ballaj’s
disbelieving, “Not under knife-play?”

“
Yes.” He reached out and
stroked his fingers across her eyebrows, repeating the action as he
said, “Close your eyes.”

She obeyed. His touch was soothing and she
relaxed into it. His lips brushed her cheek. He kissed her, a
little chaste kiss, once…twice. At the corner of her mouth, he
kissed her again, pulling away before she could respond. His hand
stroked her forehead, smoothing her brow once more.

“Now don’t move. I don’t want to damage you
accidentally. But you’re not bound. You’re not trapped. You want
this to stop, you say so. We’ll walk away.”

“I understand.”

His hand stroked across her shoulder, down
her arm, in a slow, sensuous motion. “I’ll take care of you.”

“
I know. Do what you
will,” she whispered.

He stroked her hair back to lay bare the
side of her neck. His lips, hot and tender, kissed the sensitive
skin behind her ear, sending a shiver up her spine. “Don’t say
things that will encourage me.” He nipped her earlobe.

“
I mean it. Make that
bastard eat his words.”

He chuckled against her neck.

“
What?” she asked,
confused by his mirth.

“Our minds work similarly. Though yours is
less bloody. I wanted to make him eat his own hands.”

“Metaphorically that works for me.”

She knew the lights aimed at the platform
had intensified when sudden heat poured onto her body. She snuck a
peek through partially opened eyes, noting how darkness cloaked the
rest of the room. From out there, somewhere, Ballaj’s disembodied
voice quietly announced that the play had begun.

Her master took a step back and raised the
knife so it appeared in her line of sight. The blade shown bright
and clean. As he brought it toward her face, she closed her eyes
again and took a deep, calming breath.

The dull side scraped lightly down her cheek
and then caressed the line of her jaw. Cool metal pressed briefly
against her closed lips before slipping over her chin and down her
throat. Just above her slave collar, its progress stopped.

The edge of the blade rested against her
throat. She held perfectly still, breathing only in shallow
hitches. The metal subtly pressed into her skin, not breaking it,
not even hurting, just pressuring her muscles and making her feel
every one when she attempted to swallow. She didn’t move away from
the pressure.

He grunted his approval and then the blade
continued on its journey. At the base of her throat, he turned the
knife and its point traced her collarbone. He was using just enough
pressure to scratch a thin line that barely hurt but probably drew
blood.

When the point hit her tunic’s neckline, the
knife turned again and the flat of the blade ghosted down the front
of her top to rest over her left nipple. With tiny circular
motions, he teased her, shooting sparks up her nerves. Her lips
parted as her breathing quickened.