Chapter 1

"How much more can you take, I wonder?"

Hopefully enough, I thought, as I prayed for oblivion.

More time passed between each strike now. His voice was calmer as well. His fury had passed, thankfully; now he was admiring his work—the way the cane left bloody welts criss-crossing my skin.

Remembering his rage as the cane rained blows across my body left me ready to collapse from the stance I'd managed to hold for so long. Something had happened today; something his steward Richard had told him had brought my master storming into the room earlier.

And I'd known at that moment tonight I was going to hurt. I always did when he was like this.

"Fucking hell!" he had screamed as he had whipped the cane across my shoulders. "That viperous ratsbane who Sterling caught better never let me get a hold of him. I'll strip him bare for turning on me like that!"

I perversely wished whoever the 'viperous ratsbane' was would get caught by my master. I didn't understand why I had to suffer for other people's mistakes like this.

"He better hope Richard gets a hold of him first," Master had growled, still talking to himself as he had laid out another blow.

I'd kept my lips pressed together tightly, drawing on every ounce of control and discipline I'd ever been taught—to not break as he vented out his frustration.

The more pain I was in, the more he enjoyed himself, the more it alleviated his own irritation. Closing my eyes as I awaited the fall of the cane, the anticipation of wondering where it would fall was just as much agony as the actual hit sometimes. I clenched my hands tighter on the back of my head, trying to keep my body from tensing as I stood at attention.

Pain lanced across my lower back, and my teeth bit down on my bottom lip to keep from reacting. I could taste the blood in my mouth as I fought to maintain silence. Control. Discipline. Be strong. Be good.

If I could just hold out, it would be over soon; I was sure of it. He would release me, allow me to quickly pleasure him, and I could go back to my corner of the room. Maybe he'd even let me wash and use the wonderful salve he offered when I'd been really good.

It had seemed to take forever for his ire to wane this time. Master's breathing had been harsh and ragged as he lashed out his rage. It had been so long since he'd been this angry, and I wondered if he truly expected me to stay in control under the onslaught.

I rarely ever broke now. Maybe I did at the beginning, and I had the scars to remind me of my disobedience; however, I usually managed to remain numb now, holding position, suffering in silence. But tonight was different. It had been a while since he'd been this brutal.

I tried not to tense at the whooshing sound that would precede the explosion of pain, not knowing exactly where it would land, but it never worked. I could only tighten my hands on the back of my head, stretching back my elbows in an effort to maintain my training. I tried to focus on my breathing and not the fire blooming across my back.

A hand slid down my back, almost reverently, now that he was slowly getting back in control. The garlic and onion that had flavored his dinner assaulted my senses as he leaned close to my cheek. "So pretty, so good for me."

Another voice echoed in my head, a voice from seven years ago. A voice I hadn't heard since, but thought of daily. I prayed every day he wasn't suffering like I did. 'Be good, be strong.'

His voice whispered in my ear as he held me tight against him as I cried. The night before he left. "Mama and papa will need you now, more than ever."

No they didn't. They needed him. They'd tried to send me away. But no one wanted me. Everyone wanted him. I wanted him. I needed him. Because he was the only one who ever cared about me. Papa didn't, and mama always seemed...lost.

"You know this is for the best. I can earn good money to support papa, the family. I need you to help mama and papa as much as you can while I'm gone. I'll be back when the contract is over. I promise. Be strong, be good."

And I tried, for him. Even though he'd never come back. Or maybe he had, and I had already been sent away under my own contract. Helping mama and papa the only way I could now.

Here, with my master.

****

He paced around me, his torso bare and covered in a sheen of sweat. I kept my eyes lowered to his hairy chest and plump stomach. He was heavyset but maintained a bit of muscle as well. Certainly more than me.

I wished my master had tied me to the bed or bound me in some way; it made it easier not to react. I felt safer when he restrained me. I knew what was expected. I didn't have to think about whether or not I was allowed to move—because I couldn't. I just had to stay silent.

Tonight was not one of those nights.

I'd been standing in the same position—feet shoulder width apart, back straight, hands linked behind my head, elbows back, naked—for over an hour, waiting for each fall of the cane as my master paced behind me angrily. Striking relentlessly at first. Now, the bruising hits were more sporadic, intermixed with a hand soothing over my back...my hips...my buttocks...

And I hadn't broken. Not yet.

I felt like I could do it now. I was sure he'd be done any moment. I'd lasted this long, through the worse of his fury, I should be able to make it, right? If I could stay quiet. If I didn't break. He'd see how good I was. And I desperately wanted to be good.

The next strike landed across the bottom of my buttocks, stinging the sensitive skin, and I choked back a cry.

"What was that, pet? Did I hear something?" the deep voice crooned next to my ear.

I felt my naked body tremble as cold fear washed over me. Fucking hell. It sounded like he was looking for me to fall apart now, just so he could punish me more. "No, master," I managed to croak out.

"Hmm, we'll see," he muttered, his breath hot against my damp shoulder.

I couldn't let him see my fear.

It would only make it worse. And believe me, it could be worse. I broke more times than I could count. You'd think after three years, I would have learned better discipline.

Sometimes, I was able to let go, drift away, dream of a place where I didn't hurt anymore. It was easier when I was bound; I didn't have to concentrate as hard. But master hated when I escaped into my head like that. He wanted me there, in the moment with him. And I wanted to be anywhere else.

I felt his hand slide down my back, slick with sweat and probably blood as well. I hissed at the sting of his fingers scraping against my raw skin. Was he done with the cane?

A moment later, his finger slipped into my crease, jabbing into me without warning. A strangled cry escaped my parched throat as I instinctively arched away from the invasion.

Fuck! My chin dropped slightly as I snapped back into position, praying master wouldn't punish me more. I'd broken my position, my control.

Fingers snaked through my hair, yanking my head back. "So close, my pretty little Kye, so close."

I sucked in a sharp breath, knowing what was coming next. I wanted to beg, but that would be even worse. I'd broken, now I had to face the consequences.

He propelled me forward until my thighs hit the bed. My heart raced in panicked beats in my chest as he shoved my chest down on the mattress. I knew better than to move my hands and managed to keep them clasped behind my head as my face buried in the thick blankets. His fingers traced down my ribs to my jutting hipbones as he yanked them back. In the next instant, my training, my discipline failed me completely when he stabbed into me, and I screamed.

"Control!" he snapped angrily, his hand squeezed against the back of my neck.

I gasped in air as it came in short pants, my airway constricted by his strong fingers wrapped around my neck and my face being smothered in the mattress. As he drew his hips back, I felt the burn inside me, scraping me raw. He drove back in, tearing me open, and I felt a slickness I knew wasn't the oil he used when I'd been good.

"Please!" I cried out, even though I knew I shouldn't. Begging was bad. Begging brought more—

Fuck! Stars exploded in my vision as he pierced me again, and I tried to drag in air through my pained cries. One hand held me still by my throat, the other scraped down the lacerations scoring my back.

Why the fuck couldn't I stay quiet?

Why couldn't I keep control? Obey the rules?

His own breath started to sound irregular. "Your control is worthless, pet."

I already knew that. I'd never been perfect, even before I became his personal thrall. Probably why my father had tried to send me off while wanting to keep my older brother with him. I'd been the worthless one, the one he could throw away.

"You should be better than this by now." His voice was distant, fading, but the pain spiked up my back as his thrusts grew erratic.

At that moment, I prayed. Maybe it was time. Maybe he'd finally lose control—not that he'd been in much control earlier as he'd flayed my back. I could hardly draw any air now. Maybe...if I was lucky...

His heavy weight was bearing down on my thinner frame as he sought his release, squeezing my lungs, his hand biting the back of my neck, crushing the top of my spine.

I prayed as I let the air escape my lungs. I prayed he wouldn't notice I couldn't draw more air in. I prayed he didn't know how hard he was pushing on my neck. I prayed for oblivion. It was one thing I could control.

I prayed...