The Other Brother (Snow and Ash Book 3) (11 page)

I look away as shame washes over me.

“You will hold that position,” he bites out. “You will not move for any reason, not even to use the bathroom.”

“How long?” I try to sound tough. Angry. I don’t, though. I sound like I’m giving consent.

“Until I release you. Head down.”

I lower my head and stare bullet holes into the floor. Kent moves toward the door, out of eyesight. “Don’t move, Bianca. I’ll know if you do.”

The threat in his tone is unmistakable.

For a moment I consider running, but where would I go? Back to Knoxville? Dad was only too happy to form the Barry alliance. He won’t welcome me. Really, this is it. There are far worse monsters out there than the one that just left this room.

…one day you’ll find yourself tied up, bent over, and caned.

Damn Nico and his twisted sense of humor. This is his fault. The clock on the mantel tracks the passage of seconds. I count to a hundred. Two hundred. Screw it. I could count to five thousand and what would that be? Like ten minutes? I rub my hands over my face, then I gasp and drop them back down on my thighs. Palms up. He said he’d know.

I believe him.

I can’t be alone with Nico. Not ever. The poison he feeds me—it just makes things difficult. How did I not learn he was trouble when he ran from our marriage contract?

The clock ticks, ticks, ticks. A scream coils in my thighs and shoves its way up into my chest.

Footsteps ring out in the hallway, and I square my shoulders, ready to give him a piece of my mind the second he opens the door. But the steps continue on past and fade into the distance.

I slump. He wants me to trust him. He wants me to surrender myself to him. He thinks just by telling me to let go of my past, it’ll suddenly disappear. It doesn’t work that way. Plus I can’t tell him Nico said Kent trained those girls to be submissives, then traded them like slaves to General Balenchuk. It’ll sound like I believe Nico. At least, it will sound like I doubt Kent, anyway. There’s that whole trust thing again. Damned if I confess, damned if I don’t.

I don’t know how long I’ve been sitting here like this. The clock is on the mantel, and my eyes face the floor. It’s been a long time since I could feel anything from my knees down. Now there are cramps in my thighs and my neck’s beginning to hurt.

When the doorknob turns, my heart flutters and I swallow. I’m so desperate for release I almost look to the door. I pray it’s Kent. If it’s Patricia or anyone else, I’ll die. The footsteps sound like those of a heavy man. It’s Kent. It has to be. I straighten my spine and expect him to say something, anything. When he continues past me into the bathroom, I’m stunned. He closes the door behind him, and I feel like I’ve been slapped.

The water turns on, and I think I might scream. But another piece of me, a traitorous, wanton slut, twitches. I don’t know whether to be angry at him for his brand of punishment or scared of what might follow. After the water cuts off, I pick up the sound of brushing teeth. My breasts grow heavy and sensitive to the caressing heat from the fire. I hate myself, but when the bathroom door opens, my whole body tingles in anticipation.

Kent emerges, and I use every ounce of will I have not to look at him. I try to follow him with my peripheral vision as he moves around to the other side of the bed. His feet are bare, and droplets of water cling to the hairs of his legs. He smells clean, like that bay-rum soap they make downtown.

I wait. I tremble.

The bed squeaks. The drawer of his nightstand scrapes open. What is he doing? I strain my ears, struggling for a clue, any clue at all. The drawer shuts with a soft click, and then…

Nothing.

My heartbeat slows, and I am again conscious of the painful tingling in my calves. The clock ticks the passage of time, and it becomes clear to me that he’s really doing it. This isn’t a tap on the wrist. This is punishment. How long is he going to make me do this? Inside I seethe. My hands curl into fists, and I grind my teeth. But I will not give in. He will not win this battle of wills.

Then my ears pick up the flutter of paper. He’s reading a book? I swallow the lump in my throat. The next one, too. I am furniture. I am the dog in the kennel. Tears flood my eyes, but I refuse to make a sound. Why am I putting up with this? Why did I agree?

But I don’t have to answer that question. I know why. I’m ashamed, and I’m scared.

The bed squeaks again, and I hear something thunk as it’s dropped onto the nightstand.

I begin to shake. Surely this is enough. It has to be. What will happen if I do something he really hates? My breaths come shallow and fast as I catch him in my side vision again. The hair on his legs looks rough, and I imagine myself grinding my clit against it. I shut my eyes as I acknowledge that he turns me on. Just the sight of him makes me wet.

He stops in front of me.

“Up on your knees.” He’s all business, like he’s just asked a servant for a towel. I draw in a shuddering breath, and I try to do as he commands, I really do, but my legs are cramping so badly that I fall. It’s enough. I’m done. The tears come.

Kent bends, and I catch sight of his cock, already half-erect. I shut my eyes and burst with another sob. Without a word Kent helps me to my knees. Gently. Reverently, as though I’m made of glass and bunny fur. He pets my hair like it’s the softest mink.

The first sting catches me by surprise, and I suck in a breath. When he slaps the other breast, I cry out and cradle my arms around myself. I’m shaking, shaking, shaking. My mouth hangs open, and the air gets stuck in my throat. I suck in a wheezing breath and hold it. I know if I let go, I’ll surrender fully to tears.

“Bianca.”

I shake my head and refuse to look at him, but for God’s sake, my nipples turn to hard little pebbles.

He captures my chin and forces my head up. His grip is fierce, cruel even. The same hand that delivered the blows to my breasts caresses my cheek.

“Thank you for your obedience.” His voice is quiet and his gaze burns into mine, even as tears flow freely down my face. He smooths them away, oh-so-gently, and cups both cheeks. “You disappointed me tonight.”

I squeeze my eyes shut. I know I did, but I can’t tell him what Nico said. I can’t.

With a sudden move, he fists my hair and jerks my head back. I cry out at the pain of it. The barely suppressed violence in the crease of his lips, the narrowing of his eyes sends a shudder through me, through my soul. It tells me everything I need to know. I don’t have to look down because I already know he’s hard. Really hard. Kent is enjoying this. My pain feeds his hunger; my tears fill his cock to the point of bursting. He has me completely in his control.

To my utter shame, I’ve never been so aroused in my life. The yearning in my belly, the flood of juices that bathe my thighs evidence my need. I want this. I long to please him. This is not abuse. It is not rape. It is protection.

He cups his balls, runs his other hand up the length of his cock, and squeezes. A droplet emerges from the tip. I’m riveted as he moves forward and brings it to my mouth. He smacks my lips with his dick.

“Suck it.” It’s a command. I run my tongue over him and catch his salty musk. I circle the head with the tip of my tongue, and he groans. I lick down his length, enjoying the rich taste of his skin.

He pulls my hair again, this time harder. “When I tell you to suck, you suck.”

I don’t complain. Covering my teeth with my lips, I take him into my mouth and let him slide back my tongue. It’s so dirty, kneeling before him and taking orders in the most debasing way possible, but it only makes me ache for him to stuff that cock deep into my belly. I want to feel him touch my womb. I take him as far back as I can, then retreat with a long suck.

Kent groans, and his eyelids flutter shut. “Again.”

I swirl my tongue around the tip of him, tasting again the salt of his cum. Before he can get angry, I lower myself over him and suck hard on my retreat. I linger on the head of his cock and use my tongue to tease him. His hips buck, and I feel my pussy convulse in response. Pleasure rushes through me, powerful and heady. That and pride. I am pleasing him.

“Tilt your head back.”

I obey him. I obey all his instructions. I cup his balls and suck them, I push the tips of my fingers against that spot behind them that he seems to love. I taste what he wants me to taste, and I let him push his cock through, past the gag, past the choke, until he’s all the way back in my throat. I swallow, and he gives a shout. Gripping my head in place, his face goes savage as he gives in and fucks my mouth. I receive him.

His hands smooth my hair; no pain this time. Legs spread wide, he groans with every thrust. I reach under him and cup his balls, roll them in my hand. I swirl my tongue over the length of him and give him a reverent suck. “Jesus fuck.” His movements grow frantic. “Christ, I’m coming. Take it! Oh Jesus, take it all!” He ends with an inarticulate groan, and I take him as far into me as I can. His warm wetness sprays my throat. I swallow him, spurt after spurt, until finally there’s nothing left. Kent’s neck is taut and corded, his eyes squeezed shut, and his hands buried in my hair as he gives his last shudder. I retreat with a gentle suck until he slides out of my mouth. My face is covered in tears, drool, and cum.

Instinctively, knowing this will please him, I sink down onto my legs, place my hands on my thighs, and bend my head.

He lifts my chin, uses both hands to massage my aching jaw. I don’t know how to read his expression. I got him off, but have I pleased him? Have I made up for holding on to Nico’s words?

He blinks rapidly and sweeps the hair from my face, wipes the moisture from my chin. “Lie down,” he says quietly. “I want your arms clasped over your head and your legs open, knees up.”

My heart races as joy floods me to the bones. He’s going to do something to me, and whatever it is, I’m going to let him. No matter how he scares me, no matter what memories attack, I’ll fight them down. I’ll shove them so deep inside me they’ll never find voice.

I lie back. I raise my hands, pull my knees up, and spread them wide.

He starts with a light slap to my pussy, and I jump. My legs go rigid, and my stomach turns to stone. Even though he runs warm, kneading caresses over my breasts and traces down my stomach with light, fluttery touches, the moment is still broken. When he digs his hand into my snatch, I wince and go absolutely stiff.

“Hey.” He runs his fingertips down the insides of my thighs. “Look at me. Breathe with me.”

I try; I really do. His gaze holds me captive, and this both thrills and terrifies me. His face is a mixture of what all my dreams and nightmares are made of. Kent calms me; he frightens me. He guides me, but he pushes me too far. He soothes me, then excites me to unbearable heights. He is man and he is monster, and I am his. I grind my teeth against the old fears. I dig deep and shove, shove, shove them into the dark hole of my mind. Why won’t they stay there? Kent wants this, and I have to give it to him. I won’t to disappoint him again. I want so very badly to catch even a glimpse of that reverence that’s peeked at times from behind veiled eyes.

When he presses a kiss to my belly, my muscles tense and I draw in a noisy, desperate gasp. All I feel is fear and deep-rooted shame. I can’t. I want to, but I can’t. I squeeze my eyes shut, but the tears fall anyway. He’s offering me a gift, and I want it so badly I ache. But I’m scarred and I can’t seem to heal.

“Bianca.” His voice is stern yet gentle. “Don’t do this. I need you to open to me. I need to make you come. If I can’t do that, what’s the point?” His need echoes in his voice. It’s there in the crease between his eyes, the downturn of his scarred lips. They both need me—the man and the monster.

He ducks his head and sighs. He looks at me like I’m broken, and he’s out of ways to try to fix me. He places a hand on his knee, like he’s going to use it as leverage to get up.

“Kent!” I rip his name straight from my chest, through the fear and the shame. I am frightened, but not of his touch. Not of the bruises or the barely suppressed urgency I sense in him. I’m haunted by the ghosts of five desperate men, but right now what terrifies me more, leaves me cringing before him, is that he matters so deeply. He has the power to tear out my soul and leave it in shreds. With one word, one look, he could break me as no rape ever could. I’m destroying myself. I’m denying myself what I need most in the world. I can have it, if I want it. If it’s not too late.

“Please don’t leave me!” I wrench myself upright and place my palms to the sides of his face, embracing the man and the monster as one. “I need you.”

He hesitates.

I have to do better or I’ll lose him. I can feel it like a knife to my throat. Before I can think, I press my lips to his. For a moment he’s stiff, and I trace his soft flesh with my tongue. He lets me through, and tentatively I caress his tongue with mine. His breath quickens, and so does mine, and when he deepens the kiss, I ache so badly I think I’ll cramp with it.

He pulls away and wipes my taste from his lips. “No.”

Shock settles where my lungs should be, and I cringe away. I clutch my arms as despair dissolves my gut, but I find no comfort. There is no barrier that can keep me safe.

He sets his jaw and shakes his head. “We do this my way, or we don’t do it at all.”

Wild desperation clutches my heart, and I can hardly breathe.

“I’m so sorry,” I gasp. “I’ll do anything you want. Anything. I promise!” I beg him with my eyes, my flesh, my soul.

Still frowning, he cocks his head as though weighing whether he believes me, or perhaps if he still wants it.

What can I do? How can I convince him I give up, I give in? What can I do that will make him accept my surrender?

Our eyes meet. Then, quite deliberately, I lower mine. I ease myself back down, clasp my hands over my head, and spread my legs the way he showed me. When he slaps my breast, he is not gentle, and I gasp. But he doesn’t leave. I tense myself for the next strike. When it comes, I cry out. My breaths come in pants, but there is no tension, no fear, no urge to flee. All that remains is acceptance. This is Kent, and I am here to please him. When I meet his eyes again, I see something primitive clawing its way to the surface: the monster. I want it. He open-hands both breasts in rapid succession until they’re pink and tender, and it’s like a bolt of lightning straight to my cunt. I know punishment when I feel it, but it fills me with joy. He has not given up. I spread wider for him.