Page 20 of Beneath the Burn

He turned toward the door and dragged her down the corridor. “You didn’t eat the oatmeal squares. There was a time when you never turned those down.”

“People change.” She plodded slowly behind him, spinning from his change of topics and navigating the untrodden territory of casual conversation with Roy Oxford.

“A challenge.” He winked over his shoulder. “You’ll teach me what you like now. You’ll show me every new and fascinating fiber you possess.”

“I’d rather not.” Her pulse accelerated. Had she stepped too far?

He paused, waited for her to catch up. “I’ll take that under consideration. You see? I’m not the tyrant you think I am.” He yanked the chain and made her stumble. “But I do hold the reins.”

Fucking dickhead. If he didn’t want to be a tyrant, he could show her a little tenderness once in a while. She hungered for a connection to someone and if her only hope of ever receiving affection came from Roy, maybe it would’ve been better than none at all.

As they entered the last door on the left and walked to the center of the stockroom, she came to a realization. No matter what happened in the next few hours, her scars wouldn’t be a fraction as gruesome as Jay’s. If he were in her position, what would he have done to survive it emotionally?

He would’ve taken control the only way he could. She planted her feet.

The chain went taut and halted Roy’s forward motion. He looked over his shoulder wearing a thunderous expression.

With a wipe of her nose, she pointed a bloodstained finger at the most confining implement in the room. “I want that one.” She cleared her throat. “Sir.”

His gaze snapped in the direction of her intent then narrowed on her. “The inverse chair?”

They stared at one another, a breath away. He could throw a fist, sweep a leg, or yank the leash and smash her head into the floor. She waited.

A muscle twitched in his cheek. His eyes darted between hers. Then the debate on his face settled. “Lead the way.”

Thirty minutes later, he circled her, jacket and tie discarded. His shirt draped open, exposing a white expanse of torso that never saw daylight.

She hung upside down, doubled over at the waist, and arms and thighs squeezed to her chest by ratchet style straps. Her ankles were bound together and dangled below her face.

Choosing the punishment was not the same as choosing to be punished. The beating would’ve happened with or without her consent. There was no power exchange. No safe word. Choosing the method gave her an illusion of control, and in the monster’s lair, illusion was better than reality.

The whip of the flogger caught her labium. She loosened her muscles, held her expression sedate, and embraced it.

Another strike. Upper thigh. A burn flared her sinuses. She breathed through it, and for better or worse, said in her toughest voice, “Again.”

He stumbled mid-lunge, and the lashing fell short. His expression was so openly bewildered, it drew his brows inward over dark eyes searching hers. Here he was, Master of the Dungeon, and he seemed unsure of how to proceed.

Then he smiled, and it chilled the air. “Whatever you’re up to”—he raised his arm—”it’s making me hard as hell.”

The flogger swung down. She held his eyes and adapted to the pain, in all its twisted faces.

9

The van pulled off the interstate and parked at a rest area in Alabama…Mississippi…hell, Jay didn’t know where. He hadn’t looked up from his acoustic and notepad since they left Georgia that morning.

The heat of the summer sun baked the windows, and the A/C cranked on high. With his guitar cradled in his lap and his socked feet on the dash, he was too comfortable to move. Laz and Wil were out of the van before Rio killed the motor. The tight quarters and endless driving must have been wearing on them.

Rio lingered, as did his stare.

Jay didn’t look up from his scrawled lyrics. “Don’t you need to hit the head?”

A huff. Rio wadded up his envelope of flavored candy sugar he’d been licking out of for the past hour and threw it at the windshield. The crumpled ball bounced off the dash and fell amongst the litter on the floorboard.

A smile pulled at Jay’s lips. “Who took the fun out of your Fun Dip?”

“You did, Jay. That’s who.”

Rio’s glare eclipsed Jay’s periphery. Was the big guy seriously pouting? Jay twisted in the seat to face him. “How did I do that exactly?”

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