Page 57 of Cruel Master
No.
I must have finally gone mad, because what I’m seeing cannot be real.
It can’t—
“Hello, doll.”
Hadrian says the words like they belong in his mouth. They don’t. They can’t. He can’t be here. That sadistic amusement can’t be on his face. Not once in fifteen years did he ever look at me like that.
“I take it you hadn’t figured it out, then?”
Figured it out? I close my eyes again. This can’t be real. I must be dreaming. I count to five under my breath, sure the illusion will shatter.
Three. Four. Fi—
“Doll. Eyes on me.”
They snap open, ingrained obedience kicking in despite the voice belonging to Hadrian. He seats himself on the edge of the altar, and there’s something relaxed and natural about the motion, as though he’s comfortable in this place. In this role.
I study him, and this time, my brain registers the things it missed on first impression. It’s Hadrian, but not as I remember him. He was always lean, bordering on skinny, and never wanted a tattoo even though I got several while we were together.
This man looming over my prone form is a different beast altogether. Ink covers his thick, muscular chest, colorful Japanese designs which spread over his broad shoulders and down his arms. The pattern continues down into the waistband of his black jeans.
I stare at his body, processing it little by little. I can’t bring myself to look at his face. Not yet. Right there, on his shoulder blade, is a small birthmark, not obscured by the tattoo. We used to joke that it was in the shape of Italy. It’s there. It’s right there.
He knows how much I love spiders.
It hits me in a wave. He knows.
I raise my eyes to his face.
The deep brown eyes staring back at me belong to Hadrian. There’s no denying it, even though the cruel smile on his lips has no place there. He’s enjoying this. He’s fucking enjoying it.
My paralysis melts away as rage swoops in. I’d given up on anger. In this cell, with Saldar, I quickly learned it was pointless. But now? Now it obliterates everything else. My captor isn’t a demon or some faceless sadistic billionaire. It’s Hadrian. How dare he? How fucking dare he?
I thrash against the restraints. “Let me the fuck out of here! What’s wrong with you? You sick fucking bastard! I’ll—”
His face hardens, and he whips his hand out to cover my mouth, cutting off my tirade, though he can’t stop my furious mumbling. “Be very careful, doll. That’s the only insult I’ll let slide, because I’m sure this has come as a shock. From this point, you show your master the proper respect. Understand?”
Oh, I understand. I understand I’ll rip his head off his fucking shoulders. The instant he pulls his hand away, I let my anger fly. “You’re not my fucking master, Hadrian. Let me go. I’ll—”
“That’s a shame.”
His ice-cold tone makes its way through the furious, hazy cloud. Fury still scorches my veins, but my brain is starting to catch up. It’s been Hadrian this whole time. Every punishment, every order. All him. I close my mouth and stare at him, chest rising and falling.
My very naked chest. I’m still naked. Still restrained. This new revelation hasn’t changed any of it, though now I feel every inch of exposed skin. Oh God. It’s been Hadrian doing all the things Saldar has made me do. Hadrian?
Hadrian, who never once spanked me no matter how many hints I dropped. He was always a caring, attentive lover who made sure I came before he did, but he never took charge the way I craved. Never used the set of handcuffs I got for him one Christmas, thinking they were a joke.
I should have spoken up about my feelings, but we’d known each other since we were kids, and it never felt right. Every time I tried, I gave up because I just couldn’t picture him wanting the same thing.
Well, fuck. I was wrong about that.
Jesus.
Why the hell didn’t he show me this side of himself before?
My body is still trembling, but now I’m not sure if it’s from rage or shock. Saldar, with his calculated cruelty, and Hadrian. My brain tries to meld the two, and the effort is almost a physical pain.
