Linked.
Don't think about it. It hurt too damn much. Tears pricked my eyes but I blinked them back, trying to remain in my false little bubble of sexting. This was all I had. I could flirt with Kite with complete safety, knowing I would never be able to break his heart when the time came.
In a way, his fastidious request for distance protected him. And for that, I was oddly grateful.
Running a hand through my long hair, I sighed, re-grouping myself. I smiled softly at Squirrel. "If a drunken whoopsy daisy was my only attempt at making a man come, how the hell am I supposed to do it via a faceless message?"
Be someone you're not. Act. Pretend.
"Fine."
Swiping at the dirty mixture of hay, dog hair, and dust from the blanket Jethro had given me, I prepared to embrace my inner sex-kitten.
Needle&Thread: Imagine your hand is my hand. I'm holding you firm, tight. I'm kneeling at your feet while you sit on a large chair. A throne. Your hand wraps in my hair, pulling me forward. I obey because I know what you're asking me to do. Your eyes don't ask, they tell, and I lower my head into your lap. My mouth waters to taste you. You're big. Smooth. Begging for my mouth.
My breath came faster; my mind playing out the fantasy in crystal detail. The warmth I'd been looking for spread from my core like a tentative sunrise.
Kite007: Fuck me, woman. Why haven't you been talking to me like that all along? What was with the shy bullshit? Fuck, keep going. I'm so damn hard. I want your mouth so fucking much. Give it to me.
My skin broke out in goosebumps. The power. The approval. Kite was a wanker, an arsehole, and a complete shallow prick, but he approved of me. He wanted me.
Needle&Thread: You're holding your cock while I lick you once at the very tip. You want me to swallow you, but you don't force me. Because you know I'm going to swallow every drop.
Kite007: Did you taste it?
I frowned.
Needle&Thread: Taste what?
Kite007: My precum. Fuck, I'm so close. I'm in your mouth. I'm fucking your lips. I'm holding your hair as I drive so deep down your throat. What do I taste like to you?
Needle&Thread: You taste …
"Hell, I don't know." Looking at the cluster of muscular dogs, all watching me as if they knew what I was up to, I swiped a hand over my face. "What the hell does a man taste like?"
Needle&Thread: You taste of expensive liquor, making me drunk as you come. Spilling over my lips, dripping down my chin. You don't want me wasting a drop, so you capture the liquid on your thumb and push it back into my mouth.
The instant I sent it, a chill darted in my blood.
Thumb. Mouths. Sucking.
Him.
My taste buds brought back the crisp taste of Jethro. His unyielding hold on my chin as I licked his finger. He hadn't really had a taste. Just the cold precision of stone. But having him dominate had given me the permission to feel a flutter in my core, to not be embarrassed of wanting more. Of becoming wet.
Kite007: Fuck me. I haven't come like that in a while. It's all over me-splashed up my chest, sticking to me like fucking glue. I like you like this, naughty nun. You're more … relaxed.
My voice was soft. "That's what happens when your life is no longer your own and there's nothing you can do to control your future."
Squirrel yipped in agreement.
"That's also what you do to survive. You become different. You change."
As much as I hated the Hawks, they'd given me something I'd been searching for all my life.
My little kitten claws were growing, prickling. Still too new to scratch with-but there.
My battery flashed again and I knew this would be the last time I'd have the luxury of using it until Jethro let me charge.
Ignoring the emptiness inside and the sharp twinge of letting Kite use me, I sent my last message.
Needle&Thread: I'm glad. I'm licking you clean. I'm drunk on everything you've given me. I'll be here for you when you next need a release, but please … don't call me naughty nun anymore. Call me Needle.
Jethro came for me at eleven a.m.
The horses across the yard were gone-to do what, I had no clue. I'd spent an hour or so listening to the grooms prepare them and the comforting clack of their metal shoes disappearing into the distance on cobblestones.
I pictured myself commandeering one and galloping away. Not that I knew how to ride. I'd never had time. Sewing had been my one obsession.
Squirrel and his gang of hounds had left not long after I finished messaging Kite. A piercing whistle summoned and they'd charged from the kennel through a small dog-size exit down the back. I'd tried to follow-to get free-but it only opened if a coded collar was in range. A password programmed to every dog allowing them access.
So, I'd spent the remainder of my morning alone. Alone with thoughts I flatly ignored.
It was odd to sit and do nothing. I had nowhere to rush off to. No emails to reply to. No to-do list to attack. I was in limbo, just waiting for the man I loathed to appear.
My stomach was a ball of knots wanting him to get it over with, whilst my jangled heart wanted him to stay away forever. I'd never felt so jumbled inside-including my stomach.
It'd stopped growling for food around dawn, but the empty ache only grew worse.
Jethro swung open the top partition of the barn door, leaving the bottom closed. Resting his arms on the top, he nodded. "Ms. Weaver."
The sun took the liberty of bouncing into the gloomy kennel, granting bright light and silhouetting Jethro. His face remained in shadow but his thick hair was wet and messy from a shower.
He'd shed his charcoal suit for a more casual grey shirt, the diamond pin twinkling in his lapel. I'd grown to recognize it as his signature piece, linking him to whatever organisation his father ran.
Is it a gang? Did they rob and cheat and kill?
It wasn't my issue. I didn't care. I didn't condone what they did. I was the innocent party-their hostage.
I didn't return his greeting, deciding to stay bundled in my blanket and glower.
Jethro sniffed impatiently, removing his arms from the door. He unlocked the bottom partition, swinging it wide.
More sunshine entered, illuminating the bottom half of his wardrobe. Dark jeans. Well-fitted jeans. Jeans that made him seem young and approachable and normal.
My hands balled. Don't buy into the projection. There was nothing normal about this man. Nothing sane or kind. I learned that last night-many times over. There would be no more begging from me. No more pleading. It fell on deaf ears, and I was done.
Jethro snapped his fingers as if expecting me to heel. "Get up. It's time to begin." Taking a threatening step into the kennel, he pursed his lips. "Shit, what did you do in your sleep? Roll around like the dogs?"
I kept my lips pressed together, watching him in the silence he so seemed to enjoy. When I didn't move, his face twisted, taking in my hay-riddled hair and dirt-covered blanket. "I won't tell you again. Get. Up."
I shrugged. It was liberating to no longer care. To no longer be captive by the need to obey and jump to attention for fear of retribution. I meant what I said to Kite. Everything inside me was gone. Locked down, bunkered inside, ready to weather whatever war was coming.
Standing slowly, I placed my dead phone into my jacket pocket. Letting the blanket fall off my hips, I brushed lingering lint off my clothes.
Jethro snapped his fingers again, and I moved willingly-coasting to his side exactly as he wanted.
He scowled, his gaze full of suspicion.
I gave him an empty smile. I'd found salvation in not caring. It didn't mean I had to pretend to like him. He wouldn't know that by trying to break me last night, he only gave me a new avenue of strength.
I'm ready.
For whatever he threw at me.
I'll survive.
Until I no longer needed to try.
Running my hands through my hair, I quickly gave up with the tangles and focused on pinching some colour into my cheeks instead.
"You think that will save you? Looking presentable?" His voice was blizzard and snow.
I didn't say a word.
Jethro gritted his jaw. His hands curled beside his spread legs.
My muscles braced for punishment. The air shimmered with violence.
Jethro's hand suddenly shot out, capturing my throat. Without a sound, he spun me around and marched me backward out of the kennel. The sun kissed my skin, fanning the warmth I'd tried so hard to keep hold of from talking to Kite. I embraced it, hugging it close, so Jethro's ice didn't slice me into pieces.
His fingers tightened around my neck, but I refused to claw at his hold. I repay in kind. Whatever I did to him in self-defence, I'd get back ten times worse. But none of that mattered now, because I knew how to survive.
By being above them. By being untouchable on the inside, even while they broke me on the outside.
"You think you've got it all figured out, don't you?" His arm hoisted me onto the tips of my toes. Breathing was difficult, not fighting was impossible, but I permitted it. All I did was stare silently into his golden eyes.
"I understand what you're doing." He smiled. "But mark my words. You won't win." Shaking me, he unwound his fingers, then smoothed the front of his jeans. The sun gleamed on the gold buckle of his crocodile skin belt.