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Ultimatum(7)

By:Gemma James


An hour? I let out a pitiful cry.

He crossed his arms. “If you can’t handle it, snap your fingers now.”

Using my only way out wasn’t an option, and we both knew it. Eve’s pale face swam in my vision. I’d do anything for her. Anything. I shook my head, and by doing so gave him the okay. His heavy steps pounded the stairs, growing fainter the further he climbed. He was leaving! Oh, God . . . an hour.

Fear enveloped me like a stifling blanket; an hour loomed ahead like eternity.





4. MASTERED

Time had no measure. Seconds, minutes . . . they all bled into each other, until the only thing that mattered was the rampant ache in my muscles, the dimming of the room, the goose bumps forming on my skin as the chill set in. After a while I became numb. Listless. Found a place outside myself where I could tolerate existing. It was a familiar place, one I hadn’t visited in a long time. I sagged toward the floor a little more with each minute, heels refusing to touch ground, wrists taking the burden of my weight.

And then I felt the warmth of his hands, grazing my ankles as he removed the bar from between my legs, circling my wrists and lifting . . . until they dropped like noodles at my sides. In a dizzying whirl, I slumped toward the floor. He engulfed me in his arms.

“Open your eyes, Kayla.” His breath whisked across my face, tinted with brandy.

I stared into his sapphire gaze . . . and felt nothing.

He held me up with one hand and removed the gag with the other. “Have you learned your lesson?”

I worked my aching jaw, and only then did I realize I had drool trailing down my chin.

“Answer me. Have you learned your lesson?”

“Yes.”

“I’m giving you one chance, because I know your punishment wasn’t easy. Show me the respect I’m owed.”

My apathetic state diminished; swift anger welled and overflowed. I hated him. Truly despised him. “Go to hell, Gage.”

He swept me up, threw me over his shoulder, and stalked to the bench.

“What are you doing?” I cried.

Ignoring my question, he dropped me to my feet. I grabbed onto the bench to keep from falling, which was a bad idea, because my actions only helped him position me. Gage pressed onto my back and wedged my knees apart. He strapped my hands, knees, and ankles in place, then adjusted the bench until my butt tilted up for easy access.

The snap of leather sent ice through my blood. “What is that?” I cranked my neck around to see.

“A whip.”

“Don’t you dare hit me with that!” I couldn’t breathe. Everything flooded back, the beatings, the bruises and cuts. The fractured bones.

“I told you what I expect from you, yet you continue to disobey me. If you can’t take your punishment, say your word and end it.” He punctuated his words with a swift strike to my ass.

I jerked and cried out, and the whip whistled through the air again, a split second warning before he struck me a second time.

Crack!

He hit me again and again, never giving me a moment to catch my breath, never allowing the sting to alleviate before he escalated the pain with another strike. I sobbed and pleaded with every blow, and eventually I found that place again—the place I’d lived in for the duration of my marriage.

Stop, stop, stop, stop . . .

Finally he did.

Tears drenched my face, and I couldn’t see him, though the sound of his breath, coming fast and hard, told me he wasn’t far. I ticked off the seconds in my mind, and stopped counting when his legs came into view.

“Who am I, Kayla?”

I lifted my head. He still had a death grip on the whip; his knuckles had gone white around the handle. “You’re my Master.”

“That’s right. Don’t you forget it.”

He put the whip away, then freed me from the restraints. “Don’t move yet.” He disappeared, only to reappear a few seconds later with a bottle of massage oil. He dripped some onto my back and went to work in rubbing the tension from my body. His fingers glided over my back and down my legs. I felt myself sinking, losing myself to the allure of my cloudy mind. Confusion niggled on the outskirts, and I vaguely wondered why he’d beat me, only to massage away some of the pain afterward.

“Who am I?” His voice drifted above, rich and warm like hot chocolate. His hands chased the chills away from my skin.

“My Master,” I mumbled.

He gripped my hand. “You can get up.” Gage helped me to my feet, steadied me when I stumbled. “If you behave, I won’t restrain you.” He pointed to the bed. “Stand at the end and bend over the mattress.”

The fog cleared, unveiling fear in its wake. He reached for the button of his slacks.