Until You're Mine: Requested Trilogy - Part Two Page 6

  “I’ll be taking over until your new trainer arrives.” She nods. “But first, I need your help with something.”

  “Yes, Mas—” She nods again.

  “The girl in the cell next to you has been hurt. I need someone to look after her, clean her wounds.” I shove the tray at her. “Come with me.”

  She follows obediently, eyes kept on the ground even as I walk her out the door. I expect her to look around with curiosity, but she doesn’t.

  “Here.” I stop at Mia’s door. “Make sure she eats.” And then I add, “And be gentle.”

  I return to my seat to watch them. Mia’s lips move so I turn up the volume, wanting to hear what they are talking about, but their voices are too quiet, their words too mumbled. But Star does as I’ve instructed. She cleans her wounds. She makes sure Mia eats. And once she is done, she heads back to her cell under my watch, but there’s a question in her eyes.

  “Will he come back?” she asks.

  I shake my head, not wanting to say the words out loud because I know, for some fucked up reason, they will break her heart. But now is the time she chooses to display a fragment of defiance.

  “I want to see him.”

  “You can’t.” I turn to walk away, but she grabs me, pulling on my shirt.

  “Please,” she begs, falling to her knees. “I need to see him.”

  “He’s gone.”

  She latches onto my foot like a child unwilling to let go of its mother and starts wailing uncontrollably. Her eyes are filled with tears of desperation. So I speak to her in the language she’s been trained to understand and slap her across the face.

  “Silence!” I order.

  The effect is immediate. Her crying stops. Her tears dry. She lets go of my legs and kneels in a position of submission.

  “Yes, Master.”

  I walk out of her cell and slump onto the chair in front of the monitors. The guilt of what I’ve become weighs heavily. I need to remind myself why I’m doing it, so I pull my cell out of the drawer and dial the familiar number.

  “Ryker!” her voice is cheerful and happy, a breath of fresh air.

  “Hey, sis.”

  A request for video calling appears on the screen. “Turn it on,” her voice demands teasingly.

  I do and the image of my sister appears. She must have come straight from some sort of practice as she’s still in shorts and a t-shirt, a scarf wrapped around her neck the only thing keeping her warm. She looks pale. She looks thin, as though she’s lost weight.

  “Have you been eating?”

  She rolls her eyes, sitting herself down on the couch of her apartment. An apartment paid for by the Attertons. A couch paid for by the Attertons.

  “I’m fine,” she insists, tucking an ankle under her knee and snuggling back into the cushions. Reaching out of frame, her hand appears again with a packet of biscuits. The ones with pale pink icing and sprinkled with colorful sugar beads. The ones I sent her in a package three weeks ago.

  “See?” she says, opening the packet. There’s only two left. Putting the packet down beside her, she looks straight at me, a slight frown creasing her brow. “Where are you?” Her eyes float around the screen, trying to discern the background.

  “Nowhere,” I lie. “I’m on a job.”

  Her frown deepens. “You look sad. Is everything okay?”

  I sigh. “I’m fine. Everything is fine. I just needed to hear your voice. Make sure you’re okay.”

  “Of course I’m okay, silly. You need to stop worrying about me. Life is wonderful.” She smiles brilliantly as if it proves her point. “The teachers here are amazing. I’m learning so much.”

  I roll my eyes at her forced enthusiasm. “I hope you’re taking this seri—”

  “My god, Ryker,” Everly says, exasperated. “Would you stop worrying for one second? Just be happy. Be happy I’m here. Be happy I’m learning and making all those stupid connections you say are good for me.”

  “I am,” I insist.

  There’s a ruckus in the background, the sound of opening doors and giggling voices. Everly looks up, smiling at whoever just entered her apartment. “I’ve got to go,” she says. “Look after yourself and stop worrying!”

  And then she’s gone, and I am left alone with my thoughts again.

  Over the next few days, I send Star in to tend Mia’s wounds. I can’t face her knowing that the reason this happened is because I couldn’t protect her. And I still can’t protect her. She is to be Junior’s, not mine. I have no right to feel the way I do. So instead, I watch her on the monitor like some sick fuck getting his rocks off. I watch each of the girls, but mainly, I watch Mia. Her eyes often flick to the camera, as though she knows I’m here. At times, I imagine her calling my name, desperate for my touch. Other times, I imagine her turning away from me in disgust, knowing what I did, what I am capable of.

  And at night the nightmares have begun again. It’s been years since I’ve had them, but suddenly, I’ve found myself waking in the middle of the night, cold sweat drenching both my body and the sheets beneath me, my heart pounding against my chest like a hammer. It’s only when I look up and see her still there, safe in her bed that my panic starts to subside. I used to get them when I was younger. I would wake almost paralyzed with fear, only to have no idea what I’d dreamed. I only had the memory of the emotion of the dream, not the details. It is the same now. I don’t know what it is I’m dreaming about, I only know the terror in which I wake.

  I’ve started drinking more so I fall to sleep in a blissful state of oblivion, but it only lasts so long, and my dreams are too sobering for it to have any real effect.

  By the fifth day, I am a wreck. I haven’t washed or eaten anything in days. My breath stinks of whiskey, my bedding reeks of me. And I have become desperate to see her. Like some sort of freak, I stroke the screen as I watch her, as though I can feel her skin under my fingertips, soft and smooth.

  I need a distraction.

  Rummaging through the drawers, I find my cell phone and plug it in. There are no missed calls. Not even from Everly. She doesn’t call often, too wrapped up in her own life to be worried about mine, and that’s the way it should be.

  Shuffling through my limited contacts I come across the number I want. I need something to take my mind off Mia. She’s consumed me. I can’t get her out of my mind. Being trapped here with her is torture, or denied pleasure, or a combination of both. And since whiskey doesn’t seem to be doing the job, there’s only one option left.

  “Hey, big boy,” a soft voice purrs. “Long time no see.”

  I clear my throat, suddenly uncomfortable. “Hey, Angel. Yeah, it’s been a while.” Months in fact. Angel was just someone I used when the loneliness got a little too much.

  “You wanting some company?”

  “Sort of. Only, I’m not in the city. So, I was wondering if…” my voice fades. It is a stupid idea. As though phone sex is going to be able to take my mind off what is waiting in the cell across the hall. “Look, forget it, okay? I made a mistake.”

  I hang up, throwing my cell phone back into the drawer and slamming it shut. It starts ringing again almost immediately, but I ignore it. I know there’s only one way I’m going to be able to get this longing out of my system, this need to have her look at me, a look which isn’t filled with disappointment.

  I need to make her understand. I need her to know the truth and not stare at me with that pleading desperation in her eyes. Pushing my way into the bathroom, I turn on the shower, doing my best not to look down at where he lay. Not to think about what I did, what the same hands that I want to caress her skin with are capable of.

  I lather my hair into a mess and turn the water to scalding hot, as though it will wash away the memory of his blood. I’ve killed before so it’s not the actual act that haunts me, it’s the knowledge of her finding out. Of her looking into my eyes and knowing that I am no better than the man who requested her.

  In fact, I may be worse.
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  CHAPTER SEVEN

  RYKER

  Fuck.

  I am fucked.

  The moment I walk into her cell, she falls to her knees. I run my finger down the soft skin of her cheek and that’s when I know it. I know I am fucked because I cannot resist her. I can’t fight the urge to press my lips to her skin. But not in a way I’ve been instructed to. Not in a way that conditions her to touch, that teaches her to accept her fate. In a way that is filled with lust and longing. In a way that will quench the need I see in her eyes.

  I’ve been aching for her to look at me that way, and now that she is, all I can think of are the ways I don’t deserve it.

  The way I stripped her.

  The way I chained her.

  The way I demanded her obedience.

  Killed for her.

  She thinks I’m angry, she even asks me. Her voice quivers like the thought of me being angry would be too much to bear. How little she knows. I need to make her understand.

  So I tell her how I can’t free her. I can’t betray them. I try to make her understand my enforced loyalty to the family and how, despite the way I feel about her, there is no escape.

  Once I am done, once my heart has been wrenched out and thrown at her feet, she lifts a trembling hand, reaching out to touch my face. I inhale deeply, knowing what her touch will do to me. Knowing that I am going to let her. She cups my cheeks, bringing her mouth closer and closer until her lips brush against mine. It is the softest and most powerful kiss I’ve ever felt. It sets off a torrent of emotions fighting for dominance. Lust. Despair. Longing. Torment.

  Then she cups my face fully, kissing me more passionately, more deeply, tugging at the knot of desire twisted in my gut until I can’t contain it anymore and push my fingers through her hair, pulling her closer, wanting her, needing her. But I want to show her that I’m not like them. I do not want her submissive and silent. I do not want her succumbing to me because she has no choice.

  I want her to want me.

  To need me.

  To crave me.

  Pulling away, I drop to my knees at her feet, offering myself in submission in the same way I have demanded of her all those times before. She bends to kiss me again, locking my bottom lip between her teeth and tugging in such a way the pain shoots straight to my cock, hardening it even further. Lowering herself onto my lap, she tears off my shirt, running her fingers over my skin. It feels like heaven to have her finally touching me, no walls, no rules between us.

  As if trying to crawl under my skin, she pushes me to the ground, grinding on top of me like a sinful goddess. She becomes desperate, tugging my belt away and ripping off my jeans. And then she stands, slowly slipping her dress over her body, leaving her naked and exposed. And even though I’ve seen her naked many times before, it’s never been like this. It’s never been openly, willingly.

  A moan fills the air and I’m surprised to realize that it came from me. She is starkly beautiful, even with the welts and dark patches covering her skin. Somehow, they almost make her more beautiful, but it is a beauty etched with sadness and regret for what I allowed him to do.

  Every part of me is tight and taut with hunger for her. I want to take her, press her against the wall and fuck her until she cries out my name. But instead, I push the urge down, denying myself that pleasure until she asks for it. Until she begs.

  Fingers lock around my ankles and travel up my legs, digging into my flesh in agonizing bliss. She touches every part of me until I am the one who wants to beg. I need to be inside her. I need to feel her tightness clamped around me, pulsing with undenied ecstasy.

  But she doesn’t make me beg. She lowers herself onto me slowly, allowing me to feel everything, every fraction of movement, every throb and quiver. It’s only then that she reaches for my hands, bringing them to her hips, allowing me to guide our movements. I dig my fingers into her flesh, leaving imprints.

  I need more.

  Lifting myself from the ground, I want to feel her skin under my tongue, mold her flesh with my hands, but she pushes me back down forcefully, her hand pressed to my chest as she lifts and then lowers herself, riding me.

  Her hand creeps up my chest, wrapping around my neck, squeezing until the tightness cuts off my air, making me lightheaded. But I don’t stop her or pull her hand away. I’m caught in some exquisite state of rapture. And when she does release me, my hand snakes out and snaps around her wrist, almost of its own accord.

  She slaps me.

  I convulse, an orgasm so close, just on the brink.

  And then she says something that pushes it closer, nearly undoing me.

  “Take me.”

  Thought and control leave, and I lift her, twisting her beneath me and sinking into her as her legs wrap around my waist. Our movements become blurred with passion, feverish with desire. I’m ravenous, writhing against her, devouring her. It’s only when I feel her lose herself to me that I still, watching her expression as wave after wave of pleasure rips through her body. The way the flush of red kisses her cheeks. The way she bites her lip before she cries out my name.

  I lazily kiss those fuckable lips as a smile creeps over her face.

  It takes all my willpower to withdraw. Every ounce I have. But I can’t stay inside her. I can’t risk her future.

  “What are you doing?” Her hands grip my ass cheeks, holding me firmly within her. “What about you?”

  “This isn’t about me.”

  Her mouth moves to lick the skin just below my ear. My cock surges once again as she bites and pushes herself onto me further, making it torture for me to pull out.

  “No protection,” I grunt.

  She blinks a few times, as if considering her options and I take the opportunity to detangle myself from her, drawing in a deep breath and trying to calm the part of me that is screaming to plunge inside her again and fuck her relentlessly until I shatter.

  She lowers herself to her knees to take me in her mouth, but I stop her, not wanting any part of this to reflect on what we’ve done before. What I’ve demanded of her before.

  “Not on your knees,” I say, pulling her to her feet.

  No sooner are the words out of my mouth that she launches herself at me, wrapping her legs around my waist, pushing her wetness against my hardness once more.

  Powerless against her, I groan and enter her again.

  My willpower is draining. I walk backward, pressing my back to the wall and I slip my hands under the cheeks of her ass, sliding her up and down on my cock until the sensation is too much and I toss her onto the bed, clutching myself as her body trembles, the movement swaying her breasts. Grabbing her ankles, I pull her toward me, wanting to taste her. She tastes of cherry blossoms and lemon. Sweet and tangy.

  She calls out my name when she comes again, and it is everything I’ve been dreaming of, so I whisper that as I crawl back over her body, relishing the look of utter bliss on her face. She reaches between us, taking me in her hands and working me up and down until I can’t resist anymore. I spurt over her stomach and slump over her, spreading the slickness of me over both our bodies.

  Her skin burns beneath mine. Her breasts push against my chest, rising and falling with each breath. Her fingers trace over my skin making it skittish.

  “How did you get this?” she asks when she finds my scar.

  Reality comes crashing back. “It’s nothing,” I say, sitting up, blocking the memory from my mind. It’s a truth she doesn’t need to know. I don’t want to think about the world beyond these walls. I don’t want to think about the fate that awaits her. I want to distract myself with her, because this right here, right now, is the only part of her I’m ever going to have.

  I take her in the shower.

  I wake with her sprawled across me and I take her again.

  And then I lie, wrapped in her until the sun is halfway across the sky. It’s not until I think about what we’ve done that fear spikes within me. I failed to withdraw and came deep inside her. The
doctor’s words run through my mind.

  Seven days.

  It’s only been six.

  I am a selfish and stupid man. But when I tell her it’s like she doesn’t care, or doesn’t want to know, because she almost turns away from me, and denies my offer of bringing back the doctor. Even before the words are out of my mouth, I know they are a lie. There is no way I could bring the doctor back here for this reason. Senior would know and then Mia and Everly would be at risk. But I can’t let her see my fear so I scramble for an excuse to leave and gather my thoughts. My stomach reminds me it’s been a long time since I’ve eaten. But first off, I need coffee.

  “You want coffee?” I ask.

  The excitement in her eyes over something so small kills me.

  “Coffee? I would die for some coffee,” she says dreamily, lying back on the bed, her eyes raking over me hungrily and making me want this moment to last forever.

  Grabbing my jeans, I tug them over my legs and then reach for my t-shirt. But Mia leans off the bed, grabbing it and jerking it away from me. She shakes her head with a wicked grin and laughs, twisting on the bed as though she doesn’t have a care in the world.

  This is who she is.

  This is the girl I have a part in ruining.

  As I make the coffee, listening to the gurgle and whir of the coffee machine, I try not to think of the consequences of my mistake. I curse myself for my stupidity, for putting hers and Everly’s lives at risk for the rapture of a few moments. After quickly checking on the other girls via the monitors, I also grab a few pieces of fruit and the knife and load them onto the tray for breakfast.

  Mia has taken the blanket off the bed and laid it on the floor as though we are about to have a picnic. Placing the tray on the seat in the corner, I hand her one of the coffees and grab the other for myself, lowering myself on the blanket next to her.

  With the burn of lust in my veins temporarily sated, I look over at her, wanting to know every part of her life, every detail of what makes her who she is.

  “Now that I’ve told you about my sorry excuse of a childhood, tell me about yours. What’s your mother like? Your father?”