Enslaved Page 8

  Elisabeth ignored him, but he could see her lower lip tremble.

  “Hand me your e-reader.”

  Holding it against her chest, she finally looked up at him. “It’s mine. I brought it with me. You can’t take it.”

  “Well then. If we’re going by that rule, then take off all your clothes, because you didn’t bring them with you.”

  “No.” It was a whisper, but a defiant one.

  Trevor sat on the edge of the other armchair. “I think you’re trying to tell me you want to be punished, am I right?”

  Finally, she looked up at him, unshed tears in her eyes. “Actually, right now I want to be left alone to read my book.”

  Trevor stood and walked over to where she sat, kneeling before her. She flinched when he lifted his hands, but all he wanted to do was hold hers.

  “Don’t flinch. Why are you flinching?” The e-reader had fallen to her lap, and her cool white fingers trembled in his, lost in the weight and size of his hands.

  “I thought you were going to hit me,” she whispered.

  He sighed. “If I’m going to hit you, you’ll know about it and you’ll be consenting to it. I’m not just going to slap you when I’m pissed off. There’s a huge difference between a loving D/s relationship and an abusive one, you do know that, right?”

  She nodded. “So I hear, but I don’t know anything about love. And you don’t love me, and I don’t love you.”

  Her words hurt him worse than he could ever hurt her with all the whips he owned. “I could love you,” he said. “I could.”

  “But you don’t, so save yourself the trouble and just remember that I work here as your sex-slave in exchange for room and board. And that I can leave whenever the fuck I want.”

  Trevor’s hands tightened around hers. “You are not a submissive at all, now are you?”

  “Gregory didn’t warn you that I’m a brat and that I’m always trying to top from the bottom? He didn’t mention that little fact when you were doing background checks on me and paying off my creditors? Maybe you can get your money back.” She laughed ruefully. “Why would you want to love me anyway? Why me? I’m nobody. You could have some rich, educated socialite type who’d throw parties and liven this place up a bit.”

  “I’ve been married to that type before,” he said. “And she wasn’t a fan of my duffel bag of toys. She hated me for who I was.”

  Recognition dawned on Elisabeth’s face. “So you decided to find someone who loved your kink first, and then make them love you next.”

  “Something like that.”

  She smiled, shaking her head. “How long before you realized that you can’t make someone fall in love with you?”

  “I think I just figured it out when you didn’t answer my call.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said. It sounded sincere, which didn’t help make the hurt go away.

  “You might never love me, but if you choose to stay then by God you will obey me at the very least. Give me that much.”

  Elisabeth stood, setting down her e-reader, and stripped off her shirt and pants, standing before him in a lacy bra and thong. “Yes, sir,” she said.

  “I would like to punish you for breaking Rule One, do you consent?”

  “Sir, I consented when I first moved in. If I’m still here, I’m consenting. I meant it when I said I never safeword.”

  He nodded over toward the attached ladder that gave easy access to all of the books that lined his library’s walls. “Grab on, arms as high up as you can reach. On your tippy toes.”

  Chapter Five

  Elisabeth felt calmer now that she’d told Trevor the truth, that she wouldn’t let herself love him. But he was right, she should obey at least. Or try to, anyway.

  The ladder had wheels at the top and bottom that allowed it to roll along the walls past the rows of leather-spined books. Since her fear of heights wasn’t a hard limit for her, she’d have to just go along with it.

  As Gregory always said, being scared wasn’t a reason to stop the fun. It just made it more fun.

  Breathe, Elisabeth. In two three, out two three four. She stood on her tiptoes and raised her arms above her head, grabbing on to a rung she couldn’t see. The ladder swayed with the movement, and she gasped.

  “Just hold on tight,” Trevor warned. “I may hurt you but I’d never harm you.”

  “I know, sir.”

  She heard the sound of him unbuckling his belt, and her stomach fluttered.

  “This might hurt,” he said, and the first blow rained down on her back.

  Tears stung her eyes almost immediately, which made no sense, since she’d been through much more pain in the past and never cried. He whipped her again and again, the belt striking her upper back, her buttocks, and the backs of her thighs, alternating location and rhythm so each sting of the whip took her by surprise.

  She was sobbing by the time he was done, and at some point during the whipping she finally figured out why.

  It was because she wanted him to love her. What a sick, twisted girl she was, to want to be loved when she couldn’t even be trusted to obey him as her Master.

  “I’m so sorry, sir,” she cried, and the belt dropped.

  He unzipped his pants behind her and slipped inside her dripping-wet pussy, the result of her body’s natural reaction to being whipped.

  “I can’t do this any longer,” he said, still thrusting inside her.

  “Do you want me to get down off the ladder, sir?”

  He slammed into her harder, shaking some dust off the books as the ladder swayed. With a grunt, he pulled out and lifted her off, cradling her against his still-clothed chest.

  “No, Elisabeth. I meant, I can’t train you anymore, not like this. I’m too emotionally involved to get you to listen to me, to trust me and obey me. I want you to care for me as I care for you, and that’s not going to happen in a relationship where you have all the power.”

  Elisabeth nodded. She knew exactly what he meant. He may be the Dom, but in her indifference, in her callous disobedience, and in her threats to leave him, she was not his submissive, not in the least.

  “Roman and Marc are coming over for drinks tonight,” he said. “I’d prefer if you kept yourself otherwise occupied.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Trevor kissed the top of her head, a sweet gesture that left her feeling teary again.

  “Do they know why I’m here, who I am?”

  “It was actually Roman’s idea in the first place, after that fiasco with my ex. I think he imagines my divorce was his fault, since he’s the one who introduced me to the BDSM clubs when we were at Yale.”

  “I can’t help the way I am,” she whispered.

  “Yes, you can. You can, Elisabeth. The three of us—Roman and Marc and I—we weren’t always rich, you know. We built the Brooks Wilde Chase Fund from the ground up. Our ability to make money grew as we learned more, just like our ability to be good Doms grew the more we learned. Back in the day, when we went to WhipperSnapper, we didn’t participate for a long time, just hung out and talked to the lifestylers, really listening to them instead of just jumping in wielding floggers.”

  Trevor chuckled as if remembering him and his buddies partying over a decade prior, learning the ropes. “Gregory was one of them, you know. They were the ones who advised me that a tiger can’t change its stripes. That I’d never get Cynthia into BDSM if even the idea of me spanking her got her upset.”

  “But you didn’t listen,” Elisabeth guessed.

  “Nope. I didn’t. Ultimately she treated me like a man who needed to be cured, and I don’t want to be cured.” He paused.

  “I know.”

  “Roman and Marc will help me figure out what to do about you. Don’t go far tonight. They’ll probably want to see you.”

  “I’ll ask Julian to ma
ke me pretty.”

  “Silly girl, pretty would be a downgrade. You’re gorgeous.” He kissed her, and she let him, because he’d earned the right to kiss her.

  And because his kisses were starting to feel . . . right.

  Trevor flipped a switch to get the gas fireplace going and grabbed a bottle of the good scotch from the top shelf of the gleaming bar adorning half of his “man cave,” as Adele always called it.

  “Finally, you invested in some good scotch,” Roman said, taking a deep sip. He’d undone the short ponytail he usually wore at the office to keep his hair back and let the brown strands fall into his eyes.

  “Show-off,” Marc joked, rubbing his hand over his own shaved head.

  Trevor laughed, glad to be among friends tonight. And since both Roman and Marc were equal partners with him in their hedge fund, no one was jealous of his money or his home, a problem Trevor sometimes had when he got to know other guys. He couldn’t blame them, when he owned a garage-full of cars that they probably wished they could have just one of.

  But with Roman and Marc, there was none of that. They could hang out, mix business and pleasure, and even share women, sometimes. They understood Trevor’s dominant tastes since they had the same preference for BDSM and submissive women in the bedroom, so he didn’t have to try and explain why he didn’t want to date their sisters or whomever.

  Marc went to the bar with his glass. “Will you kill me if I put ice in this scotch?”

  “Don’t do it,” Roman said. “You’ll ruin a perfectly good liquor by watering it down.”

  “I really don’t care,” Trevor said. “There’s more where that came from. Drink it the way you want it. Don’t let Roman order you around like a bitch.”

  Roman laughed as Marc plopped two cubes into his scotch. “Like I could ever order Marc around. I think the only one I’ve ever seen order Marc to do anything was Lauren.”

  “Hey,” Marc said, “Mistress Lauren can be very convincing. And she still can’t order me around, no matter what you say.”

  “You guys should just fuck each other already,” Roman advised.

  Trevor laughed, but Marc shrugged. “We wouldn’t know who to put on top,” he joked.

  “Speaking of which,” Trevor said, then stopped to take a long drink to give himself time to think of the best way to approach the subject.

  “Oh that’s right,” Marc said, returning to the easy chair. “How’s it working out with Elisabeth? You guys seemed happy together the day we . . . um, valeted your cars.”

  “Yeah, you owe me ten grand to fix the sod where that ramp was, by the way.”

  Marc shrugged and pulled out his checkbook, handing him the check immediately. On the memo line, he’d written, “for sucking my dick.”

  Trevor couldn’t help but to laugh at that, even though it was going to be embarrassing for his accounts manager to cash. “Thanks, asshole.”

  “Get back to Elisabeth,” Roman said. “You picked her because she’s a sub, right?”

  “I did,” Trevor agreed. “And she’s living here as a self-professed sex-slave.” He smiled, noting how Roman sat up straighter, suddenly more interested in the conversation at the mention of the word slave.

  “Good for you, man,” Roman said, rubbing the five o’clock shadow on his chin. “How’s that going?”

  Trevor thought of Elisabeth—beautiful, defiant, a sub who’d managed to completely turn his world upside down. “She has all the power. It’s the wrong kind of D/s.” He tried to laugh, but choked on his drink. “I think I could really fall for her, and she just won’t let me in. Won’t let me master her.”

  “Then why is she still here?” Roman asked.

  “That’s you, Roman,” Marc said. “You don’t have relationships with any girls. But not everyone wants a life of one-night stands and training sessions that end with the sub leaving because you’re not into having a real relationship.”

  “Drink more,” Roman laughed, brushing off Marc’s spot-on analysis. He turned to Trevor. “You’re too much of a softy. If she has the upper hand and isn’t at least willing to obey you, then it’s your fault for not setting forth your expectations.”

  “I did,” Trevor said. “Rule number two, answer the damn blue fucking cell phone.” He shook his head, remembering Elisabeth sitting with it ringing next to her, ignoring it, torturing him.

  “Cursing after one drink?” Marc raised his eyebrows. “Roman’s right, you’re too emotional over this girl to train her effectively. Maybe you should let Roman train her for a while.”

  A muscle twitched in Trevor’s jaw. The thought of Elisabeth—his Elisabeth—being trained by anyone else bothered him. But she wasn’t his, she told him so herself. At least he’d have nothing to worry about with Roman, since Roman would never take her from him.

  “Do I get a say in this?” Roman joked, but they both ignored him, knowing he couldn’t resist training a new sub. Except . . .

  “Elisabeth’s not new,” Trevor said. “She was a good sub to her ex-master, and I think it was because he didn’t love her so she was able to . . . I don’t know, respect him more, maybe.”

  Roman nodded. “You’re suggesting she has something going on where she doesn’t feel worthy of affection, so if you show her some, she thinks something’s wrong with you. That’s . . . interesting.”

  Trevor shook his head and tried to smile, but he couldn’t. Because Roman was one hundred percent right. “I need to be harsh for her to want me back. Will you take her for a few days, weeks, however long it takes until she’s decided if she actually wants to live with me?”

  “I’ll train her for you,” Roman said. “But the trick is going to be letting her know she can be submissive and still deserve pleasure and affection. I can’t give her the latter. That’s up to you.”

  “Is she going to join us?” Marc asked.

  “If she answers the phone,” Trevor said wryly.

  Elisabeth and Julian’s playful conversation jolted to a halt when her phone buzzed.

  She looked at it like it was a snake that might bite her. What was going to happen when she answered that phone? Trevor’s earlier words echoed in her mind.

  Roman and Marc will help me figure out what to do about you.

  “Girl. Answer the damn phone.” Julian tossed the phone at her and she shook her head.

  “Then why you’d have me come up in here and get you lookin’ gorgeous for nothing? You knew he would call you.”

  Quickly, before it could go to voice mail, she answered. “Elisabeth here,” she said, trying to sound like she hadn’t been debating answering the phone.

  “Come down to the den and say hi to Roman and Marc, Elisabeth. We’ve been discussing our predicament and Roman has come up with the perfect solution, if you’re up for it.”

  “I’ll . . . I’m coming down right now,” she said. What did he mean by if she was up for it? Wouldn’t she just safeword if she wasn’t?

  Perhaps he wanted to share her. It wouldn’t be the first time, after all, Gregory shared her with Trevor. But the thought didn’t sit well with her. Trevor was different, somehow. Sleeping with him had made her feel happier than she had been in a long time.

  She never should have been so stubborn and willful to him. Damn it. What would happen when she walked down into his “man cave”?

  Julian gave her a peck on the cheek. “You look fabulous. Walk tall, baby girl. Unless he wants you to kneel or some shit. Whatever, I’m not saying a word about it.”

  Elisabeth laughed, suddenly glad the halter-top dress Julian chose for her to wear showed her recent marks from Trevor’s belt. If she was going to walk into a den of tigers, she might as well show them she knew how to take a mauling.

  The elevator would get her to Trevor fastest, and her heels were an accident waiting to happen on the stairway so she took the elevator down to
the den. She’d never been in this part of the house before, mainly because she didn’t want to go where she wasn’t invited. A man cave sounded like a place that wasn’t for girls, unlike, say, the Pink Room. Because all girls liked a room meant for a Cupcake Fairy.

  Breathe one two three, out two three four. Don’t get all jacked up right before seeing him and his friends. She wiped her sweaty palms on her halter dress.

  Trevor greeted her as the elevator opened, holding his hand out to her like the gentleman he was. He dropped a kiss on her cheek. “You look amazing.”

  “Julian’s good,” she said humbly.

  Roman and Marc stood when she entered. Roman was tall and intimidating-looking, even with that chocolate-brown hair that fell across his face.

  “Good evening, Elisabeth,” Roman said. All the joviality of the day they drove the cars down the ramp into the garage after Marc’s prank was gone. He was back to stern.

  “Hello, Roman, it’s a pleasure to see you again.” She tried to keep a smile on her face until she knew what they were going to spring on her, at least.

  Marc nodded. “How are you doing?”

  “Well, thank you, sir.” She liked the look of him too, with that shaved head and tattoos peeking out on his forearms where he’d rolled up his shirtsleeves. The men seemed different here, in the tiger den. Man cave. Whichever.

  They looked frightening.

  Trevor gestured that they should all sit down, and Elisabeth sat next to Trevor, as if to remind his friends that she belonged to him.

  Except she didn’t, did she? Not yet. But she certainly didn’t belong to those two.

  Roman looked right at her. “If you were my slave, you’d be sitting on the floor, not on the couch.”

  “But I’m not your slave,” she muttered.

  It was obvious Roman could hear her, since she hadn’t exactly meant for him not to hear it. Trevor gave her a warning look.

  “I’ll take her off your hands for a while,” Roman said. He walked over to her and put his finger under her chin, forcing her to meet his steely gaze. “That is, if you consent.”