MARRIED TO MY MASTER: A Bad Boy Hitman Romance Page 4

  “It's for when I dog-sit for my assistant,” she said quickly and honestly, her eyes open again.

  He nodded, saying, “If you fight this, it'll just be worse. First, I'll make it hurt. Then, if you still won't walk, I'll make you crawl. And if you won't crawl, I'll drag you along the carpet. Do you understand me?”

  She nodded again.

  “Come on, then,” he said, then headed for the back of the house. He dragged her behind him, yanking hard on the leash.

  She stumbled forward on her heels at the sudden jerk of the chain leash on her neck, and went crashing to the ground with a surprised scream.

  Dane stopped in his tracks and turned around, lead firmly gripped in his hand. “Get up,” he said disdainfully, tugging at the chain.

  She got to her hands and knees and looked up at him through her mussed bangs, her eyes shooting daggers his direction.

  He couldn't help but think it was quite fetching, seeing her down on all fours like this. But, he reminded himself, that wasn't why he was here. He was here to demean and break her, not enjoy this for himself, no matter how tempting that was after his long drought. “Get up!” he shouted again.

  She slowly rose to her feet, a look of resentment mixed with fear in her eyes. Her wobbling lip had returned, her chin wasn't as highly held as before, and her knees were scuffed and bright red with rug burn. She came along with him, though, trudging behind him as he headed back to her bedroom.

  “Which room is yours?” he asked, as wrapped the chain around his hand a second time, tightening his grip on it. There was no way she was going to get away from him. Not till he was done with her, at least.

  “What are you going to do to me?” she whimpered.

  He whipped around. “What did you say to me?”

  “I-I-I asked what you were going to do to me.”

  “And I asked,” he said, as he slowly wrapped the chain leash tighter around his hand, dragging her closer with each shortening of the leash, till his hand was right at her throat, directing her face up to his, “Which room is your bedroom.”

  She whimpered again and averted her eyes, that lower lip quivering like a leaf in the wind. “Last door on the right,” she said, her voice barely audible.

  “Good,” he said, dropping the chain and letting it flow off his hand, back to its normal length. He turned and pulled her along, more gently this time. He strode down the hall, forcing her to keep up behind him in just her thigh highs and heels. He threw open the door and went inside.

  The center of the room was dominated by a giant four-poster bed made from heavy, durable wood. The comforter looked thick, inviting, and expensive. The drapes were open, letting the light in, and allowing them to look out over Emily's backyard.

  She'd done pretty well for herself over the years, Dane mused. No wonder she'd been so firm with him back in the parking garage. She was used to being successful and to having the world start, stop, and form holding patterns around her. Things were going to change, of course. Maybe he was getting that through to her already.

  “On the bed,” he said, the his tone almost conversational.

  She went and climbed onto the bed, her eyes big and wide and afraid as she lay back on it.

  He took the leash end he'd been holding and wrapped it around the post, tying a simple knot. It wouldn't keep her from going anywhere. That's what the duct tape was for. He grabbed it, pulled off a long strip, tore it with his teeth, and set the roll on the nightstand.

  “Hands,” he said. “Up, up, up, over your head.”

  She bit her lower lip, but complied.

  He wrapped the duct tape around her wrists, binding them tightly. “Don't struggle,” he said. “You won't like to see what happens when you struggle.”

  She nodded, closing her eyes.

  Maybe she was trying to pretend this wasn't happening, he mused. That this was all a dream. It didn't matter what she thought it was, though, or whether she believed it was real. It was, on all counts. He unbuckled his belt and undid the hooks on his slacks.

  She opened her eyes and glanced to where his hands were unzipping his slacks. She went to say something, but stopped.

  “What?” he asked. “You can speak.”

  “Are . . . are you going to rape me?”

  “No,” he said flatly, as he fished inside his slacks and briefs, pulling out his hard cock.

  She gasped when she saw him exposed like that, but he just ignored her.

  He crawled on top of her, his cock poking first into the tangled golden curls of her pubic mound, then into the soft skin of her belly. He looked down into her frightened eyes, her pupils dilating as they stared back into his. He reached down between them and began to stroke his thick length.

  “You're nothing,” he repeated, his words devoid of emotion as he lay on top of her, stroking himself. “Nothing. Do you know that?”

  She didn't answer him, but he didn't care. He was somehow enjoying himself. He didn't know why, either. This wasn't the kind of thing that really floated his boat.

  “Please,” Emily started to say, “please, don't—”

  He slapped his free hand over mouth, muffling her words, as he continued to stroke himself to completion. He was already close, and his hips were moving as he pumped into his hand.

  “You're nothing,” he repeated, his eyes still locked with hers.

  She moaned against his hand as he sped up, as his balls tightened against his shaft.

  He thrust harder into his hand, moaning as he used her body as some sexual pedestal.

  She was liking this, he realized, as he felt her lips and the tip of her tongue brush against the palm of his hand, just like a light kiss.

  He threw his head back a little, grunting low in his chest as he emptied his seed onto her belly, a brief bout of pleasure filling his mind and body. He groaned as he continued to cum on her, covering her.

  As he came, she moaned again, louder this time. Her eyes stayed tightly closed, her head gently shaking as if she couldn't admit to herself that she was enjoying her punishment.

  He removed his hand and climbed off of her, fighting to remind himself that he wasn't supposed to enjoy her punishment, either.

  This wasn't about sexual gratification for him. At least, it wasn't supposed to be. This was about getting revenge, plain and simple, for what BioSphere did to Benton. He tucked his still-dripping, half-hard cock back in his pants and grabbed the duct tape off the nightstand.

  She looked up at him, her eyes like saucers, as he stripped more tape from the roll. He put some over her mouth, to a soft, whimpering protest, then grabbed her ankles and wrapped them tight with her own tape.

  “This is about you understanding and experiencing the horror of what my brother went through,” he said, as he wrapped her ankles. “Nothing more.”

  But, as he looked out on her dying garden in the backyard before he closed the curtains, he knew it wasn't just about that. This had somehow turned into something else entirely.

  He frowned and left the room, thinking about how new life could grow from even dead, broken ground.

  Chapter Five

  Dane

  She might have been a heartless bitch who was willing to do anything to protect herself and her career, but Dane could say one nice thing about Emily: she had a great liquor cabinet.

  He dug through and found a seventeen-year-old bottle of bourbon on his first rummage. He pulled it out and went into the kitchen to find a glass. Something this good deserved to be sipped from a tumbler.

  Glass in hand, he went into the living room and sat down for the first time since he’d left the car. He set the bottle and tumbler down on the coffee table, side-by-side, then grabbed the bottle and poured till the tumbler was half-full. When it still didn't look full enough, he poured another few fingers. Hunched forward on the couch, he took a sip of the smooth liquor, relishing the strong oak flavor and the way it burned on the way down.

  The liquor must have brought him some sort of drunken cl
arity, because, as he slowly sipped the liquid gold, an idea began to crystallize in his mind. Maybe, just maybe, this didn't have to just be about revenge. Maybe he could convince her to do the right thing.

  He took another drink of bourbon and held the glass up in such a way that it caught the light, refracting the ray all around the room. With his other hand, he loosened his tie, pulling it away from the collar and down in front of him. He slipped it over his head and tossed it on the couch beside him, immediately forgetting about it as his mind remained focused elsewhere.

  Emily had hurried him out the office, Dane remembered, because she had a flight to make to an out-of-state conference. Conferences usually lasted a few days.

  That meant he had a few days, at least, before someone realized she was missing. And, even then, they might not come looking for her at the house.

  That was it, he decided. He was going to convince her to be on his side.

  But, first, Dane needed to think about what he'd done—the way he had laid on top of her like that.

  Of course, then there was the way she'd enjoyed it, too.

  He shook his head. “No,” he said aloud, the alcohol already swimming in his veins, “That was . . .”

  He was already getting drunk, he realized. He needed to slow down. He set the glass on the coffee table and slid it away from himself.

  First, he needed to get her cleaned up by washing the semen from her body. That was the most important thing. He got up from the couch and went back into the master bedroom.

  She still lay there, the collar attached to the chain and the chain wrapped around the bedpost. Her ankles and wrists were still bound together.

  He walked past her, ignoring her excited and questioning mumbles, and headed into her well-appointed, elegant bathroom. There was a shower stall in one corner and a giant bathtub in the other. From all the candles and half-empty bottles of bubble bath and bath salts, Dane figured she tended to use the bath more often. He went over and leaned down into it, closing the drain, then turned on the faucet and started to draw a bath for her.

  Dane stayed there for a minute, just thinking. He could get her to change her mind. He knew it.

  With the water nearing the top, he stuck his hand down into it. It was just this side of hot. Not scalding, but definitely soothing.

  With the bath drawn, he walked back into the bedroom and sat down on the edge of the bed, reached up, and put his hand on the duct tape. “This is going to hurt,” he warned. as he slowly began to peel it away.

  “Ah!” she groaned as he, centimeter by centimeter, tore the tape away from her lips. “What are you doing to me now?” she asked, her voice quavering.

  Ignoring her, he reached down and undid the duct tape around her ankles. When he finished, she already had her wrists presented in front of her. He started to unwrap the tape from her wrists, his eyes glancing up to meet hers occasionally.

  “What's going on?” she asked again, her voice still full of trepidation and fear.

  “You're getting in the bath,” he said curtly. “Come on.” He beckoned with one hand. “You need to get cleaned up.”

  An uncertain look on her face, she got up from the bed and followed after him into the bathroom. “A bath?” she asked.

  “Yep. Come on, get out of those thigh highs and heels.”

  She eyed him warily as she stripped out of her remaining clothes, leaving her nylons in a slinky pile around her ankles. She went over to the bathtub and glanced at him.

  “Don't worry,” he said, as reassuringly as he could, “you're fine.”

  She stepped with both feet into the water and sat down in it, groaning a little as the water seemed to soothe and comfort her. She stayed curled up, her knees drawn to her chest.

  “That nice?” he asked, as he found a loofah and squirted some shower gel on it.

  “Mmhmm,” she said, nodding as he began to gently scrub her back.

  He scrubbed her back and shoulders for a few moments. “I've been thinking,” Dane finally said, trying to sound as charming as he could as he rinsed the suds off her back, “I think we got off on the wrong foot here.”

  There was silence, nothing but the sound of sloshing water as Emily shifted in the bathtub and Dane continued to bathe her. Finally, though, Emily snorted. “Wrong foot?” she asked, the disdain clear in her voice. “That what you call it? You know you won't get away with this, right?”

  This wasn't working. Maybe he wasn't being convincing enough, with his kindness. He frowned at her admonishment and gritted his teeth. Still, he was determined to stick to the plan. She wasn't going to get to him. Not yet. “Here,” he said. as he gently pulled back on her shoulder. “Lean back. I won't do anything. I promise.”

  She scooted back to the edge of the bathtub, but kept her legs drawn up. A murderous scowl was on her face, and it didn't look like it was going to soften anytime soon.

  Why wasn't this working? He fought to keep the edge out of his voice. “It's okay,” he soothed. “I've seen it all already, haven't I?”

  Emily frowned a little, but still stretched out her legs.

  “There,” Dane said, as drew her arm out to him and soaped it carefully, gently scrubbing everything away. “Isn't that nice?” He was careful not to be too rough with her, fighting his natural inclination to rough up her skin with the loofah. After all, she would have deserved any ill treatment, especially after what her company had done to Benton.

  She nodded, closing her eyes. She even sighed a little as her breaths began to become deeper and more full.

  “I just think,” he started over again, as she started to relax, “That you could really help me and my brother with his case. That's what all this was from—me trying to help my brother.”

  A twisted little smirk turned up the corners of her mouth. It was a beautiful look, but still cruel and unforgiving at its root. And any fruit from such a poisonous root was bound to be poisonous as well. “You must really love you brother,” she said, a sarcastic note to her voice.

  Dane felt an impulse to pull her out of the bathtub and drag her back to the bed, but ignored it. That wasn't the way to do it. He clenched his jaw and tensed his shoulders. “I do.”

  “Good,” she spat. “You two are going to be spending a lot of time together on death row. You're just as big a piece of shit as your dirt-bag, baby-murdering brother.”

  The rage nearly reached a boiling point within Dane as the words left her mouth.

  That was it. This plan wasn't going to work. The niceties he'd planned to use to change her mind weren't going to fly. And, just like any war, whether it was of the heart, the mind, or the body, when one tactic didn't work, you changed to meet the conditions on the field.

  Dane knew the darkest, ugliest sides of human nature. He'd been to war, had seen what happened to men who gave into the desires within them—into their more destructive urges. And he knew the effects and aftermath when they were released on the world.

  And now, Emily would know them, too.

  # # #

  Emily

  As Dane lunged forward into the bathtub and grabbed hold of her soap-slick body, Emily knew she'd pushed the deranged vet too far. His eyes were wide, terrifying in their rage.

  She flailed and struggled against him, clawing his arms, and slapping at his hands as he pulled her from the tub. Her legs banged against the porcelain sides of the bath, sending sharp, shooting pains through her body. Still, she kicked and flailed, beating at him with her fists. “Let me go!” she screamed.

  “You're going to learn to see my side of things,” he said through clenched teeth, as he wrapped her wet body up in a bear hug. The scratchy wool of his slacks rubbed against her bottom and the buttons on his dress shirt dug into her back as he carried her back into the bedroom, her legs still kicking and flailing as she screamed in protest. “You're going to learn,” he said again over her protests, “to be nice.”

  She kept up her struggle as he dumped her on the bed.

  She
shrieked as she fell through the air, rebounding off the mattress.

  “Think I've been rough so far?” he yelled into her face, his own face beet red and the veins in his temples and neck straining. The front of his clothes were soaked through, and Emily could see how his shirt stuck to his well-defined muscles.

  The sudden outburst shocked her. She recoiled from him, forgetting to even struggle.

  “Stay!” he said more quietly, but still with an air of practiced command to it, before he stomped over to the bedroom door. He stopped at the door and looked back at her. “You move, and I'll know.”