She has to lean her body against mine as she gets herself down from the chair. I control the desire to run my hands over her, enjoying the show as she clambers back down, gets a piece of juicy mango from the bowl and then makes her way back up again.
Eager for her mouth more than the fruit, I cover both with my lips as I slide my tongue back in her mouth. She presses forward with a little more force, her tongue meeting mine as the fruit slips between our mouths. I push it back into hers and then part from her.
“Eat it,” I command. “Then bring me another.”
She brings me a piece of honeydew from the bowl this time, and I lick at the juice as it runs down her chin and neck. We continue like this until the bowl is half empty, and I’ve had enough of the game.
Yvette sits back on her heels, and I reach out to stroke her cheek and neck.
“You did very well,” I tell her, and she smiles.
“Thank you, sir.”
I return the smile as I run my fingers over her neck and over the seam of the robe around her. Something on her shoulder, partially concealed by the sheer robe, catches my eye. I touch it gently with the tip of my finger and feel her stiffen. It’s a line…a mark of some kind…slightly lighter than her pale skin. I can’t tell what it is with the robe covering her.
“Turn around,” I say softly.
She quickly licks at her lips as her eyes close. She doesn’t speak but nods once before turning around, still on her knees in front of me. I reach out and touch the edge of the robe at her shoulders and then slowly pull it down her arms.
The white streaks of scar tissue across her back are unmistakable.
There isn’t just one or two of them—her back is nearly covered. There are a few on the backs of her arms and shoulders, like the one that first caught my eye, but they’re not as severe.
I close my eyes for a moment as I ball my hands into fists, and I’m relieved she can’t see my face. My body is trembling with the rage building inside of me. I’d hurt Lily, and even years later I can’t forgive myself. She had to go to the hospital, but she wasn’t left with scars like this.
Yvette used her safeword, and the bastard didn’t listen.
I tighten my fists, release them, and tighten them again. I breathe slowly and quietly to get back some control over myself. It takes a couple of minutes, but eventually I am able to open my eyes and look at the marks again.
Yvette’s shoulders are shaking slightly, and I know she’s crying.
“Scoot forward,” I say quietly, “just a bit.”
She complies, and I kneel behind her, spreading my knees out so they rest on the floor on either side of her hips. I reach around and encase her arms and body, crisscrossing my arms over her and pulling her against my chest. I place my head on top of hers as the first audible sob escapes her lips.
It is the first of many.
“Let it go,” I whisper in her ear.
Like every command I have given her, Yvette complies immediately. With her back pressed against my bare chest, her cries turn to sobs and her sobs to wails. Her body shudders to take in breath, and I hold her as tightly as I can. As she begins to shake, I toss one of my legs over both of hers, holding her legs still. With a long shudder, her cries lessen slightly.
I can feel every motion of her body—every muscle that tenses or relaxes, every slight movement of her fingers, and every gasp for breath. Holding her tightly has some effect, but it’s not enough. I know exactly what I need to do.
“I’m going to bind you,” I tell her.
She grabs my arms as I try to untangle myself from her, but I don’t chastise her or push her away. I let her cling to me as I stand and then hoist her up into my arms and carry her to my playroom.
With each loop of nylon rope, Yvette calms. As soon as her arms are bound behind her back with coils of rope running from her wrists half way up her biceps, her crying has ceased. I continue to loop, cinch, and wrap.
As the ropes form an intricate web across her back, I feel myself calm as well. I hadn’t questioned myself when I made the decision to restrain her, and I’m glad I was as correct in my assumptions as I was.
She needs this.
I test the tightness, making sure I can still slip my fingers between the rope and her skin, and check her fingers repeatedly to verify she’s not losing any circulation. As I move to her legs, her head drops against the black silk of the sheets on the bed. Her eyes are closed, and her breathing has returned to normal. In silence, I finish her legs, lock the knot between her ankles, and move up beside her head.
She doesn’t move as I stroke her hair away from her face. At first I think she’s fallen asleep, but as I caress her cheek again, I feel her press against my palm.
“You’re safe,” I tell her.