Stabled (The Stables Trilogy #1) Page 8

  God, he’d done a number on her, hadn’t he?

  That wasn’t completely fair. The desires, the dark needs had been inside her all along. Tony had merely ripped them to the surface and claimed them.

  Maple had grown up comparing romance and sex in books against the marriage her parents had. In that aging, weathered home there’d been hushed-whisper arguments. Eyes that never made contact. Conversations that never went more than six or seven sentences. Quiet and stoic, she didn’t think her parents weren’t in love. She just thought maybe the weren’t in love, either.

  That couldn’t be her. She’d craved passion since she’d first started reading. In those books were the love affairs, the spicy sex, to open her eyes to the possibility of more. Of course, even in those steamy, printed words there wasn’t quite enough for Maple. She didn’t just want passion; she wanted torrid heat. She didn’t just want love; she wanted danger.

  Tony, curse him, had given her the heat and the danger. In enough orgasmic doses that she could lie to herself and call it love. He knew what she was and gave her what she thought she wanted. Then he dropped her, and Maple had been left feeling hollow. Used. The blinders came off and, to save herself, she built a shield around Tony’s memories.

  There was no shield anymore. He was there in her mind, waiting for a chance to puppet her body. It wasn’t really him, she knew. But they’d been together two years and in that time he had trained her. Trained her to come only for violence. To crave his abuse. Now her subconscious had taken on his personality, a constant reminder.

  The fact that she’d liked it so much was what humiliated her the most. What kind of person was she?

  The kind of person who wanted sex while in the throes of pain. Dying, even. She sighed, trying not to cry.

  J.B. must hate her. Certainly he’d never think well of the kind of girl she was.

  And yet…

  And yet you’re here in his bed. In his shirt. He’s here, too. Men don’t sleep beside women they hate.

  This thought, tiny and in her own voice, was more alarming than Tony’s nasty one. Hope was the only thing she couldn’t afford to feel. She didn’t deserve it. Head aching and heart torn, Maple thought the only thing she could do was put distance between J.B. and herself. As seductive as his mysterious self was, she was only going to ruin a good thing by trying to find connection where there wasn’t one.

  Achingly slow, she slid from the bed. Her fingers struggled in the dark to untie her IV, but she managed. Holding it, she prepared to pad to the door when J.B. rolled over on the bed.

  “Where are you going?” He sounded sleep drunk.

  “My room, I guess.” Her throat felt tight and she was dizzy.

  “Not tonight. Lie down. Sleep.”

  She re-tied the bag and laid down, unable to argue, the dizziness was so bad she knew it wasn’t just nerves. She was still reeling from the medicine.

  She didn’t sleep. Their last fight looped in her head. He’d threatened to kick her out, but he hadn’t. After giving her medicine for the fever and the itching, he’d just gone back to sleep.

  “What are you thinking?” He rolled to his side and sat up. The sheets fell away and Maple saw that he was shirtless in the moonlight, the silver light throwing more shadows than illumination on the rippled muscles of his torso. He was ripped, in the lean, strong ways of a swimmer. His chest and back and shoulders were corded, moving with sinewy grace. She sucked in between her teeth.

  “I was thinking about going home,” she admitted.

  He didn’t look at her. “Why?”

  Thank God he couldn’t see her shame burning through her like wildfire. It was sadistic of him to make her say it. Did he want her to profess how much she wanted him? Wanted his hard, cowboy’s body and stern command? How ashamed she was of her desires, of how she’d acted in front of him? “You know why.”

  “You’re not leaving.”

  “Why am I here?”

  The shadows played on his face. Turning so he was in profile, he stared at a point on the wall. She meant why am I still in your bed, but J.B. seemed to think she meant the job. “You’re good with the horses. They like you. Stop trying to leave.”

  He laid down again with his back to her. End of conversation. No explanation, no apologies.

  What did it mean? That hopeful voice, the one she should be smothering, grew louder. If J.B. wasn’t letting her leave, that had to mean he wanted her there… right?

  Chapter Ten

  Her fevers brought dreams. Those dreams were laced with memories better left hidden.

  “You’re coming, so get dressed, Maple.” Tony’s bark came from behind her. When people said the phrase ‘his bark is worse than his bite,’ they weren’t talking about Tony; his bite was worse. And more frequent. “As your Master, I’m commanding it.”

  Her limbs moved like they were in water, but she followed his direction and dressed. Slinky, black negligee. Leather cuffs with rings at her ankles and wrists. Finally Tony came behind her, and adjusted the collar he’d bought for the occasion. It was thick, the leather hardly broken in, and it felt awkward and alien around her throat.

  “I just thought the things we do are more… private.” She didn’t want to set him off. But when he’d told her they were going to the club known as “Rabid,” her anxiety had begun to ramp up. Rabid was a BDSM club, and she’d heard rumors about the things they allowed inside.

  “Shut up, whore. You’re a submissive,” he spat. Oh, how he liked to remind her of that. “It means you do what I say. We’re going to the club, and you’re not going to embarrass me.”

  The cab came, and Maple found herself being shoved into its back, a coat barely covering her risqué clothing.

  It didn’t surprise her that the club was in the seedy part of town. New Orleans had so much to offer, but this dark corner was for tourists looking for more hedonism than Bourbon Street had to offer. What did surprise her was the vast number of men-- and very few women. All of the women looked to be collared like she was. She’d expected more of a one to one ratio, and maybe a domme or two.

  “Get inside and keep your mouth shut,” Tony hissed in her ear. “You’re here to make me look good, you got that, little slut?”

  She nodded. To her great frustration, his verbal abuse was beginning to turn her on. Maple allowed herself to be dragged inside. Shapes and faces twisted; the hallway that she and Tony were marching through went on forever. She felt the music before she heard it, the whomp-whomp-whomp rattling her bones as the bass surrounded her.

  The club, filled with cages, a bar, and a dancefloor, overwhelmed her before it started to fade, to meld into something new. Smaller. More confined and much, much more isolated. A private room? Oh, right.

  Tony has rented a private room. A sense of foreboding was creeping through her, running icy fingers of warning down her spine. Private was something they could have done at home. In the private room is a table. He tells her to get on it.

  “Why?” She asks and flinches when the back of his hand raises, the threat of a slap hanging between them.

  “You don’t ask why. You do. Get on the fucking table or so help me, I will punish you so hard you won’t be able to sit for a week.”

  Maple scrambles on to the table. Tony pulls chains from underneath, locking her into place. He puts a bar between her legs, keeping them spread. Despite being nearly naked in her scanty clothing, Maple is sweating, the rivulets stinging in her eyes and dripping between her hanging breasts.

  Tony stands back to admire his work. “You look good, Maple. Real good. But you’re missing something.”

  He reaches into a bag and pulls out a ball gag. They’ve never used one before, and Maple is reeling now, the panic making her jumpy. This is all wrong. The room in the bar. Being chained down. The snide, smug tone Tony’s using. He was up to something, but she doesn’t know what.

  Habit makes her open when he tells her. The ball slides in and he anchors it behind her head.

&nb
sp; This is the moment he’s been waiting for. Her silence. She can feel it.

  Tony stalks around her, eyeing her body. He reaches under her negligee and yanks her thong to her knees. Maple moans as the first trickle of arousal comes, unbidden. She should be protesting, but she can’t. The war has begun, her mind trying to commandeer the body Tony has enslaved. “You sexy bitch,” he purrs, a hand tracing the curve of her ass. “You are barely worth the trouble. I’ve never had to work so hard to train someone.”

  His fingers slam into her core, fingering her roughly. Maple tries to gasp but can’t, the gag hindering her. She tries to move away from his rough invasion but can’t. It doesn’t take long, though. He’s trained her well. Soon the sloppy sounds of her own juices fill her ears. Her cheeks prickle with shame.

  “This though. Damn, girl, you are all kinds of fucked up.” He shoves a finger in her ass, no lube, and she does scream. The gag muffles it, rendering her almost mute. “Feel this? You fucking love it. I’ve never had to work so hard, but you get so wet. You love every minute of it.”

  Maple shut her eyes, but her body was beginning to sing for Tony anyway.

  She wondered, as he jammed his fingers into her holes, what it was about her that he recognized. What had he seen in her that told him she craved these depraved attentions?

  Maple heard his zipper drop and grunted as he shoved roughly into her pussy, fucking her hard and fast. Her tits slapped back and forth, the sound adding to her humiliation. Tony knew her too well.

  When they’d met, he’d only spanked her. The verbal humiliation had been enough to get off. But then came the nipple clamps. The belt. The cane. Sometimes he choked her until she saw spots. Sometimes he slapped her. Other times, he punched where his bruises were hidden, all while jackhammering her with his cock.

  Maple’s darkness had grown accustomed to his attentions. Hell, her body had learned to anticipate it, to embrace it. Her mind hated it, though, hated him sometimes, but damn, he made her come and come and come until she couldn’t do it easily without him.

  His own groans grew louder, and he began to swat her ass, spanking her, pinching the skin of her hips and twisting, making her writhe in pain as he neared completion. Her own orgasm began to rise, her thighs and pussy clenching, just needing something--

  Tony pulled out, and she felt his viscous semen running down her spread thighs. Maple moaned, waving her ass, hoping he’d help set off her own climax.

  “Don’t worry, whore, you’ll get yours.”

  Her skin prickled again. He sounded too pleased with himself.

  Tony put a blindfold on her. She couldn’t protest with the gag in her mouth. Maple tugged at her bonds, despite knowing it was useless. The blackness from the blindfold was stifling. Her mind became more alert while her heart continued to race.

  She heard the door open. The air from the club blew in, giving her chills and making her painfully aware of her predicament. However, it wasn’t the darkness that surrounded her or the whoosh of the open door that made her stomach twist and flip; it was the voices.

  Many voices. Men’s voices.

  The roar of blood in her ears made Tony’s voice muffled, but she heard him greeting the strangers.

  There were men all around her. Maple struggled harder at the chains. She whipped her head back and forth, trying to dislodge the blindfold. Her voice fought against the gag, shouting, but lost.

  The soul-bruising part, the thing she least wanted to acknowledge, was her own body’s reaction. As her mind’s eye saw those men staring at her ass in the air, the arch of her lower back, her breasts hanging like pendulums… Maple knew she was getting wetter. Her skin was crawling, but it wasn’t just with horror. Desire to be touched, handled, and abused itched underneath her skin. The itching grew and grew until the first mystery cock was shoved into her, the gag quickly removed and replaced with another cock. Distantly she heard Tony cheerfully goading the men. “You’ll all get your turn. If you don’t want her pussy or mouth, take her ass.”

  The hands, the hands all over her, stroking, swatting, scratching but the itch, oh god the itch--

  Maple shot up in bed. The black of the room was like the blindfold all over. Her breaths hurt as her lungs attempted to take in as much air as possible. To ground her in reality. It was with great relief she realized the itching was still her skin, not that burning, mad desire and shame from the memory. She sighed, allowing herself to relax, thankful to not be with those men.

  She also hated that she was alone.

  A subtle shift on the bed, though, reminded her she wasn’t alone. Beside her, J.B. was already up, his hand on her forehead. “Jesus, Maple, you’re burning up.”

  Parched, Maple gritted out an apology.

  “What the hell are you apologizing for?” A lamp clicked on and the room was flooded with light. “You’re still sick. You were talking in your sleep. Fever dreams.” J.B. had pajama bottoms on and nothing else. The soft yellow illuminated his abs and the dark dusting of hair on his chest.

  More like fever nightmares. Maple ran her hands over her arms and legs, verifying they were free. Wishing they were bound for J.B. She didn’t dare ask what she’d said in her sleep.

  He came back with water and some pills. He noticed that she was lightly scratching at her skin. “Stop that,” he warned, “Or I’ll have to restrain you again.”

  The blush that stole through her felt like wildfire. Maple’s mouth parted and her nipples tightened. J.B. must have seen her response. He took a quick step back, head shaking. His hands went in front of him. “Whoa,” he whispered, like she was a spooked horse. “Whoa.” The second ‘whoa’ sounded more for him, but Maple was still wrapped in the clutches of her dream. With J.B., it felt like she was always looking for things that weren’t there. It was torture.

  It horrified her that she couldn’t keep herself hidden anymore. Her body, that needy, despicable Judas, was betraying her. Signaling her darkest needs. The knowledge that J.B. saw it all, knew it all, made her want to vomit.

  “I’m sorry, J.B., I’m not sure what’s wrong with me--” Maple felt a rush, an inescapable need to apologize.

  “You’re still sick, that’s what.”

  “No, that’s not it. The way I’m acting... I just don’t want you to think poorly of me.”

  He stepped forward, hesitating, not quite able to come to her side. A wall was between them, one Maple knew she had built. It had needed to go in her brain, to cover Tony back up, and instead she was laying it brick by brick between herself and J.B.

  He was her boss, so the wall shouldn’t matter.

  He’d saved her life, so she couldn’t stand the distance.

  She wanted him so badly it hurt, a marrow-deep ache that she couldn’t shake. The darkness in him called to its counterpart in her.

  “I think I’m ready to go back to my room,” she sighed. She’d been in his room for too long. The swelling was gone. The fever and nausea were all that remained. Maple felt weak, and not just physically. Being this close to J.B. was a lure, and she was scarily close to biting. If she hadn’t made him hate her yet, that surely would be the beginning of the end.

  Fuck, why did things have to be so hard?

  He nodded. “I reckon that’s a good decision.”

  He sounded so sure it stung, despite being her idea. After her fever went down, he led her back to her room. J.B. set out some water. His fingers trailed on her comforter. He moved to the doorway, hovering in the dark.

  “Rest until you’re ready for work. Don’t push yourself. Ask Mariela for anything you need.”

  She nodded, sinking further under the covers. It hurt too much to look at him, to know that she’d been as close as she was going to be with J.B. and now it was over.

  “I’m--” he paused and her heart leapt. “I’m sorry you got hurt.”

  She wasn’t sure if he was talking about the rattlesnake or her feelings. It didn’t really matter, did it? The door still clicked shut as he left.

&
nbsp; Chapter Eleven

  Ten days had passed, and she was finally beginning to feel better. Maple had lost weight. Her clothes were too loose, and each day Mariela brought her rich broths, rice cooked in rendered fat, and guacamole to help her fill out again. Maple pecked at it, but her stomach was still on strike.

  After the night J.B. had helped her move back to her room, Maple had seen very little of him. It crushed her, causing the anxiety monsters in her mind to swoop in, but it made sense; he hadn’t said anything. Not really. He was a boss, and she was an employee.