Page 23

Maeve

The smile on his lips contradicted the unrelenting determination in his eyes. He knew. He knew the devil’s name. The name I never spoke because I knew it would be a death sentence for me. I didn’t kill him, but Master was offering me more, but it came with a price.

My breath hitched as his hand lifted, and the sharp whip cut through the air. A hundred whispered secrets dragged across my thighs, each suede strand kissing and then stinging like nettles. I arched against the cuffs as they teased the same path three times, four until my skin hummed with anticipation.

I closed my eyes, savouring the sensations before they vanished. I opened my eyes, silently begging for more. Offering my body to him. He didn’t need to use handcuffs to bind me to him.

No, he wants your words. Your name. My mind screamed at me.

I bit my lip, tasting the metallic blood. The pain grounded me. His fingers pried my lip away from my teeth.

“Give me your name, darling, and I will give you all the pain you need,”

he said, rubbing my lip.

“Like this.”

Crack.

A lightning-fast strike of white heat hit me between my legs. My gasp echoed off the headboard as my body betrayed me, hips lifting, nerves singing. The after-burn spread like whiskey in my veins, warmth pooling low as my thighs fell open wider.

Crack.

Another lash. This one curled around my nipple, the pain blooming into pleasure so sharp I sobbed. My body remembered before my mind that the devil had hardwired me to love the alchemy of hurt and heat. A twisted combination that my current Master wielded like a weapon against me.

“Master,”

I whimpered, the sound was pathetic, but I needed more. “Please.”

I almost sobbed with relief when he spread my thighs, but he turned the whip around to show me the smooth, dark polish of the wooden handle. He trailed the handle between my folds, teasing the entrance.

“Your name,”

he said, his voice hard and resolute.

I licked my bloody lip nervously before pursing my lips together. His slow smile should have been my warning. He pushed the handle inside me. I felt the hard wood penetrate me, giving me what I needed. I stared into his darkened green eyes as he began to move the instrument of pain and pleasure.

Yes. Yes. Yes.

He pulled it out and inspected the wet handle. I held my breath, but he picked up a clear bottle of lubricant and doused the handle with it. When he pressed it against my asshole, my breath came out. I wanted to scream at him.

Do it. Fuck my ass.

I moaned when the slippery handle forced my hole to part for him. My Master. The one who made me feel safe. The one who was peeling away my defences, layer by layer. For a moment, I slipped back into his memories. The pills, mockery, making me beg for him to violate my asshole. To feel something. Anything. Master’s voice pierced through the memory.

“Your name,”

Master growled, twisting the handle just enough to make me gasp.

“Actually, take your time. I have all day,”

he mused, dragging the handle out slowly before thrusting it back in.

Yes, right there. Harder.

His hand clamped down on my hip when I tried to push myself onto the handle. I wailed when he stopped. His finger traced the rim of my stretched asshole.

“More?”

he asked, but his eyes twinkled with amusement.

I nodded frantically, and his eyes gleamed. He started to fuck me with short, punishing thrusts. The pleasure was extreme, the feel of the brutal wooden handle giving me what I needed, all I could do was breathe and look at his face. I watched the vein in his forehead pulse, sweat erupting along his hairline like he was a bomb about to detonate. His control was slipping.

He stopped, leaving the handle deep inside of me. I tightened my ass around it, and I began to cry.

Why was he torturing me?

“Your name,”

he cooed, twisting the handle until my sobs broke into a broken whimper.

“That’s it, sugar. Sing for me.”

I stared into his green eyes as tears continued to roll down my face, taking a deep breath, but a shuddering sob broke free. My name. Given to me by my parents. Sold by my mother and erased by the devil. It was nothing. I was nothing.

“Trust me,”

Master said, crawling up my body, covering me up as the sobs continued to wrack through me.

“Please, sugar,”

he whispered desperately in my ear while he held me, but the dam was broken.

My soul lay tattered around me like my used-up, scarred body. Tortured screams echoed around me, cries of misery and loud wails of anguish unlike any I’d heard before. But it took me a while to realise that all the sounds were coming from me.

Master held me, rocking me back and forth, whispering promises to me. His hands shook as he rocked me like he was afraid I’d vanish. His arms were like vices clamped tight. They were too tight, but just what I needed.

**

Like every storm, this one passed, leaving me numb, battered and a mess. My eyes and nose felt swollen, but Master wrapped an ice pack in a towel for me. Unfortunately, he took the whip out of my ass. I closed my eyes, remembering the pain in his eyes and the frantic, panicked actions he took. Tears rolled down my face again.

The stupid man loved me.

“No, sugar, enough,”

he murmured.

“I love you,”

I croaked out between sniffing my nose and crying.

He closed his eyes and sighed as his face relaxed. When he opened his eyes, there was peace in them, but my torment was still eating away at him. My eyes burned, and my head felt heavy. I raised my hand to touch his cheek. He took my hand and kissed my palm before placing it back on his cheek.

“My name is Maeve O’Neill. My mother prostituted me and sold me to him at sixteen. He confessed that he instigated it all from when I was thirteen.”

I said but paused with a heavy sigh.

“He was my first. There were other girls. His contact is a drug dealer called Gavin Morrison.”

His lips pursed and jaw clenched as he tried to control his rage. He took a deep breath.

“Maeve,”

he breathed out the word like it was a bullet he’d been waiting to take.

I managed a smile when he took my hand and started to kiss my fingers, never taking his eyes off me. He blurred as more tears welled up in my eyes. One by one, they toppled over, and before my nose started to run again, he had a tissue ready to wipe my snot away.

“How can you bear to look at me?”

I whispered after he wiped my nose.

He kissed my cheeks, rubbing his lips over my tears, licking his lips like a hungry wolf ready to devour his next meal.

“Your eyes in the picture Dom gave me. They were dead. I wanted to breathe life into you,”

he said softly before a wry smile touched his lips.

“I also wanted to consume you and defile you in every way possible.”

My jaw dropped, and I studied his face. There was nothing but honesty in them. He has consumed and defiled me in the last week but in the best way possible.

“You’re mine, Maeve O’Neill,”

he shouted, lifting me off the bed and swinging me around like a madman.

“And I am your Master.”

I couldn’t help but chuckle at his grandiose delusions. My laughter sounded foreign to me, as did the warm glow in my chest. It didn’t stop me from clinging to him or for him to grip my neck and ass while I wrapped my limbs around him.

His strength and embrace calmed my racing heart, but it was the first time my mind was empty. Empty from the devil’s evil power over me.