Page 23 of Upon Buried Embers (Upon Buried Embers #1)

Moving back to my original side, I lift the cloth and rinse it out and Rohan grabs my wrist.

“You missed an area.”

I look at him, confused, but no words are needed as he guides my hand down.

The cloth covers something hard, and he squeezes my much smaller hand around it, grunting, eyes on me.

“I don’t think—”

“Hush,” he says, moving my hand up and down him. I squirm, cheeks blazing as I look away. “You will clean all of me. Another punishment. Now, watch.”

I peek down at his hard cock and swallow roughly. The head is an angry red, showing through the cloth as he brings it down again, his hips lifting a little. He brings our hands up to the top, swirling around the head.

My lips part, warmth unfurling through me and then he abruptly lets go, standing and climbing out, unashamed of how his hard cock is on display.

I blink rapidly as he curses at himself and barks out a “Bathe. Now.”

All I can do is nod, and when he’s out of sight, I release a breath, leaning heavily against the tub.

Sitting at the table, I practice braiding with Rohan’s hair again, looking at the older ones he has kept in.

He goes over what I think are letters again, scattered on the table.

Some look old, and some new. They must not be important if he’s leaving them out in the open for me to see.

Not that it matters anyway, but I sneak glances at him.

“Concentrate.” It’s not really a reprimand, his tone isn’t harsh, but I do as he asks anyway.

He wasn’t even looking at me.

My hands hurt, the cuts stinging, but I go through the motions like he showed me.

Move to the right, twist, move to middle, twist. On it goes until I have a braid.

I drop my hands and massage them, stilling when he grabs and inspects them. “They hurt that much?” I nod.

I’m a baby when it comes to pain, which didn’t help with how Master treated me. He knew that too, loved it.

He gets up and comes back with a small, metal tin. Opening it, he pulls a white substance from inside. He grabs a hold of my hand and puts it over the cuts. I hiss, but he shushes me, doing the same with my other hand.

“It has been a while since I had to open this.” He nods to the tin.

“Sorry.”

He sighs.

I stare at my hands when he’s done, waiting while he wraps bandages around them slowly.

“Are you scared they will bite you?” He muses, and I glance up at him, seeing what I think is amusement in his eyes.

“I—no. I just. Thank you.”

He rubs some over the cut on my head. “How did you cut yourself so badly?”

“Well, the bucket is hard when you fall on it.”

He stills.

“Fall?”

I freeze.

“Y-yes.” I avert my eyes.

“You didn’t say you fell, you said you banged your head.”

“What?”

“You said you banged your head.”

I shift, hand going to my collar for a moment. “It must be a mistake.”

“Kaldar’s not one to make such simple mistakes.”

“The bucket was near, maybe that’s why.”

He pauses, then. “Maybe.”

Once my cut is covered, he sits back, legs spread.

A moment later, he grasps my waist and sits me down between them, his hands going to my hair as I stare at the papers in front of me.

“You’re slowly improving in your braiding, but you will need much more practice.

” I nod my head, and he tugs on it. “Still,” he commands, and begins to braid my hair.

It’s a little sore from when it was pulled earlier, but I make no objections.

“You can do Serah’s tomorrow, and though they will not be up to Dragorie standard, it will help you become familiar with it. ”

“Okay.”

Once he’s done braiding my hair, he turns me, and now my legs are over his, on either side of his hips.

My cheeks heat, and I make sure the tunic is covering my center. He glances down before shaking his head.

He looks at the braids I’d done in his hair, inspecting it before he nods, his hand coming toward me.

I flinch back against the table, hitting it hard, not expecting it, and he freezes, hand midair.

“S–sorry.” I gulp, trying to control my breathing.

I’m always making mistakes.

He says nothing, staring at me. He slowly brings his hand to my hair and starts to play with the end of the braid.

“Why do you flinch at everything?” His words are quiet, but the hint of command is within it.

I say nothing.

“This isn’t the first time you have done this. It’s more than being frightened, it’s more than not knowing what I will do. It’s a natural response you have, and you will tell me why.”

“I’m just scared.” He tugs on my braid, forcing my eyes to his.

“What are you scared of?”

“Everything.”

That’s a lie.

I’m not scared of dying, I’m scared of the pain of it.

“Who hurt you? Who put their hands on you in such a way that made you scared? Who caused you to have these reactions at the simple lift of a hand?”

I frown. I’m a slave, even worse, an elf, is it not obvious?

I’m not a person to others, I don’t have thoughts or feelings, I don’t have likes and dislikes.

I don’t have wishes or dreams.

I don’t have wants.

I have nothing. Doesn’t he see that?

“You will tell me one day the full extent of your life,” he murmurs.

“I’m a slave, I don’t have a life, it’s always in the hands of another. Those hands right now are yours.”

He hums. “Your life is mine?”

“You took me.”

“One day, you will say I freed you.”

“This does not feel like freedom,” I snap back, and then pause.

Oh no.

Rohan tugs my braid again, pulling until my face is close to his, and he lets out a small, deep, chuckle.

“Looks like there’s some fire left in your heart after all. I cannot wait to breathe life into it. For what a wonderful sight it will be.”