Deliver

Chapter 23

Josh knelt in the center of the room, naked, and fixated on the nimble movements of Liv’s fingers. His muscles quivered from holding still for so long.

Crouched before him in her jeans and t-shirt, she tied a long coil of rope into loose bows, sliding his arms through the loops and cinching the knots along his sternum.

Flashes of dizziness reminded him he’d only eaten a couple energy bars. He nodded toward her phone. “Send Van the text, Liv.”

She’d texted him an hour earlier to check in but had yet to request food. She slid another knot in place, her eyes narrowed in concentration on the laced web that began with a noose around his neck and intertwined a dragonfly pattern down his chest. Her tongue touched her upper lip. “We’re not ready for him yet.”

The urge to suckle that taunting tongue sensitized his skin where it rubbed against the nylon bindings. The knotted bows formed taut sleeves over his arms, holding his elbows in an X over his stomach.

“You made a straight jacket from rope.” He waited for the panic to set in, but all he felt was wonderment.

“I’ve learned how to do a lot of awful things.” Painful memories pulled at the corners of her eyes. Then they were gone, and her calmness returned, flowing through the fluidity of her fingers as they moved down his abs.

The torturous caress of her full attention both soothed him and made him antsy. Van was probably prowling on the other side of the door. Or beating on it. She’d said it was soundproofed. “Why are you the only one with a code to this room?”

Her rich dark eyes, lashes fanning thickly through slow blinks, were as arresting as her hands on the rope near his groin. She pulled his hips closer to her. “When I was returned by the man who bought me, Mr. E put me in Van’s possession.” She kept her eyes on her hands, plaiting and twisting the rope. “I requested to have the only code to the door, and I think Mr. E agreed because he knew if he didn’t limit Van’s access to me…” Her voice wobbled, strengthened. “I wouldn’t have survived all these years if I had to live every minute under Van’s thumb, sleeping in his bed with nowhere to escape.”

Her courage knew no bounds. Maybe it was God working through her, but she radiated an inner strength he was certain she’d never acknowledged. “You’ve done a hellacious job surviving. You don’t have it in you to give up.”

“I would have.” She glanced up, eyes hard, and returned to her rope work. “But this living arrangement, this room, has kept those thoughts at bay.”

For how long? Mr. E could take it away any moment. “Van’s okay with it? How long before he swings a chainsaw at that door?”

“He’s accepted that this is the only way I’ll be a part of his life.” She yanked on a knot with more strength than was needed. “As long as I’m around, Van has an outlet for his desires. The virgin slaves remain virgin. Mr. E knows this and lets me keep the code.”

His heart ached for her. She deserved a life beyond masks and locked doors and black eyes. Something about her, captor or not, brought out a fierce drive in him to take care of her, to serve her. Not that he could do anything with his hands tied, but she’d asked his permission before restraining him with rope. It was the asking that compelled his cooperation.

She wound the ends around his upper thighs, tightened the final knot, and sat back on her heels. Rather than studying her intricate work, she peered into his eyes, her posture motionless and her face framed by ribbons of metallic copper in her chestnut hair.

When her silence stretched, he tilted his head. “What is it?”

A deep groove appeared between her eyes. “You’re not broken or defeated.” The side of her mouth tipped up into a trembling curve, making his chest swell against the restraints. “But you let me do this.” A whisper.

When her eyes lowered, he bent his head to remain in her line of sight. “I have faith in you, Liv. You know how to handle Van. What’s wrong?”

The furrow in her brow deepened. “This kind of bondage is about trust, not control.” She traced a finger over the rope harness and adjusted a knot to line up with the others. “I would’ve never attempted it on one of the captives.” She glanced at him through her dark lashes. “I practiced a lot on a borrowed mannequin.”

Given the labyrinth of knots, it was a binding that couldn’t be easily forced, a position he certainly wouldn’t have volunteered before Mr. E’s visit. He pressed his lips to her forehead. Maybe his trust was too soon, but somehow it had braided a bridge between them that was as complex and sturdy as the rope that bound him.

“You trust me.” She wasn’t asking, but disbelief creased her face.

He captured her parted lips, stroked his tongue over hers, tasting her sincerity, and straightened to behold her. “I trust your intentions.”

Soft brown eyes stared back, her hand settling on his inner thigh. He felt that single point of contact through his whole body, warming and stirring. She stretched a finger and stroked down his semi-erect shaft. “You shouldn’t.”

His breath strangled. “Liv.” He groaned, his penis jerking against her touch. “What are you doing?”

“Before I text Van, you need to memorize the requirements. A perfect little slave could recite them verbatim.” She curled her fingers around the pulse between his legs, massaging him to hardness. “And you need to do it while I distract you.”

She grabbed his nipple and twisted it to unholy hell, sparking pain through his chest. The rope between his arms and thighs halted the bow of his back.

“Arruugh!” He moaned for long seconds after she released him.

“What is requirement number one?”

He ground his teeth, reeling from the lingering bite of her fingers. “Slave can only have sex with felonious men—”

She yanked on his other nipple with a brutal pinch, and let go. The sting thrummed through his body, and his groin heated, stiffening to the point of pain.

Her hand clenched around his erection. “Slave has never experienced sexual intimacy with a woman. Slave is heterosexual but hates women. He desires only his Master.” She arched a slim eyebrow.

He repeated the requirement. “How would anyone know if I’ve slept with a woman?”

Those gorgeous eyes roamed his face. She trailed her other hand along his hairline, around his ear, and down his neck, watching the path of her caress. “Experience. Skill. Confidence. These things surface in a man’s eyes when he regards a woman.” Her gaze flicked to his, the hand on his penis sliding up and down. “Don’t gape at me like that.”

“Seriously?” He released a ragged breath. “You’re stroking me.”

“When we’re in the presence of others, don’t look at me at all. You need to practice that now.”

If he was going to be tied up or naked around Van or the buyer, he wouldn’t be looking at her with anything but panic.

“Tell me requirement number two.” She added a second hand between his legs, fondling his balls while she twisted her wrist along his length, her heavy-lidded gaze clinging to his.

“Slave must—” A shudder rippled over him, his biceps flexing against the rope. “Service the Master. Slave’s body is prepared and—” His release coiled, tightening, threatening. “You have to stop.”

She leaned in and bit his lip. Hard. Consuming. The pang snapped his control, the build up tumbling over in a powerful wave of heat and sighing relief. His head dropped back on his shoulders, his body shaking in the constriction of rope.

As the bliss of his orgasm drifted from his muscles, he realized he’d closed his eyes. When he opened them, she stood above him, her cute little nose wrinkled in annoyance. He wanted to kiss it. His lips twitched. “Um. I guess I need to work on requirement seven.”

“No. Number seven is kneeling, one of the only fucking rules you haven’t broken.” She rubbed her eyes and glared at him. “Number three. Eyes down. Four. No clothes.”

“I’ve got number four covered.” He tried to check his smile, but his cheeks were persistent.

“Good job.” Her monotone response matched her disapproving stare.

Hard to believe he’d considered her vicious. With the set of her stubborn jaw and her lips in a plump flat line, she looked decisively non-threatening. “You’re adorable.”

She spun, striding to the locked cabinet where she kept her crops, whips, and paddles. “You’re patronizing me, you little prick.”

Oh, he’d really ticked her off. Her aggravation vibrated with the slap of her feet on the floor. He peeked at his lap, and the sight of his come tightened his chest with guilt. Dammit, he needed to try harder.

She unlocked the cabinet and returned with something he knew existed but had never seen in person. Shaped like a cone and made of black rubber or plastic, the phallic shape sent a shiver of dread down his spine. “No. No way. Go get the flogger.”

“I could beat you until you’re bruised and bleeding, but it’s ineffective.” She squatted before him, her pretty features etched in thought. “You know why?”

The ropes suddenly felt tighter, scratchier. “Because I’m a terrible slave.”

“The worst.” Her free hand drifted to his ball sac, reawakening his bottomless well of arousal. “How often did you get a woody after a hard hit at football practice or during an excruciating exercise?”

He shifted his weight on his knees, her question poking at experiences he’d never spoken aloud. Feelings he’d wanted to express but never had a tolerant ear to whisper them to. Until now. “On the farm…” He coughed, unable to loosen the discomfort tightening his throat. “Some of the grueling chores worked my body pretty good.” His muscles would burn with exertion, his penis would rub against his jeans. He met her eyes.

“It made you hard.”

As the room filled with weighted silence, he examined the expression softening the peaks of her lips and rounding the depths of her eyes. He knew her features wouldn’t harden and twist with judgment. “Yeah.”

She dipped her head, her breath tickling over his cheek, lifting her hand from his balls to toy with the hair behind his ear. “You get hard every time I punish you.” She kissed his jaw and nibbled on his ear lobe, whispered, “Kinky pain whore.”

Her teasing tone and the playful bite of her teeth on his neck exposed the girl she kept tucked away. His already excited heart hammered against his ribs.

“The problem is—” she turned her head to glower at him “—the whip lost its thrilling danger after the first time I used it. It takes you to an out-of-body place, and all that’s left is the thrill.” She held up the plug. “But this—”

“Is not going inside me.” His pulse accelerated, and his rectum contracted.

“It is.” She smiled, soft at the edges, but no less determined. “It’s up to you if I’ll lube it, if I’ll be gentle, if I’ll prepare you.” She licked the tip of the plug, wetting it. “Requirement number ten.”

His heart rate redoubled. Sweet mother, he didn’t know that one. Sweat beaded on his nape, and his pecs twitched, ready to fight.

“Shh.” She brushed a kiss on his chest between the crisscross of rope. “This is a new one. Slave will show gratitude for punishment and discipline.”

His lungs sighed in relief. “Thank you, Mistress.”

And just like that, their roles reverted. He understood why she rose and stripped down to her panties, why she tied a black kerchief around her nose and mouth, and why she gathered her composure into the unnatural stillness of dominance. It was her masked persona, the Deliverer who performed without mercy or emotion. To enforce the training. To deliver the punishments. To protect those she cared about.

But who protected her? Now he was one of the people she would come to defend. This certainty was a visceral grip of faith, and it filled him with a new sense of purpose. Her hidden expressions, costumes and nudity, and penchant for restraints were meant to disarm a slave. It was her cross to bear, and he would help her carry it.

As she repeated the rules over and over, he kept his eyes down with respect, his mouth shut in obedience, and his mind focused on memorizing her words.

Liv sent the text to Van, and thirty minutes later, she walked to the door and put her hand on the keypad. Josh was ready. As long as he didn’t look at the yet-to-be-used butt plug she’d left on the mattress.

She glanced back, her shadowy gaze peering over the kerchief. “You can guess why I’m only in panties.”

He raised his eyes, swallowed. The test with Van would be sexual in nature. Since she wasn’t asking a question, he kept his guess to himself and drew a deep breath.

“I don’t know what Van has planned, but he will test your limits.” With her chin tilted up, she faced the keypad.

As she punched in the code, he knew she would do what was necessary for her family. He returned his attention to the floor and girded his spine.