Tender Mercies - By Kitty Thomas Page 0,24
golden hair fell in thick curls that ended right above the curve of her hips. He moved behind her and swept it over her shoulder.
“Did he tell you pretty lies online for that year about how your life would be?”
“Yes, Master.”
He could hear the tears in her voice as she forced the words out of her mouth. Of course she must think he was toying with her, but he had to know how bad this was.
“He made you believe you’d have lovely things and live kinkily ever after, didn’t he?”
She hesitated a moment and then said, “Yes, Master.”
Why the hesitation there? At that particular question? “But . . . ?” he said, leading her, hoping she’d reveal the impulse that had made her pause in her answer.
“He said he wouldn’t be an easy master.”
There it was.
“So you believe all this is your fault? Everything he’s done to you? Because he warned you, and you still got on the plane?”
She nodded.
He wanted to tell her it wasn’t her fault but it seemed wasted verbiage at this point. She wasn’t going to believe anything he said right now.
He sighed. Before he could talk himself out of it, he did what he’d made her turn around for. He took the edges of the top and lifted and pulled it over her head, tossing the fabric to the floor.
Asher cursed under his breath. Her back was a mess. So many scars that would never go away to erase the memory of Lucas from her. And the new marks. They’d closed but they were still very red, probably quite tender. He winced, thinking of how he’d held her in the kitchen and how part of the reason she’d tensed might have been pain, not just fear.
He was so morbidly transfixed by the awful sight in front of him that he didn’t notice the change in her breathing, the signals that her anxiety had peaked and they were moments away from a scene of epic proportions.
“Please, Master, this slave is sorry . . .”
There had been more she seemed prepared to say in her bid for mercy, but he cut her off. “Grace––what did we say about third person?”
“I . . . I’m sorry,” she corrected.
“Sorry for what?” He had his suspicions over what her litany of apologies was about, but he needed to hear it from her. The more he could get her to tell him directly, the less he had to play mind reader.
“The . . . the scars. You paid money for . . . this sl . . . for me, and I’m marked.” It was a real struggle for her to shed the speech patterns Lucas had no doubt beaten into her. Asher wondered which scars had taught her the lesson he most wanted to undo.
“Then isn’t that my fault? If I wanted you perfect and unmarked, should I not have inspected my potential property before acquiring it?”
She was quiet for a long moment.
“Answer.”
“No, Master.”
“I shouldn’t have?”
“Yes! This sl . . . I don’t know what you want from me. Please don’t hurt her . . . me.” Clearly unable to take the close proximity of the threat, she moved away from him until she was cowering in a corner.
Oh no. He wasn’t having that. “Come here.”
The tick of the wall clock seemed to be the only sound left in the world as she slowly moved back to him. With her top on the floor and no bra underneath, she was bare to his gaze, her hair having slipped behind her during her retreat. If she weren’t so broken, there were a million other things he could think to do with her right now, but he resisted, knowing how important it was to lay this groundwork now.
When she reached him, he stroked the side of her face, trying to calm her and hoping Lucas hadn’t used a similar gesture when playing fake trust-building games with her. “I expect honesty from you. Never a lie. I will never harm you for telling me the truth, no matter how awful you think it is. Do you understand, kitten?”
“Yes, Master.”
“Good girl.” He helped her back into the top and could see the confusion on her face because he wasn’t touching her. He was pretty confused about it, too. And maybe he should touch her. He certainly was within his rights to. And he’d have to very soon, but not right now.
“I’m going to ease you slowly in, but I am going to train you.