Breaking Leila (38 page)

Aidan, now
behind the sofa, grimaced and slapped his forehead.

“I don’t really
know how to answer that.”

“Yes or no is
good,” Matt said.

“I don’t know,”
I whispered. Jagged tears scratched at my eyeballs.

“I think you’re lying. I think you know what a twat he is and
can’t even admit it. You knew right from the
beginning–God,
 
I
 
knew!–that he was the one you wanted,” he spat. “Look at you,
all cosy up here with him. You should be fucking ashamed of
yourself–”

“Hey!” Aidan
snapped.

“That’s
 
enough
.” The door creaked and Joseph
filled the frame. His face creased, a cold sheet, his eyes
murderous. I’d seen him annoyed before, even angry, but never
furious, and he closed in like the snap of hot air as a storm broke
to swallow. “Apologize.
 
Now
.”
He dropped his briefcase and jacket–normal, controlled moves–but
there was a vicious edge to his tone. “Apologize and get the fuck
out of my room.”

Matt chewed his
lip hard. He wanted to explode at him–I could see it in his balled
fists and furrowed brow. Slowly, he stood.

“I’m sorry,
Leila,” he muttered. It must have pained him terribly to submit to
Joseph, but it was the least sincere thing he’d ever said to
me.

“Thank you,” I
whispered.

Joseph held the
door open for Matt and Aidan and then slammed it neatly behind
them. “Are you all right?”

I nodded
absently. Lies, lies.

“What the hell
was he doing in here?”

“I made a
mistake. He was drunk.” I licked my lips, inhaling as Joseph sat
down next to me.

He reached over
and tucked a ringlet behind my ear. “You look like a little girl
lost.”

“Sorry.”

“I like it.” He
stretched a palm over my knee and stroked slowly. “Don’t worry
about him, Leila. He’s sore. It’ll pass.”

I managed
another nod.

“And if he
carries on like that, I can have words with him. Now.”

A little kiss brushed just below my ear.
 
Oh.

“I’m going to
get a shower. You’re not to come into the bedroom for the next half
an hour,” he said. “Are…are you sure you’re all right?”

“Yes, Sir.” I
smiled up at him, hoping my eyes weren’t red. “Should I be
suspicious?”

Now his lips
caught mine and his tongue probed softly. He stood. “No…but you
should have that word.” There was a heavy pause as he sized me up.
“You should be naked, too.”

With that, I
was alone with thirty fat, sucking minutes for company.

Matt’s outburst should have neutralized my guilt over our
break-up. I’d hurt him and it had been rough and bloody, but I was
still shocked at how he’d spoken to me. He had never made me feel
small before and my tears raged in their ducts, aching for a
release I was
 
not
 
going to grant. Not now.

Matt knew what
I did. I could make a hundred excuses for becoming a whore and that
was all they would be–excuses. It ripped him apart.

I don’t know
how I managed to pass that half hour, but I counted each minute. I
stripped off as soon as Joseph disappeared, not wanting to sweat.
Flicking through the TV channels again took my mind off Matt’s
words…and drew it to the word Joe had requested.

I’d never had
to give one before. My skin fizzed at the notion.

On my way to
see a client, I would relish the thrill of the unexpected. This was
different, deeper, somehow. Visceral. Broken by Matt, by my
parents, by the last few days, I prayed he wouldn’t notice. It
sounds stupid, but I felt like my life would be different on the
other side of that bedroom door.

I hoped it
would be.

I waited for
exactly thirty-two minutes and then I tip-toed in, my pulse
wavering.

The room was
dark, save for a few dozen candles dotted around. The flames swayed
and flickered, rioting against the air. Joseph sat naked on the
edge of the bed and he beckoned me to him with a single finger.

A pile of silk
coiled on the bed: five long black scarves.

Oh God. He was
going to dress me like Charlotte.

He pulled up
the first scarf, trailing it through his fingers.

“Let’s see if I
can remember how this goes, huh?” He smiled as he folded it
lengthways, creating a long strip.

A
blindfold.

It hovered
before my eyes as he paused.

“You’re
trembling,” he said softly. “Are you afraid?”

“A bit. Is that
stupid?”

“No,
sweetheart.” He wound the blindfold about my neck and tugged me in
for a kiss.

His mouth was
so warm, almost yielding–as if I could ever drink my fill of
him–but the whole night remained ours, and we had all the time in
the world just for this. Like the farewell kiss he’d given me on
the night he rampaged in my shower, it had an intimate quality that
bore no name. Not lust, not love. The first stirring.

I watched the
dancing flames stick to his outline. They cast him in a shroud
burnt orange and honey, and he looked holy, almost.

A God.

“Do you trust
me, Leila?”

“Yes.” It was only part truth, but what if I
said
 
no
?

He let the
scarf slide smooth and cool around my collarbone and I shivered.
Then he stepped behind me and the room turned to ink. He checked
beneath the blindfold for gaps, his fingertips grazing my nose and
cheeks. The knot was quick and fierce. “One down,” he said.

He bound my
breasts next.

My flesh
goose-pimpled from the air conditioning and my nipples jutted out
in brazen pride, all the more sensitive in my lack of sight. He
tied the scarf just below my shoulder blades and my breasts sat up
tightly, half spilling over and into the cool air.

The carpet
crunched as he dropped to his knees and cold silk ran up the inside
of my leg. I spread just a little for him. Though I’d dressed like
this for several clients, the blindfold had only been for photos.
Blotting out senses with a stranger wasn’t wise. With this man?
Charlotte felt clever, even if my brain was numb. As for me...I
soared in the froth of panic.

I gasped as
Joseph parted my outer lips and bore the scarf between them. He
pulled it toward my hip and fastened so it dug into my skin. When
he finished the second side, my clit sat exposed against the black
fabric, and the vaguest movement made me moan. The trailing ends
tickled my thighs, too.

Finally, he
stood again and brought my wrists together at the small of my back.
The knot sat so that it grazed my spine when I moved. Each time, I
shivered, a helpless weapon in the pursuit of my own undoing.

“Comfortable?”
he asked.

“Not exactly.”
He didn’t want me to be.

“Do you have
your word?”

“Lilac.” My
voice cracked with the shape of the memory. They were the flowers
that brought me here and the scent he’d thought to gift me with
after we’d fucked beneath its spell.

Silence. He
cracked squeaking hinges, rattled a drawer. Then his weight sailed
toward me, and something cold and smooth pressed into my cheek. I
jumped. Whimpered in recognition.

“Do you know
what this is?”

“Yes.” I winced under metallic caress. “A knife.” I couldn’t
quite discern what kind–something heavy with a flat, wide blade–but
I
 
knew
 
it. This was the heady cocktail of fear and desire he had
used to seduce me in my dream.

How had he
known? Or how had I?

“Clever girl.”
I could hear him smiling now as he drew the tip to my chin. “Do you
like it?”

“I don’t
know.”

“Not that it
matters.” The edge was blunt enough as it traced lightly down my
throat, coming to settle in the valley between my breasts. “All
this gorgeous white skin…I love the way it looks in the candle
light. Do you know what looks even prettier, baby?”

I shook my head
just once.

“Pink and red.
Colours for a little girl.” He swallowed. “And war paint for a slut
like you.”

I wasn’t
wearing a scrap of make-up and suddenly felt very exposed.

The blade slid
around and he eased up the scarf, rubbing the jagged edge along the
underside of one breast. It scratched sweetly and I gave a small
cry. It was a bread knife, I guessed now–not quite the dagger in my
dream, but dripping with equal menace.

After all, the
rough kiss of a blunt knife was notoriously worse than that of its
cleaner counterparts.

He switched to
the other breast, bringing the flat of the metal to push against my
nipple. The pressure was release and relief, and I moaned again at
the lick of steel through silk. My heart made a fist beneath it,
pummelling for its own release like it had been buried alive.

Maybe it
had.

The very tip
scraped beneath my breastbone.

“On your
knees,” he demanded.

It was more
awkward than one might expect to fall down with bound wrists. I
went on one knee first as if he were about to ordain me.

He teased my
lips with the end of the knife. “Lick it.”

I flicked my
tongue over it experimentally. It tasted bitter, and the serrated
edge was prickly. A little more pressure and my flesh would split
like a peach.

“Should I
punish your mouth with this?” He pushed it slightly against my
tongue and I froze–if I jerked, there would be a serious accident.
“Or maybe this?”

The hilt sank
right into my mouth, smooth and weighty in contrast. It thumped to
the end of my throat and I groaned.

“Mmm.” He worked it back and forth for a moment, stopping
just short of the blade striking my lips. I wished I could see the
look on his face as I swallowed so obediently. Adrenaline swelled.
I
 
liked
 
this.

What did that
make me?

“I think you
need something bigger, don’t you?”

I nodded, the
metal heavy in its slow retreat. I tasted pre-come first and then
moaned over the length of his cock.

Joseph gripped
the knot of the blindfold and eased me back, taking a fistful of my
hair. He pushed until my back arched and he could fuck down into
me, his hips shoving in and out. Beneath him, I quivered in my
dance for rain.

Breath hissed
between his teeth and he started to swear softly. Tension braced
his arms as he held me, his thrusts waned. He was close so soon,
teetering before the little death...but not ready to fade.

Over and over,
I swallowed on his cock just for the rippled suck it gave. I would
tempt him toward the end if it choked me and it would never be
punishment, not even in the sweetest sense. I could do this for all
of my life and be happy–I wouldn’t cower in anticipation of a knife
that was already there.

In one swift
movement, he pulled out and pressed the blade at the base of my
throat. Breath rushed from him like he’d been starved of air.

“Get up,” he
said.

I raised myself
on one knee again. Still drunk on the taste of him, I kept knocking
my clit as I moved. If blood could sing, the bud would be stuffed
with riot and rhythm, and all I craved was his touch against the
wetness there. How long would he make me wait for it?

He stroked the
knife-tip under my chin, and as I looked up, he claimed my mouth. I
mewed shamelessly as he bit my bottom lip, and tugged at my
bindings, desperate to hold him.

No such
luck.

Joseph cleared
his throat. “Sit on the bed.”

I obeyed,
walking slowly backward until my calves hit the wooden frame. He
untied my hands and brought them to my lap, the scarf still loose
around them.

“Now…back on
the bed. Lie down.”

The sheets left
chilly friction burns as I moved up the mattress. He tugged my
hands by the scarf and secured them to the bed frame, and the knot
was looser this time. He gave me space to move. The thought turned
to a hot shiver as it slid down my spine.

“You should see
yourself.” The voice was wrought, low. “A bound angel.”

“You could take
off the blindfold and show me,” I whispered.

“Now where’s
the fun in that?”

The bed balked
with his weight then, and a knee fell at each hip as he straddled
me. His breath showered down on my collar bone, so exposed beside
the silk.

I waited for
the blade.

It jerked
roughly between my breasts, carving away the scarf in a few short
strokes. I lay as still as I could with each gulp of air and panic,
each throb of a heartbeat. It didn’t matter if he gave me any
warning–I was never prepared.

He took a bare
breast in his smooth palm, squeezing until the tissue balked.
“Perfect,” he murmured. “I couldn’t mould anything better.”

God, it felt
like he was trying.

He pressed my
nipple between his finger and thumb and caressed it with the knife.
I sighed a feeble protest–reluctance waning, delight distilled. His
cock–solid as an unlit candle, hot as the flame that threatened the
wick–brushed my pubic bone, and I tortured myself with thoughts of
it venturing lower, down between the scarves to where it
belonged.

“How long are
you going to tease me?” I begged.

“This is
teasing?” He pricked my nipple. I yelped. “Don’t worry, sweetheart.
It’s just a scratch.”

Now he graced
my other breast with his attention, tracing the steel beneath it,
scraping the underside as he urged the flesh up. We shared heat,
this implement and I. Bounced off each other like a mirror stood
between us.