Page 11 of To Tame An Angel

“I know it stings, but if I don’t do this, the infection will spread,” I tried to keep my voice even.

Another ‘fuck you’ formed behind his gag.

Annoyed, I pressed the alcohol-soaked pad against the open cut. Perhaps a little too hard, and he yelled and buckled. To calm him, I blew on the cut to soothe the sting. He calmed down, but his breath continued to be sporadic.

“You’re going to be off your feet for a while.”

He made no noise other than refusing to look at me. A sharp pang of defeat ran through me. These were the moments that were supposed to bring us closer and all he’d done was reject me. A deep sense of disappointment filled me. In my mind, I thought this would be different. I glanced at his face. His eyes are closed.

Hardening my resolve, I forged on. I couldn’t lose hope. On us and on him.

There was a good chance that he’d had no hope in his life, and I couldn’t blame him for mistrusting me. I would have to wait. Earn his trust.

If there was one quality he didn’t know about me was that I was patient.

Once his cuts were clean, I covered them with ointment and pressed a fresh gauze over them, securing a bandage. He’d calmed down, and I turned my task to the thorn. I took a moment to prepare myself for his reaction.

“I have to take out the thorn,” I said.

His muscles pulled once more, and he shook his head. This time, he glared at me.

“What do you want me to do? Leave it in there? You want your foot amputated, you fool?”

To my surprise, he nodded. I stared at him incredulously.

“Well, I don’t want your foot amputated, so it’s got to come out. Just… breath through it, I’ll try to do it as quickly as possible. Stay still and don’t kick me.”

Vindictively, he kicked his foot.

Instinctively, I spanked his ass three times. The sharp smacks resounded in the room, and he paused. Slowly, he turned to me in shock. I stared at the marks on his skin. It was turning a soft pink.

The heat I’d been holding at bay gushed to my cunt and I looked back at him. Sweat beads danced on his forehead. Most women begin the taming of their men with a good beating. I had chosen not to start that way because of my false notions that it should be something he’d deserved… or wanted.

I’d never considered taming to be so difficult.

“I said don’t kick me,” I said with authority.

To my surprise, he didn’t kick me again. He continued his angry stares. Along with that, there was a pallid blush painted on his cheeks. A certain scent was in the air. It was unique and faint, but it was there.

Taking the tweezers, I turned his foot to get a better look at the thorn. He groaned a little when I pressed the linen pad soaked with disinfectant against his skin. Tweezers at hand, I tried to grasp the base of the spine. His breathing shifted.

“It’s in good,” I murmured. “What did you step on?”

He said something that came out like a muffle. I almost smiled. I knew he wished to curse me to hell again.

When I tugged at the base of the thorn, it barely budged, and he pressed his face into the bedding. It must have hurt a great deal, but I couldn’t stop now. I told him I would be quick, and we must be truthful with our men. They were under our control and honesty was to be revered. If something was too much, they must say it. We must respect it. Naturally, we pushed their limits but never broke them beyond repair.

I tugged the spine once more, getting a good grip on it and pulled. Nothing. He shook and my heart softened towards him. My hand trailed to his calf, and I caressed his skin. I didn’t know why I did it. Perhaps it’s comfort. Mother always said, ‘offer comfort when needed’. She never elaborated. Perhaps we all expressed comfort in different ways.

“You’re doing great,” I whispered.

I don’t know why I said this. It felt like comfort.

Grasping the tweezers better, I tugged the thorn once more and this time half of it came out, but it was slicing through his skin. He snarled and spat into his gag. I wasn’t certain if he was crying. I doubted it. He wasn’t the sort to cry. But it was enough that he was losing control. His leg trembled and I feel terrible for his predicament.

“It’s almost out.”

Comfort.