Page 23 of Break Me
14
EMMA
When I wake from the blinding ceiling lights coming on in the morning, my labia is throbbing and burning, and my limbs are aching from the strain of being stuck in the same position all night.
Sometime after Dax left me, I woke up to find my arms trapped in iron manacles. The shackles attached to the wall above my head only allowed me enough room to rest my arms on my chest, and I quickly realized it was to prevent me from touching my newly pierced pussy. Or touching my pussy at all. Even as the holes in my flesh burned, all I could think was that I needed relief from the constant pulsing that had taken residence within my core.
When a guard came in with dinner and found me frantically rubbing my legs together around the new piercings, he shackled my legs too, spread out to make sure I wouldn’t irritate my sore skin further. He released my hands and let me sit there with my legs spread, him standing guard over me as I ate my last bowl of porridge of the day. Then he shoved me back onto the mattress and shackled my arms to the wall with so little leeway I couldn’t move my hands below my head. I’ve been here ever since, unable to move.
It took me forever to fall asleep, and it’s a miracle I succeeded at all.
With the pulsing need having faded, no longer dulling the pain, and my energy low, I don’t have the stamina to process the pain. I try to breathe through it, but panic keeps creeping along the edges of my mind, flaring every now and then, sending my breaths into shallow gusts of air.
When the door finally opens, I’m twisting and straining against the chains, weeping and sniveling as the aches in my body have become so acute I can’t see anything through them.
Heavy steps thud against the stone floor, but I don’t see who’s coming. I don’t see anything.
“Are you in pain, my sweet little sub?” A hand strokes my face, and I try to focus on the gentle touch, but I can’t feel anything but pain and panic.
“Please, make it stop,” I cry, breaking into a sob as the desperation threatens to suffocate me.
Chains rattle, and a metallic click makes one manacle pop open, then the other. I try to lower my arms to my chest, but I only cry harder as my muscles groan like old hinges.
Warm hands close around my lower arms and gently move them to my stomach. Hugging them to me, I try to roll onto my side, but the manacles on my feet prevent it.
“I can’t take it. I can’t, I can’t. Make it stop. Make it—” My breaths rise in my throat with each word until I’m gasping so hard my lungs hurt, and I’m still not getting any air. My vision blurs as the world closes in around me, tightening its grip and making it impossible to draw a deep breath.
There’s a quick movement beside me, then more rustling sounds and metallic clicks. I’m wheezing for air as my legs are slowly pushed closed. Warm, calloused hands help me onto my side, and then a strong body molds around mine as Dax lies behind me. “Shh, little sub. I’ve got you. Just breathe.”
I curl up against him, seeking shelter, comfort, and warmth against his body. A little voice at the back of my head reminds me this man is dangerous—my captor in this hell. But he’s also my only lifeline. The only thing that keeps me breathing.
Placing his warm palm against my chest, he moves his hand in and out, mimicking the slow motions my chest should be making as he drags in loud inhales and pushes the air out against my ear. “Follow my breaths, little sub,” he whispers and keeps going, lifting his hand and breathing in, pressing his palm to my chest and breathing out. In, out, in, out.
Like every other time he has done this, my breathing slowly steadies, but the pain keeps throbbing and I keep weeping.
Closing his arms around me, he holds me close to him, rocking me with small movements of his chest like I’m a child. We lie like this for a long time, and at some point, the pain becomes more manageable, and I stop weeping.
He doesn’t say a word, just keeps on rocking, arms banded tight around me. His breathing comes in long, deep gusts against my ear as if the rocking motions are calming him too. When a slow hum rumbles through his chest, I go still, breathing very quietly to listen for another similar sound. It almost seems like he’s enjoying this.
I shove the thought out of my head.No, it can’t be.And if he does, it’s notme.It’s just the act of holding someone—or something.
But when he presses a soft kiss against my temple and murmurs, “Sweet, little sub,” it seems sincere. Personal. His arms loosen somewhat around me, and he takes up stroking my stomach. Movements that seem absentminded and natural. His breathing deepens further, and I almost think he’s on the brink of sleep.
A few new tears leak from my eyes, and my chest shakes as another wave of emotion rolls through me. But this time, it’s not despair or petrifying panic. This time, it’s hope. Hope that he might find some kind of peace in this connection. Hope that he may hold some kind of care for me, if only just a sliver.
I try to shove it down and remain still, but I can’t control it. The emotions are too strong, and I start crying again. It breaks the spell and pulls Dax out of the drowsy restfulness. His hand stops caressing, and his movements become more controlled, his muscles less loose.
It intensifies my grief.I finally had a moment of intimacy, and I had to ruin it with my emotions.Trevor’s condescending voice rings through my mind.Always so damn emotional. It’s like you’re on your period twenty-four-seven.And then my mom’s voice follows.Stop crying, Emma. It’s just a breakup. There’ll be other boys.
I almost expect Dax to say something in the same vein, but he simply lifts a hand to my cheek and wipes the tears away with a tender motion.
“I can ease the pain if you want. Like I did yesterday.”
“How?” I croak.
“With pleasure.”
I shake my head in defeat. My mindset is as far from anything sexual as could be. I don’t want to come even though the need he awoke within me yesterday still seems to throb deep within my core. A heartbeat all of its own. “I don’t want that.”