Page 54 of Break Me
“Will Dax be there?” I blurt. I know Mikhail said he wouldn’t yesterday, but I need to make one last attempt. Ineedto say goodbye.
“No,” he simply says and draws the hood over my head. It’s a simple structure that covers my head and neck but leaves my face free, so I try again.
“Will you please ask him to come say goodbye?”
“No.”
Everything tightens within me, and I shoot up a hand to dry at my moist eyes before the pooling tears spill over. But I can’t hold back for long. As Mikhail attaches an eyepiece and a mouthpiece to the hood, covering my whole face, except for a small hole at the nose, closing me into lonely darkness, the tears come faster. I’m sniffling, my chest shaking with restrained sobs, as he helps me to my feet and guides me out of the room, through the halls, and into a new room with carpeted floors and warm air that smells like expensive cigars and spicy scotch.
He places me on a chair and presses his hands to my shoulders, leaning down to speak close to my ear so his words will penetrate the leather. “Dax wants you to submit to your new master the same way you submit to him. Can you do that?”
I almost break. The knot in my throat swells, and the tears come faster, wetting the leather and making me sniffle as I nod. This will be my final act of submission to Dax. I have no idea whether he’ll be watching or someone will tell him how I did, but I intend to obey with all my heart.
“Good girl,” he says, giving my shoulder a pat. “Your master will be here in a few minutes.”
Then he’s gone, and my world closes in, becoming a narrow, dark space as the faint sound of his steps fades and everything goes quiet.
It takes all my strength to rein in my tears and get a grip on myself as I sit there. My thoughts constantly want to veer to the man who holds my heart, my desires, and my submission, but I have to force my attention somewhere else. To the strange sensation of the merciful carpet beneath my feet. The novelty of clothing, however scant they may be. To the warm, masculine scent of the room. But every new thing is a reminder of the change I’m facing—the gut-wrenching loss I have brought on myself. So I end up deciding that banishing Dax from my thoughts is not a good idea. It will only spear the grief deeper. If I want to obey his final order, I need to keep him at the forefront of my mind and change the way I think about him. Instead of thinking about the loss, I have to focus on the final order he has given me.
And Dax has trained me well. Sinking into that submissive mindset comes easily, and as I go with the flow, I can almost feel his power hovering in the air even knowing he’s not here—no one is. So when someone new finally enters, I’m calm and pliant, ready to obey and submit—to obey Dax’s final command.
Someone stops in front of me, and my world reels as I try to gauge the presence of this stranger who must be my new master. But the mask prevents me from sensing much. My hearing is muffled, and my senses are swamped in leather. So I just sit there, waiting, breathing hard with a mix of trepidation, expectation, and deep submission.
A finger comes to the edge of the leather and trails down my bare skin, down my chest, between my breasts, and to the top edge of the corset. I gasp at the titillating sensation. It’s so easy to imagine it’s Dax. The light touch is not enough to let me feel the difference in my new master’s fingers, and with my senses dulled, there’s no sight or scent to detract from the illusion. He plays a little at the edge of the corset, drawing his finger back and forth, brushing my skin with a feather-light touch that raises goosebumps and deepens my breaths.
He trails his finger to my right, over my arm and onto my back, as he rounds me. Then his hand is at the back of my neck, curling around my nape with a strength that tells me in no uncertain terms that he owns me. Once again, the hood blocks out the specific sensations of the new hand, leaving only the possessive strength that matches Dax’s.
Submission swooshes through my body, slackening my muscles and pulling me deeper into that fluffy space. A few more tears gather in my eyes against the smooth leather, but they remain calm as I let myself go under, accepting the control this man offers. Because it’s there. Dax held true to his word and found me a real master. Not just a sadist or a man compensating for his insecurities by demonstrating outward forced control. This man is calm, patient, and strong. Just like Dax.
A flicker of hope sparks inside me and mixes with the thick grief. Maybe—just maybe—I’ll find a modicum of fulfillment with this man. Maybe—just maybe—he’s the next best thing. He can never be Dax, and he will never mend the broken pieces of my heart, but he might hold them together and keep me steady. And that’s all I can ask for.
Trailing his fingers to the side of the hood, he removes the mouthpiece.
Part of me wants to speak—ask him who he is, where he’s taking me, if he’ll take care of me. Or even more so, ask him to let me see Dax one final time. But the need to obey Dax’s final order overrides everything, keeping me quiet—like an invisible muzzle stuck over my mouth.
A glass comes to my lips, and the stranger gently tips it to bring me the sweet scent of bubbly champagne. The taste coats my tongue as I open up, the texture filling my senses. New tears well in my eyes. I haven’t tasted anything but porridge and bland beef stew for months, and now I’m drinking champagne.
Next, something firm and moist presses to my lips.A strawberry.My chest shakes as I take a bite, and overwhelming grief overcomes me as the flavorful sweetness coats my tongue.
He keeps alternating between the champagne and strawberries, and I weep as he steeps my world in sensation and trails that single finger along my skin—down my arms, over my thighs, and around my lips to catch the occasional drop of champagne—awakening my body and my senses. It’s a quiet but potent promise of more to come. A promise of a new world with color, taste, and sensation.
It’s everything I wanted, yet I don’t want it. Because that world won’t hold Dax.
He lets me drink what seems to be a whole flute of champagne, then stands behind me and wraps an arm around my upper chest. It’s a strange but tender gesture, almost like he’s supporting me, but I don’t get why. Not until the drowsiness sneaks up. At first, it’s a dizzy sensation in my mind, and I think I’m getting a little tipsy. But as my mind fogs over and the sensation spreads through my body, weighing down my limbs and loosening my muscles, I realize it’s not the alcohol. It’s what’s in the champagne.
He has drugged me.
I stir at the realization as it dawns on me that this is it. Once the drug knocks me out, there’s nothing I can do. I’ll be out of here for good, far away from Dax.
“Please,” I whimper, having to force all my remaining strength to my throat to form that single word. “I need him. Dax.”
He gently covers my lips with the mouthpiece and buckles it with his free hand while he soothes, “Don’t worry. I’ve got you.”
I sag in the cradle of his arm as the drug takes my last strength. My mind hovers in the fog for one more moment.
“You’re mine now,” he says close to my ear, and those words are the last ones I hear before I drift away.
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