Damnable Grace
Page 29

His hand moved to my hair, and, suddenly, I was being wrenched to the mattress. I called out as I slammed against the bed. Meister was on his feet, undoing his pants with fast-working hands. His blue eyes were lit with ardor. His strong hands pulled down his pants, freeing his thick length. Using the training that had been ingrained in me since the age of ten, I reached forward and pulled him closer by his muscled hips. His length was hard and ready, so without pausing, I wrapped my lips around him. I was slow at first, teasing and tantalizing, but Meister’s hard hand clutched at my hair. Without warning, he thrust himself inside my mouth until I gagged. I swallowed every thrust he gave, ignoring the tears running down my cheeks. And then Meister was out of my mouth and pushing me onto my back. “Like it rough, do you, whore?” he snarled. Fear settled into my bones.
I had seduced hundreds upon hundreds of males. Some were rougher than others—I was prepared for all—but the glint in Meister’s eyes unnerved me more than anyone I had ever met. Even Judah.
Meister covered my body and split apart my legs with his strong hands. I cried out in surprise as he did so, but it only brought a smile to Meister’s lips. “Do you like that, whore? Like that I can take what I want from you and you can do nothing to fight me off?”
My lip shook as I prepared myself for he was about to do. And then I remembered my training and what was expected of me as a Sacred Sister. “Yes, sir,” I replied. “I want you to overpower me. To take me against my will.” Lifting my mouth to Meister’s ear, I licked along the lobe and whispered, “I want you to own me.”
That was all it took for Meister to snap. He threw me down to the mattress and roughly slammed himself inside me. I stared up at the ceiling as he rammed himself into me over and over again. My hands ran over his back, and I let him savage my mouth with his own, biting on my lip to draw blood. Because that was my role in this life. To pleasure the males associated with the prophet and the faith.
And I was good at it.
The most decorated Sacred Sister.
Meister roared his release into my ear and smothered me with his sweat-soaked body.
I closed my eyes.
*****
I gasped awake. After many seconds, the room swam into focus. I was familiar with this room now. I tried moving my arms and legs. They still ached, but today it was less. I drew in a long inhale and allowed my lungs the freedom of my chest. It hurt when I filled them to capacity, but not to the extent it had the last time I had awoken. I had no idea how long I had been in this room. I remembered purging. I remembered crying. And I remembered the anger.
But now I felt calmer. The images of Rebekah and Sapphira were a distant memory. Even now, as I stared at the spot they had been occupying for too many hours to count, I saw only a wooden wall and the remnants of a smashed dresser.
I glanced about the room, and then I saw him.
He was watching me. Every time I had woken up—at least lately, in the times I could recall—he had been there. He bore scratches on his skin and bruises on his chest. Yet he had never left me alone.
Something in my chest swelled at that knowledge. I refused to believe it was my heart, as I was not sure it was still there, it had been broken so many times. But I thought perhaps it was gratitude.
I did not know. But this man, the man with the kind eyes, had stayed with me. He had rid me of Meister’s potion. I shifted on the mattress. My dry tongue rolled around my dusty mouth. Before I could even move, the man was walking across the room. As he came closer, I saw deep, dark circles under his eyes, and the roughness of the skin on his face. I wondered if he had slept at all in the time I had been here. I tried to recall where I had come from, but all I could see was Meister and the dark room in which he kept me.
And the potion he gave me. That stood out the most. It was all I could think about.
The man sat on the edge of the bed and picked up the glass of water I had been searching for. He swallowed as he leaned his naked torso over me and cupped the back of my head. Gentler than I could have imagined, he lifted my head and brought the glass to my mouth. I closed my eyes as the liquid lubricated my dry throat. I took gulp after gulp until the glass was drained.
When he laid me back on the pillow, I kept my gaze on him. He dropped his head, breaking eye contact, and asked in a hoarse voice, “How’re you feeling?” His deep timbre settled within me, and I watched as he raked his hair back from his face.
I shifted on the bed, mortification cutting through me when I felt wetness under me, when I smelled the stench of my body’s waste. Tears pricked my eyes in embarrassment, and I tried to get out of the bed. But the male’s arms were immediately on my shoulders, keeping me in place. “Don’t fucking be embarrassed about jack shit, right?” I swallowed back the burgeoning lump in my throat. “You feeling okay?” he repeated, this time not removing his eyes from me for a single moment.
I took in a shaky breath. “I . . . I am feeling much better . . . I think . . .”
The male’s shoulders relaxed, as though my answer was the good news he had been hoping for.
“I . . .” I ducked my head, my cheeks blazing with embarrassment. “I am unclean. I . . .” I brushed away the droplet that had fallen from my eye. “I wish to bathe . . . if that is okay with you?”
I felt the weight of his heavy gaze on me. “Yeah,” he said finally and got up from the bed. He walked out of the room, and I heard the sound of water running next door. I moved to the end of the bed, clenching my teeth at the incredible effort it took to do so. I noticed I was wearing strange clothes that hung from my body. When I looked at my hands, I saw nothing but bones and blue veins. The skin on my arms was marked with red welts and raised scabs. I sucked on my bottom lip to stop it trembling.
Using the wall beside me, I pushed myself to stand. My legs shook. I looked down, but had to close my eyes and look away when I saw that all of the flesh had wasted away from my bones.
I opened my eyes at the sound of someone entering the room. The male was staring at me, running his gaze down my too-thin, ruined body. I wanted to cover myself with my arms, but I could not move. The hand that hung by his side clenched into a fist.
Taking a deep breath, I forced my leg to move. Just a single, small step felt like climbing the highest of mountains. My breath became labored, and sweat broke out on my already hot skin. Yet I pushed forward. I needed to be clean. I had seen what I had done to the linen I had been lying on. Humiliation acted as the perfect incentive to get to the cleansing water.