Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 86717 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 434(@200wpm)___ 347(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86717 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 434(@200wpm)___ 347(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
However, as I strapped my broken fingers and smeared arnica over my arms and legs from his kicks, my mind wandered to Mr. Prest.
He’d caused my pain.
He was the reason Master A turned so vile.
I had no intention of ever forgetting it.
I wanted nothing to do with his blazer, his scent of incense and spice, or any thoughts of his black eyes and fierce features.
He was nothing to me. Just like I was nothing to my master.
The only saving grace was I hadn’t seen Darryl, Monty, or Tony since the night they were thrown out. I didn’t think it was because Master A needed a rest from his so-called friends, but because he was jealous over the attention bestowed upon me.
“Oh, Pimlicooo? Come out, come out, wherever you are.”
I shuddered as my nemesis appeared in the kitchen.
“Ah, there you are.”
Yes, here I am. Doing your laundry and dishes and every task you require.
Coming up behind me, he wrapped awful arms around my painful body. “I missed you.”
Go to hell.
Pressing a bruise on my collarbone, he murmured, “Have you been a good girl while I’ve been in my study?”
An hour or so ago, he’d retreated to his office, firing off emails and doing who knew what. I’d enjoyed a few moments away from his foul eyes and critical curses. While he was occupied, I’d done my best to find the sleeping tablets he sometimes used. I couldn’t handle another beating so soon, and planned to crush a few into his food so I could have the night off.
However, the bottle had been empty.
My plotting to avoid more agony foiled.
If I had to hit him over the head with the frying pan…I would.
I would hit and hit and hit until his skull cracked like a rotten egg and I could finally stride from the front door as a free woman.
Free…
My chin raised as I glowered into the distance. My bare toes dug into the cold tiles as my naked body crawled beneath his touch. Ever since Mr. Prest’s departure, I’d been naked—all clothes had vanished once again.
One moment, Master A squeezed me, the next, he threw me toward the sink, walloping my cheek with his fist. “I asked if you were a good girl, Pim. Answer me.”
I glanced through glassy tears, holding my smarting cheek.
You’ll never learn.
No matter what you do…I’ll never answer you.
His hands fisted as we entered yet another staring contest that normally ended with me bowing at his feet for mercy.
All day, he’d been in a diabolical mood. It began with him waking me by forcing my face into his crotch, making me gag on his morning wood.
Breakfast was endured standing on the table like a naked figurine so he could throw utensils at me while eating his cereal.
Lunchtime had earned my body pushed into the white leather of his couch and held down while he whipped me from behind.
And now, it was night.
The worst time.
For years, I’d retained some dignity. I’d kept my silence. I cursed him with glares and swore with a sharply tilted jaw. And no matter what he did, I never ever let him break me. But in doing so, I became so tangled with thoughts of murder and escape that I could fill an entire encyclopaedia.
I was ready to kill him or be killed.
I couldn’t live like this any longer.
I wanted out.
Now!
Shaking out the fist he’d just shoved in my face, he snarled, “Get upstairs, Pim. It’s past your bedtime, and I have just the thing to help you fall asleep.”
* * * * *
Three days since Mr. Prest disappeared.
Lunchtime.
I’d been fed this afternoon, which was the first in twenty-seven hours. Not that I’d been counting or anything. It consisted of lasagne leftovers served in my dog bowl.
It was one of my small victories. I’d won last night.
I’d pre-empted his plans to take me, and with a few well-placed stares, I switched his mood from volatile to sane. He still hurt me but not as much as he’d prepared. And today, he’d agreed I was a good girl.
Idiot.
However, now that I’d done the dishes and knelt at the foot of the couch while he watched some god-awful action movie, he snapped his fingers for me to crawl to him.
My stomach flip-flopped as nausea rushed up my throat.
I knew what he wanted—the same thing he always did when he watched a movie before dinner.
A blowjob.
The first couple he’d forced me to give, I’d tempted death by biting. Not hard but enough to voice my displeasure in the loudest actionable way possible.
He’d hit me around the head so fiercely, I’d blacked out, only to come to as he used me without my permission.
I licked my lips, running my tongue over cracked flesh and sore gums. To me, I did my best to prepare my body for such an unsavoury task. To him, it came across as sultry and wanting to suck.