Page 19 of Take Me

I’m too preoccupied with trying to catch a glimpse of the items Dax retrieves to hear Mikhail’s response. But he must have gestured to something on the board because Dax gives a nod, saying, “Good choice.”

My eyes dart back and forth between the men as if one of them is supposed to keep me updated. But neither one spares me a glance, and I forget about the piercing when Dax rolls a metal table with two needles up beside me.

One is small, one is huge.

When he frees my left arm, I immediately pull it down and grab onto the table as he flips up a flat armrest with straps.

Mikhail steps up to my side and easily pries my arm free, handing it to Dax. “Did you see the game last night?”

Dax huffs a laugh and inclines his head with incredulity. “Youmean that thing you call football over here?” He presses my arm to the padded surface, and I jerk to get it back, but he’s too strong. He barely puts in effort as he holds my flailing arm down with one hand and fastens two straps with the other. “I’d rather go golfing than watch that shit.”

Mikhail makes some smart comeback, but I don’t hear it. All my attention is on the needle coming straight for my arm. It’s only a thin one, probably a local anesthetic—I know how inserting a contraceptive implant works. But it doesn’t matter. I hate needles with an intensity verging on phobia, and I whimper pathetic pleas.

But neither of the men hears it, and the needle goes into my skin without a second’s delay.

The sting isn’t bad—really, I barely feel it. But the pounding panic in my chest is more than I can take, and when Dax lifts the big needle, I can’t hold it in any longer.

“Stop!” I yell, filling the room with my desperate wail.

I expect them to at least pause their conversation and look my way, but Mikhail simply slaps a hand over my mouth to kill the noise as he says something about Liverpool, and Dax shoves the syringe into my arm, not even reacting to the sound.

It’s only when Dax turns to clear the equipment away that Mikhail faces me.

“Relax, it doesn’t hurt,” he says, shaking his head like I’m a silly child.

My nostrils flare in time with my rapid breaths as I try to gain some modicum of control over the panic that’s about to swallow me whole.

“Just a needle,” he adds, releasing my mouth to slip his hand over my forehead, where he smooths away the hairs sticking to my damp skin.

I want to tell him that nothing isjusta needle, but I’m too wound up—too shocked by their indifference—to say anything.

“Which way do you want to go with the no-touching thing?” Dax asks. “I could simply block the holes, but it might be better to restrict her hands, now with the piercing and all. I’ve had more than one girl ripping the wound when she tried to take it out.”

Mikhail keeps stroking my hair with deceptive tenderness as he discusses ways to keep my hands from my pussy. Genuine or not, his touch keeps me calm. So I accept the small comfort, desperately needing it as they bounce words like chastity belt, butt plug, and muzzle back and forth.

When Mikhail removes his hand to go look at equipment, I feel lost. I stare at him as he stands at the other end of the room with his back to me, turning leather items in his hands and discussing something my ears don’t register.

Again, I think it would be much easier if he’d let up the pretense of caring. It hurts too much when he walks away like he doesn’t care. It hurts too much when I realize how lonely it is without him.

Without warning, tears spring to my eyes as I’m overcome by it all—the humiliation, the loneliness, the confusion.

I can’t control it, and when Dax comes back to my side with a tray full of new items, tears are trailing down my cheeks, wetting my hair, and dripping onto the smooth leather surface. I want to lift my hands and swipe the moisture away, but my arms remain trapped, and the vulnerability shines bright on my face, baring my feelings in the same devastating way they’ve bared my body.

But as with everything else, Dax remains impassive, unaffected by my reaction. This time, though, it hurts more than I care to admit when he grabs my chin and looks me straight in my eye, seeing every little nuance of vulnerability on display there without showing a flicker of emotion. “Open your mouth,” he says with the same clinical indifference he has displayed since he put me on his table.

I shake my head against his calloused hand. I have no idea what he intends to do; I just know I won’t do it willingly.

And as with everything else, he doesn’t need my cooperation. He simplydigs his fingers into my jaw, sending jolts of pain through my bones until my jaw gives in to the pressure and goes slack. My mouth pops open, and he’s quick to shove three digits inside, holding it wide ajar while he reaches for a device with two metal prongs that he shoves into my mouth.

He works the sidebar to make the prongs part, forcing my mouth open to the point where my jaw aches. The moment he retracts his fingers, I try to shove the thing out. But the metal is lodged behind my teeth, and there’s no way for me to get it out.

A new surge of humiliation wrenches through my gut, making my stomach turn. I badly try to hide it, but I can’t control the tears that trickle from my eyes, and with my hands bound, I can’t even reach up to dry them off. I’m forced to lie there with all the despair and humiliation on full display.

I sniffle continuously, but soon snot trickles from my nose, and spit drips from my open mouth when I turn my head to hide the shame.

The air grows scarce in my lungs as helplessness becomes a vise around my chest. I heave to get in air, but none of it sticks. My hands clench and unclench at my sides as I whip my head from side to side, gasping for air and trying to process. I’m lurching straight for a panic attack, and I don’t know how to stop it. Every time I move the slightest, some restrictive sensation reminds me of the nightmare I’m stuck in.

Wheels scrape against the polished stone floor as Mikhail takes a stool and rolls up behind the exam table. Cupping my head between his hands, he aims his sharp stare at me, taking it all in. A pained whimper escapes me as he swipes at my spit-drenched chin.

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