Page 21 of Take Me

I can’t take it.

Without warning, a furious energy surges through me. I jerk up to sit and shove one glove to my mouth, biting down on the wrist strap like a beast, uncaring of the sharp burn erupting in my tongue. I angle my head and bite and tug on the leather and the metal clasp, but nothing gives.The glove is locked in place. Even with a free hand, I wouldn’t be able to remove it, I realize as I stare at the padlocks securing the buckle.

Still, I give it another go with the same result.

Staring at my leather-bound hands, I pant through my desperation. As my fury morphs into hopelessness, awareness seeps back into my body—into my pounding tongue. The pain becomes so acute that it spreads like poison through my veins and into my brain. I dart up off the mattress, seeking some kind of outlet for the pounding sensation lodged inside me.

And that’s when I notice the chain. A thin, but solid metal band that connects the mittens to a collar around my neck.

A scream tears through my throat and bounces off the bare walls and back into my ears, mocking me with my confinement.

I rush to the door and bang on solid metal. With the leather providing a buffer for my hands, I manage to put in a staggering force that has the iron squeaking in its frame.

Suddenly, the door flies open. I stagger forward, nearly colliding with the mountain of a man who’s opening it.

If I thought Dax was big, there are no words to describe this man. Not only is he tall, but wide and brawny too. His arms are like trunks, and his bulging chest looks as solid as the metal door. But that’s not even the worst part. What has my blood running ice-cold is the menacing expression that is literally cut into his face in the form of a long scar that slices down one side of his mouth.

Before I can even think to apologize, the man has pulled a bundle of rope from his pocket and is shoving me back into the room. With a few quick motions, he loops the rope under my neck chain and ties it to a hook in the ceiling, forcing my hands and head up, making my back arch awkwardly.

I’m staggering in a precarious position when a thick stick connects with my ass. A scream tears through my throat as fire flares through my muscles, overriding any pain I felt in my tongue.

A hand catches me at my sternum, preventing my full weight from catching on the wrist-neck chain as I fly forward. It’s a small mercy, but the tug on the collar is startling even so. And when another strike lands, I release a despairing wail that fills the space with a keening sound.

The strikes keep thudding into my muscles, sending me dangling in the chains and thrusting me deeper into blinding agony. I’m at the mercy of this beast of a man in every sense of the word. All I can do is scream and shuffle my feet in useless attempts at avoiding the heavy stick.

Tears are streaking down my cheeks when a voice breaks through the violence with a resonant power that demands instant obedience.

“Stop!” The clicking of square heels resounds through the empty space as the new man approaches.

“She kept banging on the door,” the brutish man says, stepping aside.

“I’ll take it from here,” the new man says as long fingers wrap around my nape. He pulls my head back to make me stare up into a terrifying set of dark eyes under straight brows.

“Didn’t get enough attention?” Mikhail gives me a shake. “Huh?” Glancing at the other man, he says, “Get me some lube.”

Then he grips me around the throat and yanks me back into him, growling against my ear, “Maybe I should do this without, though? Teach you a lesson.”

He slides a long finger between my ass cheeks, and panic flares in my already reeling body as he rubs a fingertip against my puckered hole.

“No, please don’t,” I beg, sniffling to control the effects of the tears.

“No? Why not?” He shoves a fingertip inside, and I cry out as his dry digit tugs at my tissues. He’ll tear something if he goes any further without lube. And maybe he will anyway. I’ve never had anything up there—except the thin tip of the syringe.

“Please, I’ll be good. I won’t bang on the door again.”

“No? Will you beg me to train your tight ass then?”

“No. Never,” I whimper, more tears gushing from my eyes.

He moves his finger inside me, and hopeless indecision tightens my chest. No matter what I do, I’ll lose. Either choice will tear at me—physically or mentally.

The brute returns and tosses Mikhail a tube.

“Last chance to beg,” Mikhail growls, forcing his finger a bit farther in.

“Lube, lube, lube,” I cry. “Please.”

“Please what?”

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