Page 19 of Beneath the Burn

The grip on her head controlled the up and down motion, and the muscles in his thighs trembled and flexed beneath her clammy hands. He sped up his movements without faltering in his discourse on babies dying in drive-by shootings and marital arguments ending in gun-fire.

Could she yank open the desk drawer inches from her hand, the one housing a revolver, before the chain ripped her back?

At the edge of her periphery, the Craig waited a desk length away, feet braced apart and a double-fisted hold on the chain. His eyes were alert and locked on her hands, ever-loyal to Roy and the wealth she knew Roy shared with his guards to ensure that loyalty.

Her options were nonexistent, and the instinct to survive prevailed. She sheathed her teeth with her lips and sucked in her cheeks.

Without warning, he came. Stream after stream of ejaculate pumped against the back of her throat, and through it, not a hitch in his voice. “I’m not pro-gun control, Nancy. I’m anti-bloodshed.”

“That’s all the time we have today. Thank you for joining us. Roy Oxford, Chairman and CEO of Oxford Industries.”

“Thank you, Nancy.”

“Up next, we—”

The monitors blinked off, and his arm swung. The back of his hand hit her face so violently her body slammed against the desk cabinet. Fire shot through her nose, and the coppery taste of blood washed her tongue.

His lips twisted in a snarl, and his eyes promised more.

She curled into herself, protecting her core. What had she done wrong? “Sir?”

He jerked open the drawer she’d glanced at during the interview. Envelopes and stationary filled the space his gun once occupied.

Aw God, he missed nothing. She scrambled back, cowering.

He followed her, leapt on her, and squeezed her throat. “I meant what I said. I donottrust you, Charlee. You’re as slippery as Craig Grosky and ten times as smart.”

White bursts dotted her vision. She opened her mouth in a useless gasp and clawed at his hand, begging with her eyes.

“You will not share your father’s end.” He released her and wrenched her thighs apart, renewing the pain in her ass. “I very much want you alive.” Then he was in her, forcing himself into her dry opening, pounding her into the carpet, his tongue lapping at the blood on her lips.

Her father had been dead to her since the day he delivered her to Roy. The reality of his death meant nothing. The cause, however, was as jarring as the weight hammering her into the floor. “You killed him,” she choked out.

He slapped her and resumed his thrusting. He of anti-bloodshed accepted a sixteen-year-old girl as a collection of debt. Then he destroyed all traces of the transaction, Craig Grosky included.

Something tore inside her, something beyond her vaginal tissues. It was the sensation of an emotion separating from the whole. To fear a man was to give him power. He had enough of that. So she let it go, and the chronic impulse to lock her joints and hold her breath ripped away.

When he climaxed, she felt limp, hollow. She knew, in that moment, the absence of fear was not synonymous with courage. She wasn’t brave. She was numb. Was that how Jay felt when his scars were inflicted? Or had he always been courageous?

He stripped the chain from the Craig’s hands and hauled her to her feet. “Don’t misunderstand why I killed him, Charlee.” He stepped close, and his rasp scraped against her lips. “I was furious. The fucker bet his daughter in a card game. He didn’t deserve to live.” His expression was as warped as his words, twisted way beyond normal. He seemed to catch himself and reached up to pet her hair. “Don’t force me to get that angry with you. I would not live without you again.”

Her head swam. He murdered because of the degeneracy of a father? The notion that he had some kind of paternal moral fiber stirred up all sorts of unsettling reflections, but one thought pushed away all the others. “Roy?”

His face slacked, his hand in her hair stopped mid-stroke, and she realized her mistake.

“Say it again.”

Lack of fear was apparently equated to stupidity. To hell with it. She steeled her backbone, determined to challenge him, and looked him in the eyes. “Roy.”

His mouth collided with hers, his tongue swiping in long strokes. “I love my name on your lips.”

That would be the last time he heard it there. “My birth control shot will expire soon.”

His eyes moved slowly, down, down, to her belly and his palm followed.

God, no. No, he wouldn’t want that.

He yanked his hand away, and the skin around his mouth tightened. “I’ll call the doctor.” He glared at her midriff and walked backward, hand curling around the leash. “I won’t share you with…a fucking kid.”

---