Possess Me Ch. 05bytitania123©
Thank you for all your comments and votes. I appreciate all the feedback you have to give. Sorry this posting is a few days late. I'm starting on the next chapter tomorrow, so hopefully soon. Also, I want to appologize for any typos as I haven't re-read this story five or six time as I had my previous chapters since I am now just churning them out. I try, I really do, but 'detail' isn't my middle name.
Please leave comments about how the writing is going, is it becoming tedious, are the scenes realistic, please let me know, I really do want to hear it and improve.
She stood in silent contemplation, her head turning slightly to the right. She gingerly brushed a loose strand behind her left ear. She leaned her head even more, turning it also, so that the column of her neck stood clear. She ran an exploratory finger up the exposed length, marveling at the feel of displayed flesh. A small tilt up of the corners of her mouth was the only indication of her thoughts before she straightened herself.
With fingers spread wide like the teeth of a comb, she gathered her hair, fingers working confidently through the silk to bring all of her tresses up. Quickly, her hands worked to fasten a sort of decadent bun, fat and luxurious in sensuality. She used the blue ribbon that was meant for her waist to secure the mass of loose curls in place. Wisps at her ears and nape curled innocently, assuring the world of her comely virtue. Brynna smiled in the mirror, pleased with the look of strength and cunning twinkling back.
She glided into the kitchen, Bea turning towards her as she approached her bread station. "My, you look lovely, this morning, what with your hair up and all," she said admiringly.
"Thank you, Bea. I thought it would be nice for a change. After all, scrubbing floors and carrying large pots full of plants makes me perspire. I thought this would be more practical," she smiled brightly. Brynna was putting the loaves into the oven when Eleanor approached. The click of her feet against the stone floor drew Brynna's attention around. Eleanor stood, her eyes assaying silently Brynna's hair. Thoughts fluttered through her eyes, before she addressed her, instructing her to make the master's bed.
She walked up the stairs, a sigh slipping from her. Given enough time, she would undoubtedly scrutinize her menial functions in the castle. The days and hours and moments of her life adding up to so little. Her hand was trailing idly up the banister when his rich voice cut into her introspective musings.
"And how was your sleep?"
She recoiled slightly as she looked up at him, walling off the flurry of butterflies. With an expression conveying no interest, she shrugged. "Uneventful." She lowered her head back, focusing on the steps in front of her, willing her feet to move.
"You slept well, then?"
She did not even pause in her ascent, but, conjuring the ice that poured from his eyes only the night before, answered him with a tone of indifference. "I would not know, my lord. I was unawake to observe it and can, therefore, give no report to its quality." When her foot hit the upper landing, she thought she would be free, but the hope was dashed when his hard fingers curled around her arm. Swinging her to the wall, he pinned her with his body.
The surprise of the movement momentarily frightened her, but the feeling she attached to his deep blue eyes, the sensuous fullness of his bottom lip, quickly dispelled that fear, only to replace it with another.
The heat of his body seeped into hers as Brynna began to repair the wall she had haphazardly built. But when his warm fingers enclosed around her throat and jaw, turning her into his ferocity, the earth shuttered.
"Is a night away from me enough time to erase your memory of how you submitted to me?" In his embrace, in his eyes, in his power, Brynna felt as though she were both soaring and drowning, opposing sensations that thrilled and frightened her.
"No, my lord," she said in a low voice. Though the tide swept over her, taking her out and churning her over and over, she allowed him to hold her gaze. After a near unbearable time, his face pulled from hers, his body moved away, his hand on her slowly drawing down until she was out of arm's length. He stood apart, silently giving her freedom to move and escape.
With his eyes on her, she walked passed his room and hers and headed to the stairwell leading to the third floor. She marched down the labyrinthine halls, her face a calm mask entombing the whirling madness. No thought directed her, only the pressing need to stow herself in safety.
Brynna huddled in the dark storage room, weeping at the vaporization of her strength. In the coolness of the space, as the burn in her cheeks settled, the boiling feeling of hate surged forward.
The scene played over and over in her mind as she hugged her knees up to her body, her arms desperately around them, rocking. In the pain of her chest came the question, Why do you hate him? For touching you and for kissing you and making you kiss him back?
Of course! How could I not? He takes what I have never offered. Not to him, not to any man. And yet...
And yet you enjoy it.
No! He's an abusive lecher, forcing me under his thumb, killing all that I am.
And still you take pleasure in what he does. You don't hate him because he made you explode with sexual release. You're not even angry that he made you declare you belonged to him.
No? Then why do I hate him? Why does the mere thought of him-
Make you warm? Make you vibrate with want?
That's not true!
It is true! Your cheeks are on fire even now. Less than a minute in his presence and you burn for him. Only one touch, and you fall into him.
No, she whimpered to herself, hot tears slowly rolling down her cheeks, the dark void of the room closing in on her in crushing weight.
You are angry because you are hurt. You are hurt because you fall prey to his seduction so violently, and yet, he remains unaffected. The powerlessness clawed at her gut and reached up to clench her heart in aching pulsation. Powerless. Powerless. Powerless, her heart beat. Now that she knew what it was he created in her, what the feeling he inspired was, she was desperate for more and yet cowered impotently, trapped by his cruelty to only use her body against her, not for her. Bending her into submission for his perverse domination.
How? How could I have ever desired such a man? She sobbed, the intensity of the hopelessness being driven by the intensity of the desire for him.
When the edge of her pain eased and dulled away to flow innocuously in the bottom of her mind, she could feel the return of a normal heartbeat, slow and easy breathing, words gently twirl until they formed the outline of thoughts. Slowly, without guidance or force, the words began to distill in her mind, sieving down into understanding.
I desire him. The reality washing over her was not painful or overwhelming, but a simple fact of existence. I desire him, but...that doesn't mean anything. It certainly doesn't mean that I have to be afraid. It doesn't put me under his thumb. Just because he makes me feel...well, that, it doesn't mean I have to let him control me because of it. I'm still free, no matter how he makes me feel, she told herself. She straightened a little at the declaration, smiling and breathing in relief. She wiped away the wetness from her cheeks and breathed a few more calming breaths. A little of the confidence she had awoken with that morning returned. Let's just hope seeing him again won't destroy it so easily next time, she thought wryly to herself.
She returned to the second floor and set about her task. As she was smoothing the last of the wrinkles from the rich covers, her fingers trailed up to the edge. Sliding under the fabric, she pulled back and folded the top coverlet over. It was a deviation from Eleanor's original instructions on how to make his bed, but she didn't care; she liked it better this way. With one last finalizing flick of her hands over the material, she straightened herself and smiled.
Before lunch, Brynna was in her special room, clipping away at several plants she had gathered with Ann, their unique and pleasing aromas spilling gently through the air. She collected the clippings in pile after pile until she was satisfied she had enough. She found a bit of muslin cloth and wrapped three different combinations of herbs and flowers in them.
Their midday meal was just being placed on the table when she finished. Sighing happily, she went to join the others. As everyone began putting their dishes into the tub, Brynna eased next to Ann and slipped the three offerings into the pocket of her skirt. Brynna eyed her mischievously as she turned surprised before digging her hand in, seeking the mysteriously bestowed present. She pulled out one of the little bundles and twirled it speculatively, before then untying it. The delicious aroma wafted up. Ann put it to her nose and inhaled, her eyes closing in simple contentment.
"Oh, Brynna, this smells wonderful!"
"See, I told you we could do something easy about your smelly soaps. There are three in there, with different scents. There should be enough for the next batch you make if you divide it into three." She smiled warmly, proud of her contribution.
"Oh, thank you so much!" She threw her arm around Brynna, who instantly stiffened at the contact before melting into it. She realized it was the first time someone, other than the master, had touched her since she'd left her home. She squeezed her eyes tight, blocking out the formation of tears.
Brynna had always enjoyed touch from others. She remembered when she was a girl her mother would sit on the edge of her bed at night, sweeping the hairs from her brow gently as she sang a bittersweet lullaby. The baker's wife had also been affectionate, often touching her on the shoulder or patting her cheek.
"You are more than welcome. Besides, it's not so much a gift for you, but for everyone. So, save me the first brick of soap you make," she smiled and winked. Ann nodded eagerly, still joyous at the simple gift.
Brynna was relieved to find she was allowed to tend her plants that afternoon instead of riding with the master. And when she served tea, she was again relieved to find him missing. Her luck did not hold out long, however, and she found herself drawing his bath, washing his skin, and shaving his face before she retired. He said nothing, and though she never met his gaze, attempting to turn her embarrassment into indifference, she felt his eyes ever on her.
Their mutual disengagement did not provide solace from her unrest. Rather the reverse, and Brynna felt the growing tension like a knot deep in her chest, its ends pulled taut.
The next passing days fell into a similar pattern, leaving her baffled at his distance, and even more disgruntled at her betraying response. He even seemed to forget about her horse riding lessons.
How can I ignore him if he is ignoring me? she lied to herself. Though, deep inside she admitted he wasn't exactly ignoring her, rather, simply not engaging her, tempting and pushing her. She felt abandoned in his regard, and that angered her more than any other feeling ebbing through her.
At the end of three days, Ann startled the very contemplative Brynna, approaching her in the plant room. The girl presented her with a bar of the herbed-smelling soap. She beamed with pride. "Thank you so much," she gushed. "I cannot begin to explain what relief it is to not create such awful smelling stuff. Thank you," she reiterated. Brynna returned her affectionate smile, pleasure bubbling from the well of a satisfied life.
That night as she sat in the heat of her bath, she held the two soaps in her hands. She held the bar that became a rich, aromatic froth up to her nose, inhaling the scent she knew Blackwood had chosen specifically for her. Her hand moved slowly, weighed by great thought, and sat the special soap aside, choosing, this night, to use instead what her friend had made with joy and love. She lifted it and smelled simplicity and innocence, wrapped in a light hint of stringent herb.
The next afternoon, Brynna stood quietly over the tea tray, eyeing the perfect arrangement. Perfect she mused with growing disquiet. Can anything be perfect? she looked at the sparkling silver. Should anything be perfect? Her chin wrinkled as she pursed her lips together, her eyes tightening in scrutiny. She picked up the tea pot and switched it with the serving plate. After a quick thought, she turned the spoon around.
With a quick side tilt of her head, she scooped up the tray and headed to his study. She denied him the civil consideration of a knock, forewarning her presence, and entered unannounced and unbidden. She walked easily to the long table as she always did, and with an air of indifference, set about preparing his tea and plating his food.
She turned, but stopped abruptly. Malik had stood from his desk and walked to the door. It was shut and he leaned against it, his mood visibly dark. Brynna's stomach dropped, but she trained her features to betray no fear. She moved forward, setting the plate on his desk as she always did. Turning slowly, she met his gaze. "Will there be anything else, my lord?"
Malik's cold, slanting eyes was his reply. He paused before speaking, allowing the air between them to grow heavy and uncomfortable. "Brynna," he began, pushing away from the door, advancing slowly to her, "where is the rest of your uniform?"
She frowned in confusion. "My uniform, my lord?" she looked down. She was dressed completely and did not comprehend his meaning. "I am missing nothing."
"No? Then, tell me, where is the blue ribbon that ties round your middle? It was silk, imported from the farthest shores, of greater expense than the whole of a maid's uniform, and yet, you do not wear it. Why?"
"Oh, but I do," she said reassuringly. She pointed to her hair. "I have used it to tie my hair up." She waited for him to circle her, inspecting her slowly.
"So you have. Which leads me to my next comment. Who told you to wear your hair like that?"
She stiffened almost imperceptively, though the lift of her chin was easily noticed. "No one, my lord. As I work hard, the hair often sticks to my neck and keeps me hot. I only tie it up for practicality."
"Again, who told you that you may?"
She clenched her jaw, holding the rising anger, compressing it. "No one, my lord."
He stepped forward again, and she closed her eyes, imagining a bubble to keep him from her. She felt his nearness and the resulting vibration inside. The movement of her hair, the tugging of the blue ribbon, its silky length sliding through her own, allowing her waves to fall heavily in sensuous measure over her shoulders and down her back. Then she sucked in great air and her eyes flew open as his strong fingers treaded through their depths, combing along her scalp.
Goosebumps rippled down her flesh, her entire body swelling at the pleasure. Even her nipples responded tightly, straining hard against her bodice. The familiar heat was scorching her cheeks again, and a ringing had ensued in her ears. In only a few seconds, he had her trapped again, drawing her in on the hook of her desire.
She shook her head in denial, the fear of succumbing to him causing her to act. She stepped back. His fingers dragging from her hair as she went. For a moment, they just looked, both now knowing. Any fleeting expression of heat was replaced by his usual implacable one and he continued with his charges, the ribbon still dangling from his strong fingers.
"Tell me, when you arrived, did Eleanor not inform you of what was expected? Of how to order my room and make my bed?"
Her eyelashes flickered. She swallowed, "Yes, my lord."
He began to advance once more. "And yet, for the past week, you have deviated from those instructions, have you not?"
Her bottom was pressed against the desk, her knuckles white as she clutched its edge, his toes sliding just under the hem of her skirt. "Yes."
He leaned in, his lips brushing her right cheek as his hand snaked above her left shoulder and into her hair. Grabbing the tresses once more, he gripped tightly and pulled her head to the side so his lips had easy access to her neck. Brynna couldn't control the tremor that ran down her. Her eyes closed, his rich scent washing over her.
As he ran his mouth over her neck, she heard his deep intake of breath, as well. Heat spread through her body like water released from a floodgate. "How do you like your bath?" his gravelly voice continued.
"I appreciate it very much, my lord." She could not keep her voice steady and strong.
"Mmm, and the expensive soap I provide?"
"Uh, very much," she murmured and then arched into him slightly when his tongue warmed a path along the cords of her neck.
"And yet you do not use it?" his voice and grip tightened.
Alarm quaked through her. "I-I do. Only, Ann was able to use the herbs I gave her for the soap. I was thankful for her gift," she quickly stammered.
"And not mine?"
"And yet you chose to use hers..."his fingers traced the wet trail his mouth had left.
Brynna jerked her head away, staring up into his dark eyes. Her hands came up to place against his chest, pushing him back, though he remained immovable. "I like the soap you supplied me, very much, and have used it happily since I arrived. However, it was a great source of pride for my friend, to have turned the vile lye into such a pleasant scent. I was happy to have helped, and even happier to use it. I make no apologies," she said with unflinching conviction. With a final, prying shove, she managed to step from between him and the desk. She took only three strides to the door before her wrist was in his tight hand, pulling her.
Malik spun her so her back was to his chest. He quickly crossed her arms in front of her and held her firmly to him. He guided her to the large table that she sat the tray upon. His lips were at her ear, his slightly angry voice dipping into her. "You use your tongue so cleverly, let us see if you can explain why, after weeks of arranging it correctly, you happened to erroneously place items on this serving tray today?"
She cringed at having been caught, though when she reflected further, had she not wanted to rebel? What is the point of rebellion when no one knows of it? She shrugged. "Did it change the flavor of your tea, my lord?" She felt him tighten his grip on her, pulling her arms until it was just painful. But he made no answer. "No? Then explain to me the significance of the arrangement? Or can you not?"
"It would not matter if I told you to serve it whilst standing on your head. The point of the matter, as you have forgotten, yet again, is that my word is rule. There is no need for you to judge any matter, only follow my will. Yet, you cannot seem to learn that one, simple rule. Perhaps I need to remind you who is master of your body, mind, and soul," he was growling.
Before she understood his intention, he tied one end of the blue silk around a wrist, winding it over her flesh. Spinning her, he quickly tied the other so they were bound closely together. Fear was flaring through her, lighting up the nerve endings throughout her body. Malik pushed her to the wall and forcibly lifted her hands above her head, lifting her body a few inches so the ribbon could snag over the metal hook meant to hold back the draperies. The blue gave way enough so the balls of her feet settled back onto the floor.
Malik stepped back, watching her as she wriggled against the constraints for only a second before she stood rigid and stretched, eyeing him warily. His lips morphed into the cruel smile he wore so well, but only for a brief moment, before his face grew dark and somber. He advanced slowly, his nearing presence pulsing against her trembling being.