Raw Ch. 06

He had caved after that. We'd sat in horror as the police told us about Brian's elaborate plans once he had confirmed I was there with my group. To hire the French man who paid the lady—who was unknowingly a fan—to distract me so he could make me spill my drink only get me a doctored one. To take a taxi home and hire another man to drive me to the brownstone so Brian would have an alibi. It was luck that I had goten split up with Malcolm. But I think the French man would have had a plan for that, as well. Such malicious premeditation on Brian's part.

Malcolm had brought me to the East Coast as soon as the hospital released me from their detox program and the police had given the okay to leave the state. He'd arranged to go on sabbatical for at least the first semester to give me undivided time to recuperate. Once we'd arrived in Maryland, I'd taken refuge in the beach house's observatory room when I wasn't attending counseling.

Half of my day was spent staring at my wall. The other, I stared at the floor or my hands while the female psychiatrist waited patiently for me to open up. Mostly, I struggled with how to tell a complete stranger that I liked being tied up for sexual gratification. And yet, my kinky predilections did not mean I'd consented to the torture that Brian had inflicted upon me.

I knew the doctor had private sessions with Malcolm, as well. Although I'd given permission for him to view what footage there was of my rape, I feared what had been discussed behind closed doors. I had refused to see it myself, even though it was highly recommended as part of my own therapy. I had been held captive nine days, not seven. I didn't need to relive the torture in Technicolor. I could recall enough to haunt me for a lifetime.

In addition to my anxiety of what I had experienced, I felt guilty about how my boyfriend had perceived my obedience to another man in sexual situations. And while I didn't know what all was included in the videos—or remembered all of the details of what wasn't taped—I was fully aware that my reactions at times would have given the impression that I enjoyed the sex. I felt I'd betrayed Malcolm in some regard. And that crushed my heart.

"Sweetie?" Malcolm dragged the other chair over to sit by me. "I promised not to push you to talk. And I promised not to touch you until you're ready. But you have to take care of yourself. You need to sleep and eat better. Can you at least do that for me?"

When I'd gotten home today and escaped to my hideout, I'd lowered the retractable window despite the overcast weather. I'd spent the hours since just smelling the salty, ocean breeze mixed with the sweet hints of a storm on the way.

I shrugged now and crossed my arms. I had no appetite despite what the detox center had predicted. And I had no energy. When I slept, it was in this room with the trapdoor open and no one else was allowed near me. But I still had nightmares of being chained. And when I was awake, I only wanted to sleep. The only time I was undressed was when I took a shower, which was pretty infrequent.

Drake and Daphne had visited for a weekend to try to cheer me up, but I had ignored them as well. I just couldn't pull out of this funk that had settled on me since I'd been discharged. I knew I needed relief. And I had an inkling of how to get it, but I was scared. Scared that it would do more harm than good. So I kept my mouth closed and shut down as I usually did.

"You'll flood the house when the storm hits."

I watched him close the window and secure the locks. And my insides grew taut. Suddenly, I felt like any control I had was stripped away. I was being sealed in. I couldn't escape. I couldn't breathe.

"Becca!"

I heard him behind me as I struggled to get down the ladder. I had to run. I needed air.

"Slow down! Wait!"

I missed the last two steps and fell to the floor in a loud thump.

"Becca!" Malcolm was there beside me gathering me into his arms. His hand felt my knee, my ankle, my arms. "Are you okay?"

"Don't!" I hit his arms with my fists.

"I'm sorry! I know you don't want me to touch you, but I can't take this anymore."

"No! Let me go!" I screamed at him.

He ignored me, scooping me up in his arms. I fought him all the way to his bedroom. As he yanked back the covers and crawled underneath them with me. As he curled his body to my back, tucked the bedclothes around us, and pressed his face to my hair.

When I tried to move, to pull away, he tightened his grip. Slowly, I fought off the demons inside and he pulled me back from the edge. I cried until I was all dried up. Through it all, he said nothing. And for the first time in over a month, I slept peacefully.

###

Despite my fears, I'd broken my silence today. It had been two days since my breakdown. Or rather my breakthrough. I hadn't told Malcolm, yet. We hadn't talked much since he found me at the hospital. Any conversations that we had were one-sided with the occasional grunt or gesture from me accepting or rejecting a suggestion on his part.

Amazingly, I had felt freed—not judged—by the psychiatrist after shoving the burden off my shoulders. I had relayed what I could remember of my capture. Of how I wanted the man dead, although being incarcerated was a good start. Of my own sexual tendencies and how I feared my admittance thereof would make onlookers think I deserved what I had gotten. And finally, of my concerns about my relationship with Malcolm. The doctor had smiled at that one. She told me I had to talk to Malcolm about my feelings. I might be surprised.

Usually after our sessions, we retired to the beach house although we stayed in our own spaces. But today, Malcolm said he needed to run some errands and dropped me off at the front door. I pretended not to care as he drove off even though my chest hurt to see him leave. I knew he'd return—and I knew he probably wasn't distancing himself because he was mad at me—but I still felt a slight sense of abandonment. Yet, it was good because I needed time to think about what had happened today. To build up my courage.

I wandered through the different rooms and levels of the house. Reflected on the days we had spent here when I'd been kidnapped the only proper way in what seemed so long ago. The pang in my chest grew stronger. I so wanted those days back again.

I ended up in the bedroom, staring out the large window at the ocean. The waves were kicking up, and the gray sky was pregnant with clouds. I retrieved a sweater from the chair, but it didn't help the chill that had settled within my bones. I decided to take a hot shower instead.

Afterwards, I was no longer shivering. I felt refreshed, as well. My hands were automatically turning my shirt right-side out to pull it back on when I noticed the T-shirt hanging on the back of the bathroom door. Malcolm's. I abandoned my own clothes and sighed as the soft cloth of his shirt brushed my still damp skin, as his scent enveloped me. I didn't care that he'd last worn it to go running on the beach that morning or that it had holes where the dryer had burnt the material over the years. It was...familiar.

I pulled my hair into a braid, donned a clean pair of panties, and went in search of my sweats in the closet. That's when I noticed the door at the end of the hall was ajar. My feet hesitated at first, but I told myself that it was okay to follow my gut instinct. I was safe in this house.

The lush carpet wrapped around my bare toes as I crossed the short distance between the bathroom and the desired destination. I held my breath and tapped the door lightly with my fingers. It swung open a little further.

I felt for the switch and heard the click as the lights came on, then I pressed onward. I wasn't sure what I was expecting my reaction to be. Fear? Disgust? But as I took in the black walls interspersed with candle-like sconces, it was lust that settled in the pit of my stomach. Longing. The submissive inside me was awakening again. And she didn't need any drugs to feel that way. It was a wonderful feeling that made me feel slightly giddy.

The memories flooded back as my eyes danced around the room. The first thought in my head was how much I had enjoyed being strapped to the Saint Andrews Cross. How much I had missed it.

Words and visions flickered in my head of my time in captivity. Voices that said I couldn't move on. It would be easier to back down. To hide. But I stomped down the thoughts and walked slowly around the room. Each item I put my hand on, I forced myself to remember how Malcolm had used it on me. To help me see who I really was.

The journey through my past was heart-wrenching. I cried a couple of times. Especially at the cross. I'd let down my guard there the most when I'd allowed myself to entertain anal play. I don't know what I would have done if Brian had successfully crossed that threshold against my will. I didn't want to think about that. It hadn't happened. I had been rescued.

Now, I was at the modified kneeler. I genuflected on the lowest padded bar, gripping the top bar as if my nerves were perched there, as if I were confessing my sins. I closed my eyes. This was the place where I had learned the difference between giving a blowjob and allowing someone to fuck my mouth.

I moaned softly, licking my lips. Faintly recalling the feel and taste of—

The soft gasp made me freeze. It took everything in me to turn around.

Malcolm stood in the doorway. I didn't understand the expression on his face. Why was he frowning? Had I done something wrong?

"I-I'm sorry." I rushed forward, intent on making a beeline to the observatory room despite my improvements that morning. But Malcolm's hand on my arm stopped me.

"Please wait, Becca." Both of his hands cupped my shoulders. "I didn't mean to startle you."

I glanced down, mostly to hide the fresh tears in my eyes. "I shouldn't have come in here. Not without your permission."

"Nonsense. It's ours." His breathing was ragged, as if he were struggling to control his emotions as well. He tipped up my chin. "But since you're in here without me—and dressed like that—can I ask why? I was going to dismantle the room. I didn't think you would ever want to come in here again."

I glanced at the empty boxes stacked outside the door. At the plastic bags from a home improvement store. Then I gestured to the accoutrements on one wall. To the devices he'd created. "I was trying to remember better times, I guess."

He hummed and then was silent for several moments. Long enough for my knees to start trembling. Finally, he said, "Did it help?"

My cheeks suddenly felt hot, and I lowered my gaze even though his hand still held my chin.

"Becca? Look at me. Answer the question."

I took a deep breath. His eyes were shadowed. It made my breath hitch, but I was able to say, "Yes, Sir."

Just like that, the darkness completely overtook his eyes, and a low growl rumbled in his chest.

I stepped back, my knees shaking. His hand fell away, and I choked back a sob at the loss of the warmth of his skin on mine.

"I won't touch you unless you ask me to, Becca. Not in that way. No matter what. Do you understand?"

My insides felt like they were turning to liquid from his stare. His jaw twitched. I could tell he so wanted to switch into his Master role. And deep down, I wanted to let him. But I wasn't quite there yet.

"Yes, I understand." My voice cracked as I said the words. "I have one request first."

His eyes flickered with the desire he was holding back. "Anything."

I licked my lips and held out my hand. "I need to Top you. I need to know that I'm safe."

His Adam's apple bobbed slowly as he swallowed. Then his hand gripped mine. "Tell me. Show me."

The words took a moment to implant in my brain. He was okay with this? He was okay with this! I glanced around and realized that it couldn't happen in here. This was his domain. It always would be.

With his hand in mine, I led him to the bedroom. To the foot of the bed where I stopped him, facing me. For the longest time, we just stood there. I drank in the sight of him. His hair had grown longer during our stay and curled in the humidity so that it looked like a mane framing his clean-cut face. His piercing eyes, in return, watched me intently.

I ran my hands over his shoulders now. Down his arms to where our fingers laced together. His heaving chest matched mine. I could feel the tension in his arms. If I said the word, he would take me. He'd been waiting to do just that for the longest time.

Oh, how I loved him. I let go of one hand to brush a finger over his mouth. His lips parted, and I pressed my finger into the heated cavern until his tongue met my digit and licked lightly. Moaning, I returned my thoughts to getting him out of his clothes.

I worked quickly to pull his shirt off. To lower his jeans and briefs. With a gentle push against his now bared chest, Malcolm sat down and scooted backwards so his head was on the pillows. I stared at his glorious cock, which was well on its way to being fully erect. I almost tripped as I removed my panties. I heard his gasp when I tugged his T-shirt over my head, revealing my breasts to him.

A feeling of dread came over me then as I stared at his naked body. It had been so long since we had been like this together. Since I had allowed myself to be undressed before a man. I fought the urge to cross my arms, to reach for the T-shirt and cover myself again.

I had to keep reminding myself that Malcolm would not harm me. That I could stop at any point. I was in control right now.

"Becca, are you okay?" Malcolm sat up and knelt before me on the foot of the bed. He took my hands in his. "Becca, honey?"

I jerked and tried to pull away, but he tightened his grip.

"Would it help if you were lying down? Tell me what to do?"

I nodded and then whispered, "Maybe." But I still didn't move.

"Okay." He got up and let go of one of my hands. "When you're ready."

I took a deep breath and let him help me trade places. Once I was lying down, I had to admit I felt slightly better. And yet, my muscles tensed as he started to crawl onto the bed at my feet.

"No, sit beside me."

He did as I asked and laid his hands in his lap, waiting for the next direction. The problem was, I wasn't really sure how to proceed. For several minutes, I just lay there, my chest heaving and my head racing, while he kept his eyes on mine.

I gulped and figured I should just dive right in. So I spread my legs but kept them straight. "Hand?"

Malcolm held his hand out, and I guided it so his palm rested on my mons. The direction of his hand caused his fingers to cover my pussy.

The touch triggered my fight or flight mechanism, and my legs clamped around his wrist. I let out a noise that started as a cry but morphed into something that was part giggle and part shaky sigh at the relief that I could actually close my legs when a man touched me if I wanted to. We stayed like that for another few minutes.

A voice in my head told me it was okay to move on. Baby steps. So I said, "Press your middle finger through my labia."

When he did it, he did it so slowly I forgot to breathe.

"Again." I gulped and shut my eyes. "Keep doing that."

After several excruciatingly gradual sweeps, my legs relaxed and fell open. Then my hips were arching into his touch, although his hand never lost contact with my body.

"Rub my clit." The words came out as a gasp. Then I cried out as he obeyed. God, that felt so good!

We proceeded in this way—me speaking, him doing—so that eventually, his thumb was rubbing my clit while his fingers stroked inside me. When I adjusted my legs so that my knees were bent and my feet were flat on the mattress to offer him more access and a deeper penetration, I gripped his wrist to make him pause.

I struggled as the memories of this position pushed to the front of my brain. I had to tamper the urge to close my legs. To roll away. To end this and run away to my safe haven. I needed to press on. I had to face my fears.

"Okay." I released my hold and caressed his skin instead. He continued, and my moans began again. As I relaxed, the arousal grew. Yes, maybe this would work.

His heavy breathing beside me reminded me that he was being left out. I knew what he liked to do after making me wet like this. I told myself I was ready to move on to the next step.

My voice cracked as I caressed his hand again and said, "Crawl between my legs. Lick me."

He adjusted his position and let out a groan as his face lowered between my thighs. Then I heard him inhale deeply, his breath warm against my already-sensitive skin with his equally long exhale through his mouth. It made me shudder.

When his tongue touched my labia, I moaned. The cry deepened as he licked the length of me, not penetrating but just covering the surface over and over again.

He looked up at me after his tongue pressed harder and accidentally slipped between the wet and swollen folds.

I choked at the intensity in his eyes. I think he was watching me to make sure I was okay. I nodded, unable to speak but hoping he received my silent message to do it again.

Malcolm knew me so well. His tongue completed another sweep downward, then it pressed in on the upward stroke.

I gripped the sheet and arched my hips up to him as I cooed.

He adjusted once more so that his arms were wrapped under my thighs, his eyes on mine again.

"Yes," I whispered. "Please."

His eyes closed as he used his fingers to pry my labia open. His nose bumped my clit as his tongue delved deeper in long back-and-forth motions. His grip on my legs tightened as he pressed harder and his tongue dipped into me. His moans vibrated through my pelvis.

I reached up and took hold of the mission-style headboard for leverage. When the memory of being bound with my arms above my head like that hit me, I pulled my hands free. But the fact that I could do so set into my brain quickly, and I gripped two of the wooden, vertical slats again.

I closed my eyes and listened to our combined heavy breathing. The wet sloshing sounds as he licked at the evidence of my arousal. His moans as he inhaled my scent. My gasps as his tongue brushed a super-sensitive spot.

It all felt so damn wonderful. But I craved more, and I didn't want to come yet. "Stop, Malcolm."

He obeyed, but his downcast mouth as he drew back said I was ruining a good time for him as well.

"Lie down." I patted the spot next to me in case he didn't understand where. We switched places once more, and I knelt at his feet. "Don't touch."

He raised his eyebrows but said nothing. The corner of his mouth twitched as he put his hands behind his head on the pillow. Then he let out a long sigh.

My heart was thumping in my head as I crawled between his legs now. I stopped at his groin and dipped my head, wrapping first my hands then my lips around that perfect specimen that did wonderful things to me. Things I needed to be reminded of.

I gave him all the passion that had eluded me for so long. I stroked, I caressed, I suckled his cock. He lowered one of his arms but stopped himself before he touched my head. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw his hand clench in a fist on the sheet, restraining himself. Oh, he was struggling so hard not to take control. As much as we both liked vanilla sex, this was out of his normal realm. I smirked at the thought that maybe this was good for both of us.

When I grew restless—and knew I couldn't torture him much longer—I crept further up his body to straddle his waist. I wanted him. I needed him.

My body shivered as I held myself over his cock. I told myself that it was okay. I could still stop at any time. Then his tip brushed against my mons. I almost fell on top of him I was shaking so much. It took several deep breaths before I could press on. I wrapped my hand around his hardened shaft and guided it into place.