Micah groaned as he fought the restraints holding him. He had to get away, he didn’t want this – he wasn’t going to let her sub fuck him. This wasn’t what they’d agreed upon! Men weren’t his preference and she shouldn’t be ignoring his one hard limit. Fighting through the heavy fog enveloping his senses, a pitiful whimper filled his throat. Finally awake and free of the nightmare, his raspy breathing filled the darkened room.
The familiar beep of a heart machine monitoring his pulse and the pungent odor of antiseptic soothed his frayed nerves. Not even bothering to glance around the shadowy room, he knew he was safe in the hospital. No longer was he at the mercy of the deranged bitch he’d gone home with. Raising his left hand, he winced when his fingers brushed over the swollen knot on his forehead. It wasn’t as large as it had been yesterday, thank God, but still every other inch of his body ached – particularly his back and ass.
Unfortunately, it wasn’t the same type of ache resulting from a good working over by his Mistress’s whip. It would be days before he even felt human. Letting his head fall back, he closed his eyes and cursed his own stupidity. This was the last thing I needed. Why was I so foolish to go home with her and that behemoth of man? Oh right, I wanted to prove I was capable of taking care of my own needs. Fine job that I did…thank god Sampson and Mistress B.B. don’t realize what happened.
“Shh, mal-chich.” A cool hand pressed against his free arm before sliding down to tangle with his fingers.
A familiar surge of pleasure washed over him. It was as if his world suddenly righted. Mistress is here. Everything will be okay. Despite the agony he knew it would cause he forced n his eyes open, needing to see her – to make sure she wasn’t another hallucination from the pain meds they continually forced down his throat. Happiness swamped him as a slender figure moved into the circle of light being cast off by the small lamp next to his bed.
Leaning over the bedrail, with her dark hair pulled back in its familiar braid and worry in her pale gray eyes, Olivia was everything he hoped to see. In that moment, nothing else mattered. The fact he wasn’t her submissive had no bearing, nor did his recent avoidance of everything to do with the lifestyle since he’d fled Chicago. The only thing that mattered was she was here when he needed her the most.
“Mistress?” It hurt to force the word past his swollen cracked lips. “I’ve missed you so much…”
Her fingers rubbed over his bristly scalp as she searched his gaze. “As I have you. Both Jude and I came as soon as we heard. You never should’ve left us.”
The sound of his competition moving closer to his bed, jerked him out of his fantasy world and into the real one. Olivia Metjka might be in New Orleans, but despite his need she wasn’t his Mistress anymore. I have no Mistress. Moving stiffly, he eased free of her hold as Jude appeared behind her. His friend looked good. His dark chestnut hair was brushed off his high forehead but mussed as if he’d been dragging his fingers through it. The rumpled clothing, he wore told of the long flight from Chicago to New Orleans.
But it wasn’t the clothing that caught Micah’s attention, it was the silver chain gracing Jude’s neck. Nestled in the hollow of his throat was the symbol of Olivia’s possession – one that he coveted more than anything. Combined with the relaxed way Jude stood, Micah knew the other man was where he was happy in Olivia’s care. For that alone, he wanted nothing more than to kick Jude’s ass, but he wouldn’t – it had taken too long for the other man to accept his submissive nature. And too much work on my part to get him there. I’ll be damned if I let him backslide just because I’m jealous. Closing his eyes, Micah ignored both the physical and emotional pain as he rolled away from the sight.
“Micah?” Her question was sharp. He knew she hadn’t expected his rejection but it was all he could do to keep the tears at bay. It wouldn’t matter if he told himself it was the pain of his battered body that was causing them, not the ache in his chest. Either way it was a sign of weakness – one he couldn’t afford.
“Please leave. I don’t need you here.”
“I’m not leaving. And judging by the shape of your back, I think you do. I don’t see what the big deal is, mal-chich, I’ve cared for you in the past.” The commanding tone that would’ve caused his dick to go rock hard in the past was now nothing more than salt being rubbed into his open wounds.
“But not now. You no longer have that right.” He took a deep breath, forcing himself to continue. “You’re not my Mistress anymore, Olivia. I’m a big boy, and believe it or not I can take care of myself.”
“Really? Then how come you’ve ended up in the hospital like a glupym malʹchikom?”
He heard her fingernails against the metal bedside rail as she reached for him. The feel of her palm against his raw back sent more than physical agony through him. His body remembered the lightness of her touch when she tended his torn back after his attack in Chicago. Giving his trust to the wrong Mistress wasn’t a first for him. He’d trusted once before and paid dearly for it. Evidently I haven’t gotten any smarter. And just like then, Olivia would take care of him this time, unless he drove her away.
“Jude, take…” Mistress, he barely caught the word before it slipped out. “…her home. Neither of you are wanted here.”
©Dakota Trace All rights reserved. This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, locations, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination, or have been used fictionally. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, locales, or events is entirely coincidental. No portion of this work may be transmitted or reproduced in any form, or by any means, without permission in writing from the author.