Pieces of Autumn by Mara Black Read Free Book Online Page B

sinister shadow. I hardly recognized the expression on my face.
    "What do you think?" he almost purred, his voice hypnotic, the only sound that could cut through the ringing in my ears. "Is that enough of a punishment for you?"
    No, God no.
    I made an involuntary sound, something between a moan and a sob, afraid to give him the wrong answer. The fear for my life, for my safety, had been eclipsed by the fear that he would stop touching me. That he'd do nothing to release me from this sweet agony, this tension that was on the verge of snapping.  
    " Answer me ."
    Some rational part of my brain had survived his onslaught. It took over momentarily, anger rearing up inside me, and I found myself gritting out:
    "Fuck you."
    The room went cold.
    He grabbed my arm and yanked me off the bed, shoving me forward so that I stumbled and landed on my knees, on the floor. His eyes were dark and empty. When he spoke, it was with none of the dark, terrifying passion of before.
    "Get out."
    I crawled back, a few inches, staring up at him. He was gripping himself through the fabric, so hard his knuckles were starting to turn pale.
    He didn't have to ask twice.
    I only took the time to grab the sheet, that horrible crumpled-up "dress" I'd been wearing since Stoker, and run out of the room naked.
    He didn't tell me where to go. So after I covered myself again, I stayed there outside the door, with my ear pressed against the sleek wood, because I needed to know. But I didn't dare try to watch through the crack, which he still hadn't closed.
    I heard the sound of a zipper, the soft slap of skin on skin, and his tortured groan when he came.
    I was trembling, confusion and arousal coursing through my body, making my heart pound and my throat dry.
    He loves to make you follow orders, but he hates that he loves it. It turns him on, and it disgusts him.  
    These were all good things to know. I filed them away, while my pulse pounded in my throat, while I tried to pretend like my cunt wasn't hot and swollen from picturing him with his hand sliding up and down his dick.
    I wanted to see it. I wanted to see him come apart at the seams, losing that taut control he wrapped himself up in.
    Suddenly, I heard the sound of footsteps approaching the door. I crawled backwards, huddling against a bookshelf a few feet away. When it popped all the way open, he looked just as calm and composed as he had when I first walked into the room. Except, not quite. I could see the stiffness that remained under the fabric of his well-tailored trousers. But he had a dress shirt on now, smooth and buttoned up to the throat, with a perfectly-knotted deep red tie around his neck.
    "What are you doing?" he demanded, his eyes suddenly burning.
    I forced myself to hold his gaze. "Waiting for your orders," I said. "You never told me where to go."
    He was silent for a moment, looking away from me, letting his eyes wander over the carpet, like he was lost in thought. "Were you listening at the door?"
    "Yes," I said. There was no sense in lying. It would only make him angrier.
    "Do you know what I was doing?"
    "Yes."  
    "Tell me." His voice was suddenly harsh and demanding. His eyes were fixed on me once more - a challenge, and one I didn't quite understand. "Tell me what you heard."
    I kept my head high, even while I hugged my knees to my chest. "I heard you jerking off," I said, calmly. "Jerking off to me."
    He was staring at me with an intensity that was unmatched by anything else - even when he'd been staring me down, inches from shoving his cock in my face.
    "What do you think of that?" he asked, finally. His expression was dark and unreadable, and I was tempted to write it off as a sadistic question, one that he knew was unanswerable. He wanted me to articulate how violated I felt. He wanted to rub in my humiliation, like salt into a wound.
    Only, that wasn't quite right.
    Was it?
    "I think it doesn't make any sense," I heard myself say. "If you really don't care about me, why