Chapter 46 - FORTY SIX

Chapter 46: Chapter FORTY SIX

ANGEL

Pain woke me up, dragging me from whatever merciful darkness I’d fallen into.

I was still in the red torture room, my wrists were still cuffed above my head, the metal biting into skin that was already raw and torn. My legs were still spread wide by chains attached to my ankles, leaving me completely exposed and vulnerable.

For a moment — just one stupid, desperate moment — I’d hoped I’d wake up somewhere else. That the blackout had carried me out of this room, out of this house, out of this life. But pain doesn’t let you lie to yourself. Pain is the most honest thing in the world.

I felt him even before I saw him.

Damien was sitting beside the bed like he’d been watching me sleep. There was a large bowl on the nearby stand filled with water, and he held a cloth in his hand.

How long had he been there? Minutes? Hours? Had he sat through my entire unconsciousness. The thought made my stomach roll.

Fresh tears leaked from my eyes before I could stop them. I was trapped here.

Forever.

There was no escape, no rescue coming. I really was his slave now.

This was my reality from this moment forward until I was sold.

When he shifted closer to reach my shoulder, I flinched involuntarily.

His grey eyes snapped to mine immediately, and I nearly flinched again from the intensity of his stare. Was he still furious with me?

Did this mean another round of punishment? What if he reached for that whip again?

Terror spidered through my veins like poison, and more tears spilt over despite my desperate attempt to hold them back.

"It won’t hurt as much after I clean you up," he said, his voice surprisingly soft.

A lump formed in my throat, I didn’t try to shrink away when his hand moved across my skin again.

"Are you still going to punish me?" The question came out in a wobble that gave away every ounce of fear coursing through me.

"Yes." His answer was immediate and certain. "What you did cannot be erased by a few lashes, Angel." He smiled, like he was explaining something obvious to a child who should have known better.

His small smile made the fear clawing at my throat grow teeth.

Hot tears continued to stream down the sides of my face. Damien reached up and brushed the side of my cheek with his thumb, wiping them away almost gently. He collected my pain like it was precious to him.

Then he started to clean me.

He soaked the cloth in the water, wrung it out and brought it to my body.

The water was warm against my skin, and I couldn’t stop the small gasp that escaped when the fabric touched me.

His movements were too slow and attentive. It reminded me sickeningly of how Daddy used to take care of me when I suffered from fever, the same gentle, patient touch. Daddy would hum while he did it. He’d tell me stories to distract me from the thermometer, from the bitter medicine. Damien didn’t hum. Damien was silent, focused, like tending to the damage he’d caused was a ritual he took as seriously as causing it.

Bile tangled in my throat, threatening to spill.

I didn’t want Damien to touch me like this. Didn’t want him to clean me or care for me or look at me with those dark eyes that seemed to see straight through to my soul.

Because a part of me wanted to lean into his touch, to seek comfort from the same man who hurt me.

I wanted someone to tell me that I was alright. That it would be fine. That I wasn’t broken. And my shattered self didn’t mind if it came from this man.

Damien took his time, washing my breasts first, circling each one slowly like he was memorizing every inch.

Then he cleaned my face, neck, armpits, and stomach.

As he got lower, I couldn’t even try to close my legs, they were immovable because of the chains. Not as if I would even dare to even if I could move.

Then, he drew the rag down and cleaned between my thighs.

I wanted him gone from there. Every pass of the fabric sent fire racing through my thighs, through my pussy where the whip had struck. Everything burned. Everything hurt. The pain was crawling under my skin with nowhere to go.

He returned the cloth to the bowl and squeezed out the excess water, and I allowed myself to hope for just a second that he was done. That this humiliation was finally over.

But then he brought the cloth back between my legs, and when I realized where he was cleaning now, horror flooded through me so intense I couldn’t breathe.

My ass.

He was cleaning the hole itself.

"Stop," I begged, the word tumbling out before I could stop it. "Please stop."

But he didn’t stop. He carefully cleansed my body one inch at a time. "I need you clean for what comes next,"

What comes next? He was planning to hurt me more, right now?

When he finally took the bowl and disappeared into the shadows of the room, cold air rushed across my wet skin.

Goosebumps erupted everywhere, and I started shivering.

From cold or fear or both, I couldn’t tell anymore. My body had stopped distinguishing between the two. The sound of his footsteps returning made every muscle in my body tense up.

"Ready to resume your training?" he walked to the edge of the room, returning with something in his hand that I couldn’t see well in the darkness.

A punishment tool?

Something probably worse than the belt.

"Damien, please!" The words exploded out of me before I could remember his warning. "I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry. I’ll be good. I promise I’ll be so good. Just please don’t—"

"Oh, Angel." He sighed like I’d disappointed him. "What did I tell you about begging? When will you learn?"