Honor Bound by Joey Hill (speld decodable readers .txt) 📕

she found something even softer than the cushioning. And furry. She lifted it to her face. “A stuffed animal?”

“A kitten. It was a housewarming gift from Ben when I moved in.” He cleared his throat.

“Said if I moved out into the sticks, it was the only pussy I’d get out here.”

“It sounds like he cares about you.” The wary smile tickled her cheeks, muscles she hadn’t used in a while. “He’s not harboring some secret lust for you, right?”

Peter snorted. “If I was the last fuckable thing in the universe, and then only because he has to stick his cock into something every twenty-four hours or he thinks it will self-destruct. If it came to that, I’d break it off for him.”

“You love him, too,” she realized. She moved on before he could reply, trailing her fingers along the silky surface of an end table. A tall house plant, a palm, brushed her face with scratchy edges. The walls she touched to the right of the open window were beadboard, the drapes a clean-smelling cotton. As she made her way around his living room, she noted he didn’t have enormous amounts of furniture, but what he did have held a plethora of objects to discover. At one small table there was a chess game. In process, if the positioning of the pieces were any indication. Her brow furrowed again. “This isn’t a traditional set. It’s pewter, and the figures are . . .”

“Toy soldiers. That one was Lucas’s gift. They all look really GI Joe-ish. Except the Queen figure is Barbie. Carrying an M-16.” There was a smile in his voice. “It’s an older set.”

“They’re your family.”

“Yes. Once you decide someone’s your family, you watch after each other.” He let it hang there, the significance obvious. Since Dana didn’t know what to say to such an absurd implication, she kept moving, but she knew she was orbiting around his scent and heat, keeping him close. He was right about the hypersensitivity. Those few inches of her flesh he’d brushed with his were still tingling.

It had been so long since she’d reached out to explore her surroundings, as if she were a scared, lost camper who couldn’t appreciate the woods, preferring to huddle over the fire and stare down at the small tin of provisions she had left. But in his presence, where she felt absurdly safe, she was absorbing smells, seeking to touch, to recognize things. She’d been cold a lot, but now she was warm in the sweatshirt. The room apparently received plenty of sun, so it must have west-facing windows, given the time of day. If she could see, she imagined she would be bathed in light.

What the hell was the matter with her? She should be majorly pissed off, keeping her ass in that chair until he took her back. But that last tantrum had been her worst yet, and they’d been occurring more frequently lately, as if her body were screaming to split away from her damaged soul, get out and run, blindness or no blindness. She couldn’t deny it felt . . . different to be somewhere new, somewhere not about herself.

“Can I borrow a T-shirt?” she said, trying to hold on to her sullen tone. “Or did your loyal minions arrange for me to have a wardrobe?”

“The idea of keeping you naked is appealing, but they did actually bring some things by.

Let’s get you a shower first.”

As distracting as the image was, him compelling her to stay in his home without anything to warm her but himself, when his hands settled on the hem of her shirt again, she automatically latched onto his wrists to hold it down.

She could feel the weight of his stare in the silence. “Let go of me, Dana.”

She knew that voice. Even with her degraded hearing, she knew the sound of a Master taking command. From the second he’d come to her place, he’d been proceeding under the assumption she desired that, even outside of a club. Like so many other things, he was right, before even she’d realized how much. She hadn’t ever indulged it that way, not trusting any Master enough. Before her accident, she’d wanted to do so, enough that her skin rippled with gooseflesh at the sound of it now. The idea had been terrifying to her then. While she was surprised at how little fear she had of relinquishing herself into his hands, when she had so little control to relinquish, she still couldn’t release him, because of other fears.

“I’m afraid of what you’ll see.” The rawness of it resounded in her head.

“You don’t have to be afraid of anything with me.” The steel was still there, but as implacable tenderness. “Lift your arms.”

Slowly, she released her hold, one finger at a time. When she lifted trembling arms above her head, he pulled the sweatshirt free.

She hadn’t been wearing a bra, so moist marsh air touched her bare flesh, making her nipples peak. He opened the jeans he’d had her don at the duplex, made her step out of her shoes, then stripped them off with her panties, leaving her completely naked.

The scar tissue marked the left side of her torso and leg like a crazy quilt design. Sick of dealing with doctors, she hadn’t scheduled any more cosmetic surgery since her face. At the time she made that decision, she didn’t care about how she looked. Now she

desperately wished she’d done it. She supposed Peter would consider that progress, but resentment and terror warred inside of her at his lack of immediate response.

He’d settled his hands on her upper arms, keeping her squarely facing him. His breath was slow, steady. Too slow and steady. Something about it suggested . . . barely suppressed anger. His palms were heating with it. Part of her was intimidated, another part enthralled by the dangerous power of him, so near. He was angry at faceless enemies, she realized, at someone who would dare hurt her, leave her