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

His finger traced the mark beneath her left breast. “Does any of it hurt?”

“Not really. The ribs and arm hurt some when it gets too cold, but the scars don’t hurt anymore.” At least not the way he meant. She was pathetic. There were people far worse off than her. She should be able to handle this, but all she wanted to do when she thought about it, touched it, was cry like a little girl over what she’d lost. She’d had pretty, unblemished skin. She’d liked the line of her hip, the smooth roundness of her shoulder, the unmarked perfection of her left breast. While she couldn’t see it, she could feel it, the rough texture. Maybe that was why the “heightened senses” platitude made her so angry.

Heightened senses could be a curse, because she could feel every scar like the surface of the moon. She told herself to be glad she didn’t have eyes to confirm it. Though she’d never see the wide, wide ocean again. Or Peter’s smile.

“Please speak. If you don’t speak, I’m going to lose my mind.”

“I’m looking at a beautiful, brave and foolish woman. One whom I’m very, very glad is alive.”

Eight

She bit her lip, overcome, but he didn’t require her words. He reached away from her, and she heard the slide of something like metal across a table surface. When he brought it up, it brushed her sternum. Jewelry. Or . . . Her heart rate started accelerating.

As he put the collar on her throat, she followed it there, passing her fingers over his wrist, then down to the wide strap, lined so it wouldn’t chafe. A waterfall of decorative chains fell from it. It had a D-ring loop, with a pendant. Touching the oblong disk, she realized it was a medallion. Because she’d replayed every detail she remembered about him that night, her throat closed, already knowing.

“It’s the St. Christopher’s I wear.” He increased the collar’s constriction, resulting in a violent contraction low in her belly. Her fingers trembled where they rested on his thick wrist. “You know the rules, Dana. While you wear this, I’m your Master. You’re mine.

You follow my orders; you do what I tell you.”

“But I didn’t . . . I refused to call you that.”

He touched her chin, lifted her face, and she sensed him so close, the idea of his mouth hovering so near overwhelming her. “Are you going to refuse now?” he asked.

She swallowed. A hundred denials leaped to mind, but it wasn’t her rational mind running things now. “No.”

“No, what?” His tone sharpened, making her jump. She responded automatically, pushing all worries and concerns aside.

“No, Master.”

“Good.” The deep, sensual pleasure in his voice rippled through her. “Because we have some business to handle before I bathe and dress you the way I want.”

Taking her arm, he guided her back toward the main source of that marsh breeze. She heard the creak of a screen door opening, and he was leading her out before she could balk.

She hated it, but her legs started to tremble. The give of the boards suggested she was being led onto a boat dock. That meant they were surrounded by water, and she was completely naked. One misstep, and she’d be in the water. Her fingers crept up to hold his hand at her waist, knuckles burrowing into his palm. She was thankful he didn’t admonish her for lack of trust, but squeezed that hand, reassuring her without words.

She started when something dragged against her skin. Before she could panic, he stopped, guided her hand to touch long, waving grass. It apparently grew up along the sides of this part of the dock, tall enough to tease her bare ankles. As the strands moved under her palm, she took a deep breath, focused on their motion. Her nostrils flared, bringing her the aroma secreted in their sun-soaked stalks and darker, moist places near the waterline.

“The smell is so vivid, you can almost see it, can’t you? C’mon, sweetheart. I want to take you to the end of the dock.”

When she straightened, he led her onward, no hesitation, a smooth pace that had her stomach jumping like the frogs she could faintly hear croaking, which meant they were making quite a racket near the dock. At the end, he let her feel the edge of the dock with her toes, then put her hands on a piling. The wood had a worn texture under her palms.

“Now, if I vanished all of a sudden”—he stroked a hand along her tense

shoulder—“which is not going to happen, there’s one of these every five feet or so, and a rope runs between them. If you want to come out here, you can follow that rope, sit on these boards, get some sun. When you reach this one”—his grip increased over

hers—“you’ll know it’s the end, because there’s a knot to the rope.” He showed her that, his fingers sure on hers. “Below that is the water, and my boat. I’ll take you out on it soon.”

“Great. I’ll probably get seasick.” She was having trouble enough walking on solid surfaces. She wasn’t sure she wanted to think about the unstable glide of a boat.

“It’s a smooth, easy ride. I paddle it most times. A lot of nights, I sit out here and drink a beer after work. Listen to the frogs, all the night sounds, until the bugs outnumber my zappers and drive me back into the screened porch.”

She yelped as something ice-cold touched her, and he caught her waist before she instinctively leaped right, which would have taken her into the water. She grabbed his biceps anyway, cursing him. He chuckled. “Language, sweetheart. It’s a beer. There’s an outdoor mini fridge here. Want a sip of mine?”

She tried to draw a steadying breath, wondering if she was the only one who realized she was completely naked in broad daylight. “Not going to offer me one?”

His