“I can’t.” I keep clawing at his chest as I stare at him. “It’s stuck,” I say between sobs.
“Just breathe,” he repeats.
I shake my head as I try and fail to get the air past the constriction in my throat.
He turns me around to press my back against his chest, and the panic squeezes tighter, making black spots dance in my vision.
Tightening his arms around me, he leans close to my ear. “Then scream. I’ll hold you together.”
When I can’t snap out of it, he deepens his voice to a resonant growl that reverberates deep inside my soul.
“Scream!”
I manage to draw a few shuddery breaths, then lean forward against his arms andscream.
“Again!” he demands in that same urgent voice.
I scream with the full force of my lungs. The sound echoes through the room, vibrating in the walls and setting the piano strings ringing.
My throat feels raw as I release another scream, but I keep going.
Anger surges through me, hot and livid. But it’s not just from the hurt and desperation of the last two weeks, I realize as I dig my nails into my knees and scream again. It’s the anger of a full lifetime that’s finally getting a release.
“Good girl,” Ian praises, prying my hands from my knees to take them into his own, bringing them into his tight embrace. “Again.”
I keep going, over and over, until my throat feels like sandpaper and I’m drained. The anger is not all gone, but I can’t expel any more. I collapse against Ian, panting hard, yet finally able to breathe.
“That’s it.” He smooths the hair from my damp forehead, and I lean deeper into him. “Did that help?” he asks.
I nod, watching his big hand with visible veins as he brushes it over my arm, down my chest, and across my stomach.
That’s when I notice dried blood on his skin. Two half-moon marks. Shocked, I grab his hand. “Did I do that?” I turn to look at him. “I’m so sorry.”
“Shh.” He leans forward to kiss my forehead. “It’s okay. It’s just a couple of scratches.”
I gasp as I take his other hand and see that the marks are even worse there. “You’re bleeding.”
“It’s worth it if it helped.” A smile forms on his lips. “So don’t say it didn’t, because then I’ll have to punish you again.”
I go absolutely rigid, my nervous system so fraught I can’t see his humor.
He pulls me to him. “Shh-sh-shh. I’m just kidding. No more today. I promise.” He pats my hip. “Hold onto me while you lift your ass. I’ll take out the butt plug.”
Heat seeps into my face, and I’m happy to hide against him as I wrap my hands around his neck and push up on my knees.I whimper as he grabs the base of the plug. When he jostles it a little, memories come rushing. That terrible night. Having to remove the butt plug on my own. Struggling for half an hour before I could get it out because I was so tense.
“Easy now. Just relax for me.”
“I’m scared,” I confess. It hurt that time. A lot.
He releases the plug to spit on two fingers. “Just a little moisture to make it go easier,” he says, smearing the spit around my opening, behind the base. “Now exhale slowly.”
He starts pulling, and I push out a long, shuddery breath.
“Good girl.” He tightens his arm around my waist, steadying me as he pulls a little more.
“Give me a little push, sweetheart.”
I do as he says, badly wanting the intrusive thing out.