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My words seem to work because he lowers the belt, and then pulls Ember’s dress back over her red and raw ass. He reaches for Ember’s midsection and helps her to a standing position.
“You’re right,” he says, his sinister eyes glaring at me. “This should be your duty.” He hands Ember the belt. “Ember, go to your future husband, present yourself for punishment, and allow him to finish the task.”
She holds the belt in her tiny fist and slowly walks toward me. Her eyes are downcast, which I’m grateful for because I wouldn’t be able to look her in the eyes either. I blame myself for her pain and humiliation. I curse myself for not being able to take control of the situation and save her. My body aches far worse than it would had Richard beat me with the belt himself.
“The punishment is over,” I try to dictate.
“No,” Richard states simply. “Five more lashes before it’s complete. Either you do it as your duty, or I’ll step in and do it myself. And if I have to, your whipping boy will suffer the consequences for your weakness in being a man.”
“I’m sorry,” I hear Ember say so quietly I doubt her father hears her. She hands me the belt, turns around, bends over at the waist, and touches her toes.
She is in position.
I have never struck a woman or even so much as desired to.
I glance at Richard and know that if I refuse, he will teach me a lesson with my already sore and trembling whipping boy. Fighting back the bile and rage that wants to erupt from my gut, I lift her dress up as I know will be expected of me.
Five. Just five.
I raise the belt and bring it down on her red ass cheek. The weight, the gravity, and my inexperience has me hitting her far harder than I planned. Ember remains stoically quiet, and part of me feels she is doing it for my benefit.
Four. Just four.
“Harder,” the sick asshole directs.
Wanting to get this ordeal over with as fast as I can, I bring the belt to her skin again. I feel the contact in my hand, in my soul, and I shatter as I hear a tiny mewl release from her lips.
Three. Just three.
I strike again, and her mewl turns into a sob. I want to hold her. Comfort her. I want to promise her that all will be okay, and I will never let anyone hurt her again.
But I am the one hurting her! Two… just… I can’t count anymore. I can barely breathe let alone attempt to cope.
She cries out as I whip her again, and a part of me dies.
I stare directly into Richard’s eyes as I deliver the final blow and silently vow to make the man suffer. Revenge will be mine. For Ember.
From this moment on, if there was one thing I would do, it will be to save this woman. Never, never will this woman suffer again while I do nothing to stop it.
I quickly cover her with the fabric of her dress and instinctively pull her into my arms. She needs comfort. I know this. She deserves this.
At first, Ember is stiff, but when I press her head into my chest and gently stroke her hair, she relaxes in my hold. I bring my lips to her ear and whisper, “I will never allow that to happen again. Never.”
I know Richard is watching. I know he’s considering if he is all right with this unexpected and surprising act of affection—even to me—but I don’t care. He will have to come to where we stand to pull Ember away, and I’ll kill him with my bare hands before I’ll let her go back to him.
“It’s not easy being the head of the household,” he says as he leans against the doorframe showing he has no intent to stop me from holding his daughter, nor does he plan to leave the cellar.
I have nothing to say in response because I feel I have nothing left inside of me. I can only concentrate on the trembling girl who now clings to my shirt in a silent desperation for more.
More what?
What can I offer?
I have no answers.
Richard won this battle in this war of mine. He decimated his enemy leaving me in nothing but shattered pieces. If this was his intent, then he succeeded.
“Ember is a good girl. I hope she doesn’t have to suffer again,” he says. “I’m going to go back to work and will be home in plenty of time for an early supper. Ember...”
She lifts her head from my chest and turns to face him. “Yes, Papa Rich?”
“You be a good girl, you hear?”
“Yes, Papa Rich.” Her voice is so soft. Delicate. Not an ounce of hate or disgust. How can she remain almost angelic in response when the man just… how the fuck does she do it?
