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Chapter 10
Grace
Iwatched another recording, trying to analyze the patrons better than last time. Like yesterday, I couldn’t focus. This time, it wasn’t because I itched to go stir the hornet’s nest, but because I ached. Everywhere. Despite my comfortable chair, I stacked a pillow on top. My throat hurt like a bitch. When I checked in the mirror this morning, I could see purplish red bruising in the back of my mouth around the tonsils. Swallowing, eating, even talking was painful. It felt like my throat was riddled with tiny cuts. My pussy was sore too but that was more bearable.
Romero was fairly upset when he realized I was in pain. I didn’t tell him anything, but he guessed the soreness was courtesy of Anton. Thankfully, he didn’t pry. He merely reminded me that it was vital I figured out what my target wanted. Well, I knew what he wanted; revenge. And I gave it to him with my tears and pain. I just needed to survive the next five months.
He called it a day after fifteen minutes. With the state of my throat, singing or even discussing anything wasn’t an option, but I had wanted out of the penthouse. The stiff way I moved made performance training impossible. We would reconvene in a couple of days. While sorry I didn’t spend more time with Romero – he was a really cool guy – I was quite happy to go curl up on my pet cushion and wallow in self-pity.
After tossing and turning for an hour, I gave up and crawled to the breakfast table to fire up the vidscreen. My training day wouldn’t be a total waste. Half an hour into my homework, the bedroom door opened.
Surprised by my presence, Anton froze in the doorway. “Shouldn’t you be training?”
A coil of dread seeped down my spine. Clasping my hands to hide their trembling, I faced him. Fear weighed so heavily on my chest, I could barely breathe.
“R-Romero c-cancelled today’s l-lesson.”
My voice sounded raspier than normal.
Anton frowned, his eyes dropping to my throat. He marched towards me, and I instinctively shrank away, raising shaky hands before me.
He stopped in front of me. Head bowed, I silenced a whimper.
Don’t cry. Don’t move. Don’t make him angry.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” he snapped. “Get up.”
Shuddering, I lowered my hands hesitantly and obeyed, looking at him with pleading eyes. I thought of running, hiding, throwing myself at his feet, but knew better than to antagonize him. When he raised both hands towards my face, I flinched.
“Stay.”
His voice was as hard as the look he gave me. Cold sweat trickled down my back. I blinked away the tears welling in my eyes – I didn’t want to survive another punishment. I swallowed, wincing halfway through. My throat felt like some vicious beast had raked its claws through it. Anton’s frown deepened, and he placed his fingertips on the sides of my neck. I felt him apply a slight pressure while studying the reaction on my face.
“Does that hurt?”
His voice was muffled by the frantic pounding of my heart.
“A l-little… B-but mostly when I s-swallow or t-talk.”
Lips pursed, his hands remained gentle on my neck. My chest heaved from my semi-panicked breathing. Although Anton didn’t appear to be angry, he wasn’t happy. What did that mean for me?
“Open your mouth.”
I complied. That hurt as it stretched the muscles in the back of my throat. But I didn’t want to give him any reason to hit me. By the hard set of his jaw, I knew what he saw displeased him. While I could deep throat with the best of them, yesterday was different. No one could handle that.
Anton took a few steps back, then gestured for me to approach. Confused, I closed my mouth and did as ordered, trying to hide my stiffness and the limp from my bruised knee.
“That’s enough,” he said, glancing at the pillow on my chair.
At first, my face heated with shame, then I felt myself pale with worry. What if he begrudged me seeking that bit of comfort? Without a word, Anton circled around me and stepped into the bathroom. Not knowing what to do, I stood still, waiting to see what he was up to. He came back carrying a spray bottle, some ointment, and a hand towel.
My heart seized in my chest.
All tension bled out of me as I watched him approach. I felt like a puppy eagerly awaiting to be petted by my master. Dr. Hazan would be disappointed with me. It was wrong to respond to kindness this way, but I couldn’t help it. I loved having someone take care of me. Even now, knowing I needed care because of the trauma he’d inflicted on me, a warm fuzzy feeling spread through me. Anton placed the ointment on the table.
“Open,” he said, raising the spray bottle in front of my mouth. “Don’t swallow until I tell you.”
I nodded and he pushed three times, coating the back of my throat. Cold at first, it started tingling, the feeling growing in intensity before quickly fading.
