AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Wordlessly, I slid forward and assumed the position he commanded, fingers locked behind my neck, forehead on thefloor. I could feel my heart hammering against the wooden floor while I listened to him walk slowly towards me and then walk around my prone body until he stopped near my head. If I squinted to look sideways, I could just see the toe of one of his boots.
I wondered what he was planning.
As if he was reading my mind, he remarked conversationally, “Did you really think that I would forgive and forget?”
“No...” I floundered meaninglessly.
“I don’t know why I bother. Be quiet.”
With that dismissive remark, he walked away, when I heard the distinct sound of his switchblade being opened.
I dared not look, but he was soon back, one leg on either side of my body. He dropped to his knees, with one powerful hand he gripped the back of my T-shirt at the neck and pulled it towards him.
I couldn’t stop the squeak of panic when I felt the cold steel touch my skin. He laughed and rested the blade against my skin so that I knew he did indeed have a knife in his hand. I should have known better. Caleb loved his knife. Mainly, he loved using his knife to rid me of any offending clothes I wore.
The man seriously hated it when I wore panties.
My T-shirt, pulled tight between my body and his hand, gave easily as his knife cut along the full length at the back. The point of his knife drifted slowly back along my spine, teasing me like he was holding a feather against my skin. He wasted no time parting my skirt with the knife, cutting it from waist to hem in one long, swift movement.
I bit my bottom lip, trying not to whimper.
Not that it would have mattered if I had, except perhaps to confirm that I was a bit turned on and maybe a smidge frightened of him. Oh, I knew Caleb would never hurt me. It was the unknown of what was to come that frazzled my nerves andgot my heart beating a little faster. The anticipation was a bitch. I knew he was angry and that he was going to punish me.
It was not knowing in what form he would that worried me.
He shifted above me, but only to roughly rip the remnants of the T-shirt and then the skirt from under my body. Swift cuts and a few hard tugs also left me without my bra or panties. I lay naked on the floor. I struggled to keep my hands clasped, wrapping them around my neck with my nose pressed to the floor as he had commanded.
The flat of the blade pushed under my hands and lifted them.
Gently, with my palms resting against his blade, he pressed the point against the back of my neck. I flinched as his other hand caressed my neck. His hand was warm, but my shame made me think it burned like a brand against my skin.
“You are my wife, correct?”
Gulping, I whispered, “Yes, sir.”
His voice, deceptively pleasant, murmured near my ear, “Then where is your collar, wife?”
Oh, fuck!
I tried to bury my ultimate nakedness against the uncaring wooden floor, unable to prevent a low moan of panic as his hand moved around to the softness of my throat and cupped the slenderness against the point of the knife.
“Don’t worry. I’ll make sure the new one I put on you will never come off.”
His voice was calm as he removed his hand, along with the sharp tip of the knife. I heard him walk steadily away and then the slight scrape of a chair before he dropped into it. The silence stretched while I lay there waiting for him to decide what he wanted to do next.
The sweet smell of whiskey filled my nostrils when I heard him pour himself a glass. I knew he was sitting there contemplating his next move, wondering what type ofpunishment he should inflict to make me see the error of my ways. I could have told him that nothing he did would work. I would do it all over again if it meant he and our daughter were alive. That was one thing he could never break me of. My stubbornness. When I believed in something, it took an act of God to make me see differently. I wanted so much to explain that I only wanted to protect him. That I did what I thought was best.
Yet the memory of the months he had spent training me and my newfound panic kept me silent.
He sighed.
“What am I to do with you?”
The question was rhetorical.
“Start at the beginning, wife. Tell me your truth.”
Stumbling over my words, I began. Swallowing, I tried to keep my voice clear. I began with the day I received the call from my dad. My voice grew wobblier as I recited all of my worries and fears. The longer I talked, the enormity of my actions filled me while I spoke, and by the time I reached the end, I was sobbing. He ignored me and let me cry until my cries became sniffling sobs.
