His by Aubrey Dark

handcuffed to the pipe. My ankle twinged slightly with pain, and the only rays of light that came into the room were from under the basement door.
    It was my birthday.
    The meds had worn off, and I didn’t know how long I’d been out. Anxiety surged through me, and as I sat up my arm twisted and hurt. He’d said he was going out, and that’s why he had to cuff me. My wrist screamed in pain, and as much as I tried to do my deep breathing, nothing was working to stop my nerves from shooting panic signals across my brain.
    I raised my head as Gav opened the door, half relieved to see him, half terrified. He had a bowl of something in his hands, and I smelled the oatmeal as he crossed the room. I lifted my arm weakly.
    “My wrist hurts,” I said. “Take off the handcuffs.”
    “You must obey first,” he said. “We’ll eat breakfast now.”
    He spooned up a bite of oatmeal and held it out in front of my face. Panic gripped me in a vise. I didn’t want this to be the rest of my life. I didn’t want to be his pet.
    “Please,” I said. “It hurts—”
    His hand whipped across my cheek so quickly that the sting of the slap came before I could realize he was lifting a hand to me. The spoon clattered in the bowl. My cheek stung hot, and a wave of panicked anger rose up, closing off my throat.
    “Obey first, kitten,” he said, lifting the spoon again. “Then we will trade.”
    I stared baldly at the spoon, hate boiling inside of me so hot that I couldn’t think straight. All I knew was pain and hunger, and I didn’t want to be here and I didn’t want him to feed me.
    “No,” I said.
    He grabbed my chin and lifted it, gripping my mouth so that my lips pursed.
    “Eat, kitten,” he said, bringing the spoon to my lips.
    “No!”
    Not today. I wouldn’t be his pet today. I whipped my head sideways and kicked out. The bowl of oatmeal overturned, spilling everywhere.
    Before I could be pleased about the results of my rebellion, his arm was under my armpit, dragging me up the side of the wall. I yelped as he shoved me back and pressed the spoon against my lips.
    “Stop,” I whispered. Panic was making my legs shiver and shake.
    “Obey,” he said, through gritted teeth.
    “Stop,” I cried. “Let me go!”
    “You know I can’t do that, kitten,” he said. His thumb scooped the oatmeal out of the spoon, and then he shoved it into my mouth. His thumb ground against my teeth and oatmeal dripped out of the sides of my lips.
    “Stop!” I sobbed. “Please, stop!”
    He didn’t, though. Throwing the spoon aside, he tilted my head up. At first I thought he was going to force feed me more, but then his lips crashed down on mine.
    The kiss stole my breath, his body pressing the air out of my lungs. My body burned with pain, and I twisted under him, but he held me fast. The feelings that my meds would have cut off sprung into high alert, and at the same time so too did my body.
    Traitor body, to respond to his kiss that way. The same way as it had responded the first time I had pressed my lips to him. The burn in my body was no longer just pain, but an aching lust. As he deepened the kiss, his tongue tracing the outline of my lips, I arched back against the wall, trying desperately to convince myself that I didn’t want any part of this.
    I didn’t, of course. I couldn’t help the sharp ache that began to press against me from the inside as he pressed against me from the outside. His hands held my arms back at the wrists, and I was only grateful that he didn’t slide them up my bra to where the razor was hiding.
    The razor. I couldn’t let him know.
    He broke away from the kiss, his eyes burning with an emotion I hadn’t seen in him before. It lasted only a split second before the curtain fell again and his eyes turned on me flatly, expressionless. His arms hung limply at his sides.
    “You wasted a trade, kitten,” he said. “Wasted food, too.”
    I gulped. A tear had found its way to the corner of my eye and