Torn from You by Nashoda Rose Page A

an hour on cold stone tiles beside Logan’s chair and was
fed from his fingers.
    I had to go
pee, and I’d made the mistake of calling him Logan. I’d never seen
him so angry. His entire body went from relaxed and casual to rigid
and dangerous within seconds.
    Raul and Dave
were silent as Logan turned to look down at me like I was some dog
that just bit his ankle. His eyes ... God, they’d been intense, and
yes, I was scared because of what I’d done. But it was a mistake,
Logan had to have seen that.
    He’d shoved
back his chair so violently that it fell over backward, then he
grabbed me by the arm, and before I could even gain my footing he
was dragging me out of the dining room.
    He didn’t stop
until we were back at his room, where we were now.
    Before last
night I’d been a dying flower. Pieces of me falling to the ground,
shriveling up and disintegrating day after day. I was surviving,
but barely. I’d been losing the part of myself that thrived in the
sun, the lightness that came with living. But then last night,
Logan awoke the woman I used to be and gave me what I had starving
for.
    I thought
things may have changed between us.
    I was wrong
... The coldness had descended over him locking out everything we’d
shared.
    It was
devastating.
    And it was
cruel.
    “Emily.”
    I jumped at
his sharp tone. “Yes. Master.” I avoided his eyes, lowering my
head. There wasn’t a fight left in me. He’d taken away that trickle
of hope with how he reacted in the dining hall. Did he do this to
me on purpose? Maybe that was why he held me in his arms, brought
my body alive at night ... So he could break me down in the
morning, destroy me over and over again. So I could hate myself
more than him.
    His footsteps
approached, and I stiffened, uncertain what he’d do, yet hoping
he’d never physically hurt me. He’d awaken my body to his touch,
but never once had he harmed me. But he let others hurt me, hadn’t
he? He watched them. Did he get off on that? Had he enjoyed
watching Alfonzo whip me?
    It was his
quiet sigh that caused me to swallow my fear. His finger touched
beneath my chin, and he raised my head. He was inches away from me,
and I tried to stop feeling. I tried so hard, but I failed.
    “Emily.”
    My heart
crashed, because the way he said my name made the fear
heighten.
    “Don’t do it
again.” He watched me for several seconds, then turned and walked
out, slamming the door behind him. I collapsed onto the bed and
cried.
     
    It was dark by
the time he returned, and I was brushing my hair after my shower
while I looked out the window seeing nothing but imagining
everything. As the door shut and locked behind him I turned and
knelt on the floor, the brush laying forgotten beside me.
    The
floorboards creaked as he walked toward me then stopped.
    I held my
breath.
    He reached
down and drew me up in front of him then lowered his head. My heart
skipped a beat, the pit of my stomach dropped, and my breath seized
all at the same time.
    His lips
descended, soft and tender, as he slid his tongue inside my mouth.
His arms encased me in his embrace, the hold on my body fierce and
unrelenting, unlike his kiss that was sweet, gentle.
    I
tilt ed my head back, and
he deepened the kiss groaning.
    He nipped my
lower lip then picked me up in his arms with one swoop and carried
me to the bed. Without letting me go, he lowered me onto it then
followed, his weight lying on top of me.
    “You’re mine.
You’ll always be mine.”
    I was in a
way. I belonged to him. I had sex with him. And at night I loved
him, but with the rise of the morning sun came the hate for the man
who was doing this to me.
    “Do you want
this?”
    Was I weak
because I craved his affection? Wanted to be stroked and caressed
and loved by this man so badly that I felt dead inside without him?
Did it make me pathetic?
    “Emily.”
    I closed my
eyes and whispered, “Yes.”
    He gently
dragged my nightgown up and over my head; then his eyes roamed