Mercy

The lotion had already been absorbed into the angry stripes still covering his skin, but her hand continued its caress. She wasn't done touching him. She wasn't done feeling the heat of his body in the palm of her hand, or watching the steady rise and fall of his back.

She brought her head down, resting her cheek against his spine as she had done the first time she had met him. The beat of his heart pulsed through her, calling to her, calming her. The only steady rhythm in the chaos of her mind.

"Run away with me," she whispered, trailing her fingers over the wounded skin on his thighs.

"To where?"

"Anywhere." There was nothing left for her where they were. All there was left to do was bleed.

"What about the community?"

"I don't need the community. I only need you." He was the only one who could press into her skin wherever the wounds appeared, holding her together until she was strong enough to stand on her own again.

He rolled over, his fingers running through her hair. "What about Ben?"

"Let someone else deal with him." She nuzzled her cheek into his stomach, pretending there was truth in her words.

"I know you, Mistress. I know no matter how far away from Ben you are, you'll lie awake at night thinking of all the victims he'll find and how they may not be as strong as you."

She let the tears roll down her face, falling onto his bare skin. "I love you, Officer Ray."

"I love you, too, Mistress."

******************

He throbbed in his cage as he imagined the arch of her back and the curve of her breasts, the line of her neck and the whimpers that escaped her lips. They encouraged him like a helpless command, an almost breathless demand when he stared up from between her thighs. Her fingers would always curl slightly, relaxing wherever they had fallen when his mouth first pressed into her skin. Her eyes would close, her muscles soften, her love perfectly displayed in the depth of her trust as she calmly left her body open to him.

Maybe she was right. Maybe they should run away. He could find work somewhere else. She could find work somewhere else. They could disappear. Let Ben become someone else's problem.

"Are you listening to me?" Jake asked from the passenger seat, adjusting his belt over his stomach, "or am I talking to myself?"

"Is there any news on Ben since I've been gone?"

"Let's play a game." Jake replied, smiling.

"I'm not interested in playing a game."

"I don't care if you're interested. If you want to ask me questions and expect an answer, I get to ask you questions and expect an answer. So that's the game."

He sighed, already knowing the questions which would be asked. "Is there any news on Ben since I've been gone?"

"He's not in contact with anyone he's lived with in the past, or at least anyone we have knowledge he lived with. And none of them seem interested in making contact with him. It appears he wore out his welcome fast."

He stared out the window, biting into his lip. "When I saw him at the bowling alley, he didn't look like he was living on the streets. He was showered. Shaved. Dressed in clean clothes that fit him. He's staying somewhere and with someone who has the means to buy him things."

"Possibly." Jake scratched at his head then smoothed down the roughened strands. "Or he's stealing clothes- not a difficult task. Stealing razors- again, not a difficult task. And he could be bathing in any number of places available to the public. Maybe at a public pool somewhere. It's the middle of winter. He'd be the only one there."

"Public pools are closed this time of year."

"I'm pretty sure a man like Ben doesn't care if he has to break a lock to get to what he wants." Jake paused, taking a sip of his coffee. "Who is she? And don't give me information I already know. How long have you known her and where did you meet her?"

"You only get one question at a time."

"How long have you known her?"

"Three years. How many other officers have been questioning people about Ben?"

"Three years?" Jake twisted in his seat, shoving his coffee back into the cupholder. "You've been hiding her from us for three years?"

He pulled away from the curb, ignoring his friend's glare. "Answer the question."

"Nobody. Garrett and I have been doing it as a favor to you. Where did you meet her?"

He stepped on the gas, flying through a yellow light. "I'm done playing this game."

"Why can't you tell me anything about a woman you've been seeing for three years?"

"How is it that a rapist attacks a woman and escapes, then continues to stalk her and nobody cares?" No ground had been gained since he had been gone. Ben was still free, waiting for a moment of weakness or carelessness, and opportunities were becoming more frequent.

"We have no leads, a big town, an understaffed police department and a million calls to answer a day—"

He gripped the steering wheel harder, shaking his head.

"We did the best we could but the reality of it is nobody knows or cares where he is except you."

The words rippled through him, repeating in his head as they sunk into his skin. "You're right," he mused, suppressing his smile. "Nobody cares where he is and nobody is looking for him but me."

******************

"I've never planned a funeral before," she said, hoping if she spoke it would force the knot in her throat back down into her stomach.

"You don't have to," Joe replied, smiling at her from behind his desk. "Madame Victoria was very specific as to what would be done with her remains, right down to the type of tree and where she wanted it planted."

She leaned forward, unsure if she had heard him correctly. "Tree?"

"Yes. She purchased a biodegradable burial pod that will, in essence, allow her to grow into a tree."

"A dead person doesn't magically grow into a tree."

His fingers rocked, making his pen tap down against the surface of his desk. "Well, no. Her ashes are placed in the burial pod and then fuel the tree as it grows."

"What type of tree did she request?"

"Weeping Willow."

She sat back, nodding. She shouldn't have expected anything less. Even in death, Professor Holland would never release control.

"She also stated there is not to be any funeral of any kind."

She glanced over his dark hair to the window behind him, watching as the police cruiser rolled past them. "If she already had everything planned, what did you need me to come here for?"

"Because I need to settle the estate, and you're the only one listed in her will."

"Excuse me?"

"Most of the estate is in properties," he continued, his hands following along with his words, "but there's also a fairly substantial amount of monetary assets. I need to know where you want it transferred to after the estate taxes are paid."

She stared at his lips, trying to focus on the movement but unable to comprehend the noise coming from them.

"The majority of her monetary assets are currently invested in various stocks, bonds, mutual funds, and other areas. You can cash out of everything if you wish, though I wouldn't recommend it."

The room spun around her, the ground shifting beneath her.

"The total is somewhere around thirty-seven million—" He paused, leaning over the desk towards her. "Do you need some water? You look a little pale..." He pressed his finger down on a button on his phone. "Leah, please bring me a glass of cold water. Hurry."

She grasped the armrests of the chair, hoping she wouldn't humiliate herself by crashing to the floor.

"I know I'm not your lawyer, but I would strongly suggest you keep at least most of the money in the hands of someone who can keep it growing for you. I'm assuming you'll want to use someone from within the community—" He paused when the door opened, pointing towards her.

A petite blonde scurried to where she sat, handing her a glass of ice water before hurrying back out the door.

She raised the glass to her lips, the cool liquid slowing the turning of the room around her. "Who did Madame Victoria keep it with?"

"She used to have it with Chris Thomas, Master Christian, not sure if you've met him..."

She shook her head, taking another drink.

"He retired about two years ago and recommended she leave the money with his protégé whom I'm sure you know."

She looked up, setting the cup on the edge of his desk.

"Miranda Callahan."

**************

"Mistress Natalia," Miranda said, spinning around in her chair and folding her hands on the desk in front of her.

She ran her hands self consciously over her hair when she noticed the blue eyes staring at it. "Mistress Mia."

"Congratulations on your new slave. I hope you plan on sharing him. A cock like that wasn't made to be suppressed."

She glanced down at the full breasts pushing up over Miranda's red dress, wondering if there were any other financial advisors within the community. "There's an entire château of cocks at your disposal."

"But there's nothing like a big cock attached to a big man."

She began pressing her thumb down over her fingers. "I came here to talk about the account."

Miranda spun her chair to the left, her hand moving to the mouse as she looked at the screen on her computer. She leaned forward, her fingers tapping over the keyboard. "That's odd..." Her eyes squinted at the monitor as she spoke the quiet words.

"Is everything—"

Miranda's finger slammed down against a button on her phone, her eyes never moving away from her computer. "Jenny, did Victoria Holland take money out of her account recently?"

"Yes," a high voice came through the speaker. "She came in about two weeks ago and requested a money order for five million. I can get you the exact date—"

"Why wasn't I informed of a transaction that substantial?"

"I'm sorry, Ms. Callahan. I assumed she had told you before she contacted me."

"Who did she make it out to?"

"She told me to leave it blank."

Miranda pushed the button on her phone again then moved her hand to her mouse. She sat back in her chair, her head shaking as she stared at her screen. "It was cashed but no name or anything was ever written in. I don't even know what bank would allow that." She spun her chair forward, her tongue playing against the inside of her cheek. "Did she mention any major purchases she was planning to you? Or did Joe mention any recent purchases?"

She shook her head. "Can you please just tell me what I need to sign? It was her money to do with as she pleased, and it isn't our business what she chose to spend it on."

"There's still over thirty million left so it didn't drain the account for you." Miranda replied, her smile returning.

Her teeth bit into her lip, forcing her to think before she screamed. "Unfortunately, it wasn't enough to save her and isn't enough to bring her back to me."

**************

The metal was cool beneath her fingers. She followed the flawless grooves, various straight lines that when connected together formed her initials. Her left hand moved to her neck, twisting the key hanging from it. She wished he would come home, his caress the only way to still the anxiety coursing through her.

She could tell him to quit his job. Demand he remain forever on his knees at her feet. Make him a kept slave as so many dommes often did. Then she would never have to be without his touch. She would never have to sit on the edge of their bed wondering when the front door would open, or be terrified if the day would come she would get a call telling her it would never open again.

She pressed her thumb down over her fingers, the pop only reminding her of the otherwise silent house. The metal collar rested on her thighs, covered in fingerprints though it had yet to be worn.

The sound of the alarm brought her attention to the door. His footsteps moved down the hallway, the buttons beeping as he pressed his slave number into the keypad. Then he paused in the doorway of the bedroom, staring at the collar in her hands. "Do you want to collar me, Mistress?"

Her eyes ran over his uniform, remembering the man underneath it. "What happens if Ben breaks in?"

"He'll get beaten to death by a man wearing a collar and cock cage."

She laughed, soft and light, the weightless feel of the sound odd against the heaviness of her soul.

He moved to where she sat, kneeling down at her feet and pressing his lips to each of her knees. Her pulse throbbed. Not with desire, but with need. She needed to be held. She needed to be touched. She needed him to chase away the thoughts from her head, even if it was just a temporary escape. It was too soon, but it was also too late. Her fingers ran through his hair, the tension in her body melting in the warmth of his skin.

She picked up the collar, locking it around his neck. "Take off your clothes, Officer Ray."

He stood before her, towering over her as he stripped the uniform from his body, leaving it crumpled on the floor at her feet.

She unclasped her necklace, letting it fall into her hand, then freed his prisoner from its cage. Need replaced the fear she had once felt when it hardened beneath her touch. It was a part of her now, just as he was. The date on his leg was fading away, never to be rewritten.

She spread her legs, opening herself to him, allowing him the control, trusting she could take it back when she wanted it. He pulled her body towards him, the part of her he needed left hanging a few inches off the edge of the bed. His fingers slipped into her, drawing a groan from her lips as they teased her.

He thrust into her, gently at first, then harder. She closed her eyes, giving in to the bounce as his hips pounded into hers. They shoved her away then gravity brought her back to him, intensifying the impact. He never faltered, never slowed, his stroke as true as his word.

The world disappeared as she lost herself in the feel of the storm he was building inside her. It rolled through her, twisting and spiraling as it chased away thoughts of willow trees, blue eyes and taunting smiles.

"Don't stop," she whimpered, her fingers grasping at the blankets.

"Never, Mistress."

His words rocked through her. They could run away. Disappear into the night. Then he would never have to leave her side. Every morning she could roll over, crawl on top of him and slide down his length as a tropical sun warmed her skin. When the moon rose in the sky her eyes could close, his lips more potent in the darkness as they caressed her skin.

She grunted when his hips slammed into hers, the sensation tingling up her spine. She spread her legs farther, forcing her thighs apart then gasping at the new depth her body could accept. Her hands clawed at his hips, desperate for more every time he pulled back. The heat rippled through her, coming in waves as it took over her body, surging and crashing as she clung to his skin.

He slowed as she shivered, her body trying to recover from the storm. Her hands reached for him when he pulled out of her, not ready to feel the emptiness. He dropped to his knees, the warmth of his tongue against her skin bringing a soft moan from her lips.

"Don't ever stop," she whispered as his mouth reminded her it could soothe away any pain from her soul.

"Never, Mistress."

**************

The cold breeze filtered through her jacket, chilling her as she stood staring up at the white pillars. She glanced behind her, then to the left and to the right. She didn't know how safe it was to be standing outside. It was impossible to know if she was being hunted, though her gut told her to hurry inside.

Her heels struck the brick steps beneath them, following the command of her hesitant feet as she approached the red door. For the first time it didn't swing open. She pulled the key from the pocket of her coat, thinking of how strange it felt in her hand.

"It's nice," Roland said, pulling open the door.

She glanced to the man standing beside her, suddenly remembering his presence.

"Are you sure you want to sell it, Mistress?"

Her eyes scanned the foyer. Up to the crystal chandelier then down to the dark oak floors. It was silent other than their breath. It used to be full of footsteps and laughter, screams and moans. Collared men would roam the halls, waiting to serve. Silently begging to serve. She stared at the winding staircase, wondering why it seemed as though Professor Holland would be walking down it any second. Her fingers would trace over the wood railing, her red lips parting into a smile that could bring even the strongest man to his knees.

"Are you okay, Mistress? We don't have to do this so soon—"

"The kitchen is this way." She didn't look at him as she turned to the left. "We can start there." Through the formal dining room, past the long table she used to eat dinner at every night. Professor Holland's chair at the head of the table sat empty, though she was certain she could feel brown eyes watching her.

Roland's eyes grew wide as they passed under the archway into the kitchen. "It's huge," he mused, his head tilting up as he scanned the room.

Her fingers ran over the granite countertops, the dark finish contrasting with the rustic cabinets.

"A perfect combination of roots and riches," Professor Holland had said, pulling a bottle of wine out of one of the cabinets. "Do you like wine?"

"Not really." The immature words she had once spoken echoed in her head. She paused in the same spot she had stood the first time she had been to the mansion. She had stared at the woman standing opposite her, wondering why she felt lost everywhere but in her presence.

"That's because you've never had good wine." Professor Holland swirled the glass in her hand. The red liquid whirled, the same color as her hair, and just as hypnotic when it moved. "Always let it breathe, Natalia, and enjoy it while it does." She inhaled the scent then took a sip, holding it in her mouth to savor the taste. "Try it."

Roland's dark suit shattered the image. He circled the counter, examining the appliances. "Everything looks fairly new. And it's stainless steel, which is good. Makes it more desirable to potential buyers. Are you planning on taking the refrigerator?"

"No." Her hands moved to the buttons of her coat as she began to sweat beneath it.

Roland hurried to where she stood. "Let me help you, Mistress." He stepped behind her, sliding it from her shoulders then draping it over his arm. "Where did she get her money, if you don't mind my asking?"

"She came from old money." For every piece she knew, there were twenty she didn't.

"Must be nice."

She turned away, ignoring the brown eyes as she walked back by the dining table. She looked away from the stairs as they past through the foyer then paused in the middle of the hallway. "There's a library, or at least what she used as a library, and a few bedrooms down here."

"Are you wanting to sell to someone in the community?"

She stood back as he opened the first set of double doors. She didn't need to peek through them to see the bookshelves lining the walls. And if Professor Holland was sitting in her leather chair, lost in the pages of a romanticized world, she didn't want to interrupt. "It doesn't matter."

He paused, turning towards her and raising an eyebrow at her treasonous words.

"I expect the listing to be open to members of the community first before making it public." Her stiletto heels hit against the hardwood as she continued down the hall. "If nobody from the community is interested, I'm not going to hold onto the house until someone is."

"That's understandable, Mistress," he nodded, tapping his fingers against his chin. "I think sixty days would be best. I can send notification of the listing to each château and make sure to state it will be opened to the public after sixty days. Does that sound okay with you, Mistress?"