Reindled

The dining room was already set with a table for two. It wasn't fancy or overly adorned by any means, but it was certainly much better than the setups to which I had become accustomed. To my tired eyes, it was a banquet.

Had Etienne done this while I was dressing? It seemed to have taken a good portion of effort...I looked up at Him.

"Did You do this?"

His smile was gentle, almost teasing, and it was the only response I got to my question.

Etienne was quiet over breakfast. He ate, slowly, nowhere near as much or as fast as I did. Rather, He was more focused on watching me as I slowly ate the food in front of me. More than once, I looked up to find Him studying my face, my fingers, my mannerisms. It was as though He was trying to reeducate Himself regarding me, remembering the things He had perhaps forgotten in our time apart, and learn the new things that had transpired since then.

I, on the other hand, felt as though I hadn't eaten in months. Other than the food Etienne had given me the night before, I had eaten nothing but vile hospital food for an incredibly long time, and the sweetness of the fruit and the saltiness of the bacon on my tongue seemed to spark a ravenous hunger in me. I tried to eat slowly to avoid looking like a fool, but my hunger was making it difficult to keep from wolfing down the food on my plate and then asking for more.

And still, He watched me.

///

I had always compared this Man to a wolf in my head. There was something so feral about Him, so wild. It was more than just the low roar that snarled up in His chest when He was angry, or the growling purr of arousal or pleasure that rumbled from some hidden place within His core. It was more than His eyes that burned amber in the darkness or the way His body curled around mine while we slept.

It was that warrior streak. That devotion to His mate -- to me. The things that had driven Him to enlist in the first place. The night He told me what He was planning, I had sobbed into His chest and begged Him to change His mind. I was afraid, I said, afraid of losing Him to a sniper's bullet or an exploding trap hidden beneath sand and dirt.

Etienne had held me that night and let me cry out my fears in a flood. He never once questioned me or accused me of not being supportive. And as days passed and conversations took place, I understood more. It was His calling, His duty. He wouldn't have it any other way.

And I had wiped away my tears and held His hand. And He had signed on the dotted line.

And that dotted line had taken Him away from me.

///

The gentle sound of a clearing throat pulled me back into the present.

"You wandered again, Iz."

I felt my cheeks heating with a blush as I looked down at my plate, attempting to busy myself with eating the last few bites of pineapple and strawberry that still remained. I half-expected Him to scold me for looking down, but He said nothing about it until every scrap of food that I wanted was gone.

It was then that He reached up and gently lifted my chin so my eyes met His.

"I will clear the table. Help Me with the dishes?"

It was not an order. It was a request. The newness of being asked to help with a household chore instead of being barked a brutal order coupled with a slap or a jerk on my hair was difficult for my mine to comprehend. I blinked a bit to aid my comprehension, praying that I did not look like a simpleton.

Etienne did not linger at the table; instead, He gathered our dishes up into His broad hands, carefully stacking them with the silverware on top, and carried them down a small hallway off to the side. I watched His back as He left the room; had He always been so tall? The Man I remembered had been massive, powerful, and strong, indeed, but not quite to this extent.

Was He bigger, or was I just feeling smaller?

I gathered myself together, being careful to find my balance on the crutches before slowly hobbling after Him down the hall. I had used crutches before, especially in high school when I had injured myself after a particularly bad drop during a performance of "Swan Lake." I shook my head to clear away any lingering wants toward dancing again; barely twenty-three and my chances of rising on pointe again had already drifted away on the wind.

The kitchen was just as spacious as the rest of the house, and just as beautifully laid out. Stainless steel fixtures, dark wood cabinets, and smoothly polished stone counter-tops. The sink was framed on both sides by wide windows with filmy white curtains that currently brushed back and forth in the springtime breeze.

Etienne had already placed the dishes into the sink, which was filled to the brim with soapy water that steamed slightly. He held out a soft white dishtowel to me.

"I'll wash, and you can dry, My love."

I leaned against the counter and took the first wet dish He offered me. It became a ritual into which I easily fell: dry the dish and stack it with the others on the counter. The methodical repetition was soothing to me, as it always had been. There was something about the rush of the water, the cool drops that clung to my fingertips, even the clanking of flatware in the sink that made me...

CRASH.

I hadn't been paying attention. I had let my mind drift again. And the plate...it had just slipped...the pieces littered the bottom of the empty side of the sink.

Something inside my head snapped.

NOT! AGAIN!

My body launched backwards, desperation erasing the memory of my injured leg from me as I threw my weight fully onto the damaged limb in an effort to run. My back slammed into the floor as my crutches fell away in two different directions, my head cracking slightly against the island in the center of the room.

The blow to my head made me slightly dizzy, but I was too desperate to notice. I pushed myself backward across the floor, favouring my good leg until my back pressed against the still slightly warm stove. I couldn't go back any further; I had backed myself into a corner. I curled down against the floor, arms over my head, shaking so hard that I thought I might knock my own teeth out of my head. Someone was screaming, a woman's voice that wailed in the most horrifying sound of terror that I had ever heard.

Time wasn't moving at a normal speed. I closed my eyes and waited, waited for the blows to come raining down, for the familiar boot-thuds to make their way down the hall, for the hand to break me again.

They never came. The screaming started to fade, started to feel even further away until it stopped completely. I realized after a moment that my eyes were closed, and that the warmth against my back felt far more human than metallic.

I opened my eyes, slowly, trying to make sense of what had just happened. Two massive hands were wrapped around my body, holding me back against a large masculine form, slow fingers were caressing down my face and a soft humming voice was whispering words that I could not quite decipher at first.

Etienne was holding me. I looked up into His face, slowly. He was crying, something I had only seen Him do once before in my entire life, and His lips were forming the same words over and over again. Finally, I could understand what He was saying.

"I'm sorry. Iz, I'm so, so sorry...baby, I'm so sorry..."

I blinked through the haze that still wrapped itself around my mind. I shook my head.

"No...I dropped the plate...I broke the plate. It just slipped. I...I...."

He pressed a finger over my lips to keep me from continuing my babbling, frantic apologies.

"No. Oh, Isabeau, no. It was a mistake...it was a simple mistake."

His voice broke and He pulled me against His chest, wrapping His arms around me as though He was afraid that I was going to dematerialize and vanish into smoke right there. His chest shook as He drew a sob-laden breath, and I could feel His own brokenness soaking through my clothing and into our bodies, merging us into a moment of the most tragic intimacy I had ever experienced.

I had never been this weak in front of Him before.

It was the most overpowering blend of surrender and almost unbearable shame. I felt tears of my own starting to prick the back of my eyes and I bit hard at my lip until I tasted blood.

"Etienne, it wasn't Your fault. Don't be sorry. It was mine."

He pulled me into Him then, tucking my head beneath His chin as He cradled me against His body, soothing me with the gentlest caresses up and down my arms.

"No. Oh, little one. All of this is My fault. I should have found you sooner, I should have never left you in the first place. I should have never given him the chance to touch you, to break you like this. Oh, My darling girl, what has he done to you? What did I let him do to you?"

I shook my head, so bewildered.

"You? But You didn't do anything wrong...You didn't LET him hurt me, Etienne. It wasn't Your doing at all!"

He looked down into my eyes again; agony and shame were written there in stone.

"I swore to protect you. I swore to care for you. And then I left you...and he caught you instead, and he nearly..."

The words died on His tongue, as though they were far too bitter for Him to bear tasting again.

"I didn't protect you, Iz. What sort of Master does not protect His own? I didn't protect you..."

I don't know how long we were curled there on the floor. His guilt was almost palatable, an essence within itself. I never once, even in the darkest moments of my captivity, had even thought of blaming Him for this. My own self-abuse had been nearly limitless, but to think of blaming Him...to think of putting the fault of this onto His shoulders...

He had been doing it since that moment He had seen me battered and bloody on the floor.

And so we sat there, bodies connected not at the hips and mouths, but at the souls.

I think it was then that I began to heal.

///

The next five days passed slowly for us.

Etienne kept tenderly working with me through the "simple" lessons that we had discussed that first morning together. I say "simple," because for most they would have been the easiest things in the world to accomplish. Looking a Man in the eye or even using His first name would have been second nature to most. But in the days that followed, the amount of times that He had to remind me to simply raise my gaze to His or to stop trying to hide my fears from Him were unbelievable. Not to Etienne, of course; it was though He had expected that these things would be difficult for me at first. But to myself, who had once been so confident in my love for Him and His for me that I would have done nearly anything to make Him smile, it was wrenching to my heart.

We settled into a sort of routine, very much like a husband and wife doing their day-to-day duties. Etienne would cook us breakfast in the morning, followed by us both doing the dishes and cleaning the kitchen together. I learned to love watching Him cook, and I would often sit in the kitchen and just watch Him and talk to Him as He worked.

Afternoons were filled with talking and time spent together. Etienne had always been independently wealthy, and as such, His work was mostly done from home. I would spend a great deal of time in His office at a desk which He gave to me, writing or helping Him file His seemingly endless piles of paperwork.

After dinner each evening, Etienne would slip alone into His office, leaving me some time to myself, to think and to read and to process my thoughts before bed. It was not that He wanted to be away from me; this was time He knew that I needed.

He was coaching me, gently, like a Man breaking in a new filly. In a way, He was gentling me. He learned what little things startled me, knew what would make me flinch or pull away from Him. He started wearing softer shoes around the house, abandoning His boots all-together when we were in the house, and announcing Himself when He walked down a hallway to keep from making me jump when He entered a room.

Even with all of our days together and our nights spent curled together in His bed, Etienne had not touched me in a sexual way since that first morning. Though He always requested that I come to bed naked or at least scantily clad, His hands always remained around my waist or at my shoulders, never straying. His touches were always tender, never demanding, and He had not come to me demanding anything from me. Not once.

My captor -- I could not bring myself to even think his name -- had at first wanted me every day as an outlet for his own personal pleasure. However, after a while, his interest in me had leaned more toward a housemaid and an easy punching bag than as anything more than a "quick, stupid fuck." His words, not my own. He had used my pussy and my mouth for his own pleasure often enough, but other than occasionally plugging my ass or toying with it near the very beginning, he had not shown much interest there, making it easy for me to keep at least one precious thing safe.

I was not left to feel unwanted or unloved, however. He conveyed His love to me through kisses and caresses, and there were hundreds of those lavished upon me. He would often spend hours with arms wrapped around me, my body pressed to His, only kissing me for what felt like beautiful blissful hours at a time. He would whisper His love into my ear until it was the first thing I heard each morning and the last thing I heard upon sleeping.

The collar around my neck was more than a small reminder of my place in His heart, at His side. It was more than a simple neck adornment; it was something priceless, something powerful. Could it be that there was magic woven into the band, some sort of strange soothing balm that coupled with His words and His touch to restore the broken pieces of my soul? For the first time in a very long time, I felt truly and passionately Owned.

He was making me want Him.

Little by little.

And it was working.

///

It had been a full week of these simple days before Etienne approached me sexually again. I had been waiting, almost with the oddest touch of eagerness, for Him to reach out His hand toward me again.

I had become more masterful on my crutches, and had made my way upstairs by myself. After washing my face and attending to my needs in the bathroom, I made my way to our bedroom. I turned on the light, and made my way to the dresser, where I began to undress myself in preparation for bed.

"Iz? Are you up there, love?"

I smiled slightly to myself at the sound of His voice which boomed from the base of the stairs all the way up the hall and to the room where I stood.

"Yes...Etienne, I'm dressing for bed."

The use of His name so easily on my tongue surprised me, and I blushed without thinking. Perhaps it was easier when I was not looking Him in the eye.

I heard His gentle step on the stair, and then again down the hall toward the room. I continued in my undressing, slipping my top up over my head, exposing my uncovered breasts that had become more than accustomed to not wearing a bra.

I moved my hands to my waist to take off my skirt.

"Wait..."

His deep voice was tender but the low hint of Dominance in His voice halted my movements. I turned to see Him standing in the door, leaning slightly against the frame, His eyes fixed on me. I blushed again, feeling the heat causing my ears to twitch.

"Let Me."

He came to me, then, in two long strides. I would have almost said that He stalked to me, the wolfish gleam in His eye causing a burn in my soul; not of fear, but of lingering, flickering want. His hands rested at my waist, holding me entirely at balance as His fingers pulled the skirt down over my hips and let it pool around my ankles.

That was it, then.

I was entirely naked for Him, not in the darkness of a night-cloaked room, but full under the light pouring from the sconces on the wall. No shadows, no darkness.

I closed my eyes and covered myself with my hands, the light almost blinding me with its sudden intensity. Had those little bulbs always made the room so bright?

"Iz...what's wrong, little one? You're trembling..."

Was I? I hadn't even noticed my shaking limbs until He had made mention.

"Can't we turn off the light?" My voice was soft, so soft that I wasn't even sure if He heard me.

His fingers cupped my face and lifted my eyes to His. Without a single word, He kissed me. It was a firm kiss, strong and determined, yet so gentle that I almost melted into a pool at His feet. He pulled away and looked directly into my eyes.

"Why would I want to turn the light off, little one? I couldn't see My girl's beautiful body then."

I opened my mouth to say how that was the very point I was trying to make, and then I stopped. Of course He knew that already.

"I'm not beautiful."

He snarled then. The sound burned low in my soul, and I pressed my lips together.

"You, Isabeau, are beautiful. You are the most beautiful woman I have ever laid eyes on, or will ever look upon again. You are perfect in every single way. And I will not have anyone say anything different about what is Mine. Not even you."

As He was speaking, His hands had been roving down my sides, up over my breasts, down the curve of my hips. His touch was insistent, firm, and strong, covering every inch of my body in His possessive caresses.

His hand met my ass with a firm smack. It stung, but it was not harsh by any means. I moaned.

"Do not speak like that of what is Mine." His hand again connected with my ass, just as strong as before. The sensation that flew up my spine nearly made me tumble to the floor. The electricity of the spank, the fire in His eyes and the passion of His words...all were nearly enough to set my soul alight with a glowing fire that I thought I had long forgotten.

Before the last word had left His mouth, He had lifted me into His arms and carried me in a single stride across the room to the bed. He laid me down there on top of the blankets, resting my head comfortably against the pillows.

He stood beside the bed, shedding His clothing one article at a time. His eyes never left mine for a single instant as He drew down His boxers and freed His cock into the air. I let my eyes drift down His body and linger there.

Oh, how had I forgotten how large He was, how thick He was?

My breath caught in my throat before I could stop myself. He had taken me before, a thousand times before we had been lost from one another. But it had been months since anything but His fingers had penetrated me, and even before that, since anything so large had been inside me.

My captor had thought himself impressive in size, and often made me repeat to him how big he felt and how thick he was. But in truth, he was average in size and did not make very good use of the length he did have.

But Etienne...His cock was thick, and already so hard. Circumcised, ten inches in length and a full three inches in breadth. The very sight took my breath away, as it always had.

I felt my lips parting, almost instinctively. There was something about this sight that had always bewitched me, and my body now wanted what it had always wanted. Without thinking, I reached out my fingers and touched it, lightly, right at the base of the head and down the shaft an inch or two.

He groaned and arched His neck a little; I felt His entire cock jump the second that my fingers brushed against it, and my own body jumped in return. I brushed my fingers over the length again, and again, building in confidence as I arched my body to sit up a bit, letting His cock rest fully against my palm. My eyes were locked into His as I stroked Him, slowly but in a firmly gentle grip.

He was moaning now, softly. Every stroke brought my name to His lips, almost a prayer, as I glided my hand over His hardness, now readily dripping pre-cum.