They had two weeks left. Any lingering fantasy of Rae becoming his lover had long since been smashed by the reality of what he'd taken from her. The damage was already done, so why not enjoy what was left and finish the deed? She'd become a willing, even an eager, pupil, a good little submissive who waited each morning with her chin proudly up, her eyes cast down in respect.

She'd taken everything he'd given her. And yet there was always something held back. Something she kept private and on reserve. She hadn't yet truly submitted to him. She hadn't given him everything she had. Could he wrest that from her in the short time remaining? Did he dare?

What would it take to reach her-to truly reach the core of her submission?

Could he come up with something that would break through the facade of docility and obedience to find the real submissive woman beneath? Something that would challenge her? Something that would find and connect with her deepest-seated fear and longing? Something that would slip past the barriers and break her down?

Then he remembered.

That first time he'd groomed her-her near-panic at the thought of his using a razor on her, the way she still trembled, even now, when he shaved her. She would close her eyes, her lips compressed, her hands clenched into fists when he ran the sharp edge of the razor's blades over her skin. Her fear still radiated like heat, even after all this time.

Sam strode to his desk and slid open the top left drawer, extracting the black-handled pen knife he kept there. He flicked opened the silver blade and ran the edge of it lightly over the pad of his thumb.

"My slave girl," he said aloud, "is terrified at the sight of her own blood."

"What are you?"

"Your slave, Sir."

"What else?"

"Your submissive. Your cunt. Your property." Rae was standing at attention on the sixteenth night, her arms behind her back, hands grasping opposite elbows.

"While you are here, what will you do for me, for your Master?"

"Anything, Sir. Everything."

He had taught her to say these words and she obediently mouthed them, telling herself they meant nothing. Again and again he had drilled her on her responses and she'd learned to parrot them almost without thinking. They were just words, after all. They were just part of the game, a requirement of her enforced stay, nothing to do with her.

Stick and stones...

And yet somehow they slipped more easily off her tongue now, and along with the words came a curious kind of safety, of peace. She belonged to someone. Someone who took her in hand, removing all need for difficult decisions. He made her come like she never had in her life. Forget about faking orgasms-Sam pulled them from her, again and again until she was completely spent. He made her cry with both passion and pain but he was always there afterwards to hold her and soothe away the tears. He fed her, he bathed her, he kept her cocooned in the safety of carefully prescribed punishments and rewards.

Where had the formidable Ms. Rae Johansen, equal to any man in the bedroom or the boardroom, disappeared to? Or, and this thought shocked her the first time it had slipped mutinously into her mind, was that put-together professional woman the facade? Was that the posture she'd adopted to hide from secret submissive impulses she'd never before understood?

Probably she was only adapting-engaging in some sort of self-preservation to keep from going insane. Once she got the hell out of this bizarre prison, she'd resume her persona of strong, confident woman, subservient to no man.

And yet, there was no denying that when she was being whipped or sexually tortured, the constant whirring rush of her mind finally slowed and eased. She was able to focus fully and completely on what was happening to her. Whether this was a good or a bad thing, she wasn't entirely sure.

Sam was wearing his black leather pants and a white linen shirt, opened to reveal the blond curls on his powerful chest. Pretending she was gazing respectfully at the floor, she let her eyes glide over his lower half. There was something oblong and hard in his right hip pocket, but she forgot about it as she focused on the sexy bulge between his legs encased in the soft black leather.

The leather pants usually meant an intense BDSM session with very little sweetness involved. Oddly, instead of frightening her, this realization caused a tug of desire deep in Rae's cunt. Was she actually coming not only to endure, but to crave the pain?

He left Rae, heading toward the cabinet where he kept what he called his toys. He returned with something she recognized and held it out to her. "Put this on." He'd used this on her before and she knew what to do.

Rae took what looked like a string bikini made of thin leather straps. Where the crotch should be, instead there was a butterfly-shaped vibrator that fit between her legs, its center resting neatly on her clit. Sam held up the remote and turned it on the lowest speed, creating a pleasant, tickling hum at Rae's sex. The remote was clipped to a leather string, which Sam slipped over his left wrist, wearing it like a bracelet.

He led Rae to the chains that hung from the ceiling and cuffed her wrists so that her arms were suspended, but not pulled taut, still bent at the elbows. There were two black cotton sashes tied to the chains from the last time he'd suspended her there. He'd used them as gag and blindfold, but this time they were left hanging, which suited Rae, as being gagged and blindfolded had left her feeling vulnerable and nervous about what might come next.

Sam turned the remote a notch higher and Rae shifted slightly, enjoying the sensation of the butterfly, hoping he planned to let her come without too much suffering beforehand.

Sam reached into his pocket and withdrew the object she'd noticed earlier. He held it in front of Rae, slowly opening it. Rae stared, her heart leaping into her throat when she realized what it was.

"You're afraid of knives, aren't you, Rae? Of knives, needles, blood..." Rae fixated on the sharp blade and held her breath. Surely he wouldn't...he couldn't...

He touched the point of the blade to her right breast. Rae screamed and jerked back in her chains.

Sam lowered the knife, holding it at his side. "Direct question, slave."

"Yes," she whispered, her voice having retreated somewhere behind her fear. This wasn't part of the bargain. He had said he wouldn't harm her. Oh god, was he going to kill her?

Reading her mind, he shook his head, reaching with his free hand to stroke her cheek. "Calm down, Rae. I'm not going to harm you, silly girl. You are my prized possession."

He continued to stroke her, drawing his finger down her throat and along her breast. Despite her fear, her body reacted to his touch, her nipples perking, her clit throbbing against the soft rubber butterfly.

Sam was staring at her with a wild spark in his eyes-part passion, part power, part...love?

She had to believe him-he wouldn't harm her. Deep inside she knew she was ultimately safe with Sam. So, what then? Was this another test? There was no way in hell she would pass it.

"You speak the words I've taught you well enough and for the most part you take what I give you, but you continue to hold back the essence of your submission. I want to reach past the walls that keep us from truly connecting. I want to break them down. I want to tap into the pure masochist I think is waiting to be released inside you. It's not only something I want. It's something you need. It's something you've earned."

"No, Sam. Not the knife. I can't..." she pleaded, her voice breaking. She had spoken out of turn, but she couldn't help it. Not the knife, not the knife, not the knife.

He put his fingers to her lips. "Shh. You need to move through the fear. It's the only way to get to the other side of your true nature."

Rae shook her head, her eyes fixated on the bright silver blade as Sam lifted it again. This couldn't be happening. He wouldn't do this to her. She trusted him. He wouldn't hurt her. Not the knife, not the knife, not the knife.

"Here are the rules. I'm going to draw this blade over your skin. Your job is to stay very still. You wouldn't want me to accidentally cut you." He pressed the flat edge of the blade against her left breast. It was cold and hard and Rae shuddered at the touch.

Her heart was beating so loud she wondered if Sam could hear it. He moved the cold metal over her sternum, sliding it across her other breast. "Slow your breathing," he soothed. "You can do this. You will do it. For me. For us..."

Rae was trembling, and not only with fear, she realized, but with a sudden burst of pure rage. The anger she had put aside as she reconciled herself to her situation burst back into her consciousness like a runaway train. Over these past weeks she'd allowed herself to be lulled into some sort of dark dream. To think she'd almost believed herself safe, taken care of, protected, even loved! What a fool she had been. He would never stop. Nothing would satisfy his sadistic need to punish her, his quest to break her down, to terrorize her into submission.

"There is no us," she hissed, her voice dripping with fury.

The words slipped out before Rae even realized she was going to speak. She bit her lip, the rage subsiding back into pure fear as she stared at the pointed blade. She dragged her eyes away from it to gauge Sam's reaction to her outburst.

His face was a study of hurt and anger, his eyes flashing, his lips bunching, his nostrils flaring. As she stared, something overcame his features, like a shade sliding down over a window. The emotion drained away, leaving only a hard glint in his eye.

"Of course, you're right. There is no us." His voice was quiet and controlled, hard as steel. He lifted the knife and touched its point to the hollow of her throat, just below her slave collar.

There is no us.

The words reverberated in Sam's brain like a ricocheting bullet. He was startled at how much they hurt. Had he really fooled himself into thinking what they shared had anything to do with D/s or, even more ridiculously, with love?

Her hatred had shone like a bright flame when she spit out those words.

There is no us.

All at once he understood-her apparently growing submission was only her having learned over the days and weeks to better play the game. The same way she'd fooled him in business, pretending to be his ally and supporter, she had been fooling him now with a pretense of true submission.

What did you expect, Ryker? You've held her against her will in your fucking basement, keeping her naked and marked. Did you think she'd fall in love, you asshole? Was this ever about anything more than power and revenge?

Sam withdrew the knife from Rae's throat, leaving a small red dot behind on her skin. He stared at the knife in his hand, aware he should put it away. He was hurt, and letting that hurt manifest itself as anger. A Dom should never act out of anger with his sub. That was ingrained in his psyche, or it should have been.

But he wasn't her Dom, was he? And she certainly was no sub! He was an idiot to have assigned anything even remotely romantic to her reactions. She'd been acting a part, that was all. She was nothing more than a prisoner who had voluntarily consented to serve her time under his control, at his mercy.

Fine.

Let the prisoner suffer her just desserts.

Sam turned the butterfly remote to high, making it hum between Rae's legs. She drew in a sharp breath at the sudden intensity but there was no way she could escape the forced stimulation.

"Stay still," he reminded her. He lifted the knife again and dragged the point along her right forearm, scratching a thin pink line along her pale skin. She was watching, the fear bright in her eyes. He drew a second line on her other arm.

Carefully he pulled the point of the blade along the tops of her breasts. Rae was whimpering softly, her body trembling, though whether from the vibrator or the knife, Sam couldn't be sure.

He drew the blade down her left side and then her right, pressing slightly harder. Her skin was very sensitive to the knife, reddening quickly as it scraped her. Seized with a sudden idea, Sam began to trace a word on her stomach, just above her shaven mons.

C-U-N-T.

The word appeared in dark pink. She jerked in a sudden spasm just as he was finishing the T and the point slipped. She yelped but continued to convulse and he realized she was orgasming. She hadn't asked permission, naughty girl.

He nearly said something about her breach of protocol, but was distracted by the droplet of blood that appeared on her skin, an impossibly bright, holly red. He reached for the butterfly remote and turned it down to its lowest setting, allowing Rae to ease slowly off the orgasm.

The drop of blood rolled down, leaving a red path on her mons. Rae started to look down, but Sam stopped her with a hand to her throat. "Eyes straight ahead," he ordered, "or I'll blindfold you."

He realized his cock was hard, constrained in the leather and his heart was beating fast. He reached for his fly and pulled out his cock, giving it a few firm strokes. The sight of her blood had released something wild inside him-something powerful and edgy, something he had to explore.

He lifted the knife again and drew its point down her right thigh and then up her left one. He forced her legs farther apart and ran the blade along her inner thigh. "No!" she screamed, jerking away. Again the point slipped at her sudden movement and another droplet of the bright red blood appeared. Sam touched it, painting her soft skin with it, fascinated.

Lust fused with a kind of crazy energy was pulsing at his temples as he stared at the tethered beauty before him. The word cunt was still clearly visible, etched onto her fair skin. She was a cunt-his cunt. She deserved everything he gave her and more. He brought the blade to her skin again, drawing it upward. He slid it along her hip and slipped the point beneath the leather strap holding the vibrator in place. He yanked forward, cutting through the strap.

He did the same thing on the other side, and the butterfly fell to the carpet between Rae's feet. Sam turned it off and slipped the remote from his wrist, letting it fall as he kicked the vibrator away.

The prick on Rae's inner thigh continued to bleed, the blood rolling down her leg in a shiny red path. This time Sam's blade was deliberate as he crouched down and lightly nicked her other inner thigh, needing to see symmetry in a second line of blood.

He was aware Rae was crying, soft whimpering cries, but he could barely hear her over the pounding of his heart, thumping in his ears like a primitive drum. Standing, he stood face to face with his captive. Tears were rolling down her cheeks.

"Please," she begged. "Please stop. Please..."

He knew he should. There was something wild and dangerous coursing through him. He wasn't in control. It was as if some demon had taken over his better nature. His cock throbbed and twitched. He didn't want to hear her cries or see her frightened eyes. But he didn't want to stop either. It was no longer about her or her submission or her walls or any other poetic bullshit he'd made up to justify his own sadistic actions.

It was about his cock and his pleasure and his compulsions. Giving in to their terrible sway, he quickly untied the sashes and secured one over her eyes, knotting it tightly behind her head. He forced the second sash between her teeth and yanked it tight, forcing her tongue back and muting her cries.

Don't do this, the last sane bit of his mind urged, but he snuffed the words, the knife quivering in his hand. He stood back and touched its point to her right nipple. Rae stiffened and stilled, finally controlling her impulse to jerk away.

Sam drew the blade over the distended nubbin and in a circle around the areola, power pulsing like liquid heat through his veins. He drew an S and an L on her right breast and a U and a T on her left, pressing hard enough to cause the blood to bead along the letters. Rae jerked and mewled against her gag, her nostrils flaring.

Without thinking what he was doing, or why, he opened his left hand and drew the blade along the fleshy part of his palm, hard enough to draw blood. He sucked in his breath as the sting registered.

Rae was holding onto the chains in a white-knuckled grip. Sam reached for her right hand, prying her fingers loose. Holding her palm open, he pressed the knife blade into the fleshy pad. Rae gurgled against her gag, her entire body trembling. Sam pressed his bleeding palm to hers, as if they were making some kind of sacred pact, sealed with their mingled blood.

Rae's face was pale, her forehead glistening with sweat. Sam knew he'd gone past the line, way past, but he still felt driven by a kind of compulsion he couldn't control. Dropping the knife, he pulled desperately at his pants, dragging them down his thighs and kicking them away.

Grabbing Rae around the waist, he lifted her into his arms and forced her legs around his hips, angling himself so he could fuck her. Her cunt was still wet from the forced orgasm and he pushed himself inside her, groaning at the hot clamp of her velvet muscles around his cock.

He pushed her down and lifted her up, fucking himself with her body. Lust raged through him like an elixir, giving him the strength and stamina of ten men. He plunged in and out of Rae's tight cunt and within minutes he felt the surging rise of his seed exploding deep in Rae's hot, wet embrace.

He held her to him for several moments as his heart slowed its wild pace and his cock softened inside her. Her head had fallen back, her dark hair streaming behind her, the blood dripping in thin lines down her slender frame.

"Christ," he murmured, the spell broken at last, horror replacing the savage lust of just a moment before. "What have I done? What the fuck have I done?"

Chapter Twelve.

She was so pale, sagging heavily against her wrist cuffs, her head lolling back as if her neck was broken. "Rae? Rae!" Sam stood frozen, for a split second thinking somehow he'd killed her! He sagged with relief when he saw the slow rise and fall of her chest.

Springing into action, he pulled the blindfold from her head and unknotted the gag with trembling fingers. Releasing the cuffs with a jerk at the Velcro, he caught her as she sank down. Gathering her into his arms, he stumbled with the dead weight of her limp body toward the bed. He set her as gently as he could onto the mattress.

Bending over her, he pushed the hair from her eyes. Her forehead was damp and clammy. "Rae," he said softly, his voice catching. "Open your eyes."

To his relief, she stirred slightly and her eyes fluttered opened, but only for a second. Her lids closed, a small sigh issuing from her lips as she turned her head away from him. Her body, legs and arms were marked with thin red lines, some of them bleeding, as if she'd fought her way naked through brambles and prickly bushes. The words he'd carved on her breasts and belly were still visible and shame rose inside him like a corrosive acid.

All the mixed-up anger, hurt and lust that had spurred him past his own boundaries had evaporated, leaving behind only the residue of self-loathing and contrition.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, not sure if she could hear him. "I'm sorry."

He ran his finger lightly along some of the cuts, relieved at least to see none of them were deep-they looked worse than they were because of the blood. Except for her palm, which continued to bleed, soaking now into the white sheets where her hand rested. He was vaguely aware of the cut on his own palm, but he didn't care. Rae was what mattered now. What had always mattered.

Forcing himself to be calm, he moved quickly toward her tiny bathroom, where he ran hot water over a washcloth and squeezed it out. He grabbed the first aid kit he kept beneath the sink and returned to Rae. She still hadn't moved, though he was relieved to note her breathing was deeper and more even now-she might just be sleeping, exhausted from the ordeal he'd put her through.

He would clean her cuts as best he could and let her rest. He would provide what aftercare he could, but nothing, he knew, could ever make this right. He'd taken her too far, too fast, and now they would both pay the price.