Falling Apart Read online

  Falling Apart

  by

  Taylor Ryan

  Text Copyright@ 2015 Taylor Ryan

  (Craftingmom/Oh2Bwriting)

  All Rights Reserved

  Cover photo copyright

  Wavebreak Media Ltd.

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39—Epilogue

  About the Author

  Other Works

  Chapter 1

  "How much more can you take, I wonder, amistrato?"

  Hopefully enough, I thought, as I prayed for oblivion.

  More time passed between each strike now. His voice was calmer as well. His fury had abated, thankfully; now he was admiring his work—the way the cane left bloody welts criss-crossing my skin.

  Remembering his rage as the cane rained blows across my body left me ready to collapse from the stance I'd managed to hold for so long. Something had happened today; something his steward Richard had told him had brought my master storming into the room earlier.

  And I'd known at that moment I was going to hurt tonight. I always did when he was like this.

  "Fazito enferni!" he had screamed as he had whipped the cane across my shoulders. The Tenjeyno curse was not new to me. Master often slipped into that language nobles and their ilk all seemed to know from across the seas from our own country of Labreydan. I didn't know much, but that curse—something like fucking hell—was as familiar to me as his derisive pet name.

  "That viperous ratsbane who Sterling caught better never let me get a hold of him. I'll strip him bare for turning on me like that!"

  I perversely wished whoever the 'viperous ratsbane' was would get caught by my master. I didn't understand why I had to suffer for other people's mistakes like this.

  "He better hope Richard gets a hold of him first. Or Lee," Master had growled, still talking to himself as he had laid out another blow.

  I'd kept my lips pressed together tightly, drawing on every ounce of control and discipline I'd ever been taught—to not break as he vented out his frustration.

  The more pain I was in, the more he enjoyed himself, the more it alleviated his own irritation. Closing my eyes as I awaited the fall of the cane, the anticipation of wondering where it would fall was just as much agony as the actual hit sometimes. I clenched my hands tighter on the back of my head, trying to keep my body from tensing as I stood at attention.

  Pain lanced across my lower back, and my teeth bit down on my bottom lip to keep from reacting. I could taste the blood in my mouth as I fought to maintain silence. Control. Discipline. Be strong. Be good.

  If I could just hold out, it would be over soon; I was sure of it. He would release me, allow me to quickly pleasure him, and I could go back to my corner of the room. Maybe he'd even let me wash and use the wonderful salve he offered when I'd been really good.

  It had seemed to take forever for his ire to wane this time. Master's breathing had been harsh and ragged as he lashed out his rage. It had been so long since he'd been this angry, and I wondered if he truly expected me to stay in control under the onslaught.

  I rarely ever broke now. Maybe I did at the beginning, and I had the scars to remind me of my disobedience; however, I usually managed to remain numb now, holding position, suffering in silence. But tonight was different. It had been a while since he'd been this brutal.

  I tried not to tense at the whooshing sound that would precede the explosion of pain, not knowing exactly where it would land, but it never worked. I could only tighten my hands on the back of my head, stretching back my elbows in an effort to maintain my training. I tried to focus on my breathing and not the fire blooming across my back.

  A hand slid down my spine, almost reverently, now that he was slowly getting back in control. The garlic and onion that had flavored his dinner assaulted my senses as he leaned close to my cheek. "So pretty, so good for me, my pet."

  Another voice echoed in my head, a voice from seven years ago. A voice I hadn't heard since, but thought of daily. I prayed every day he wasn't suffering like I did. 'Be good, be strong.'

  His voice whispered in my ear as he held me tight against him as I cried. The night before he left. "Mama and papa will need you now, more than ever."

  No they didn't. They needed him. They'd tried to send me away. But no one wanted me. Everyone wanted him. I wanted him. I needed him. Because he was the only one who ever cared about me. Papa didn't, and mama always seemed...lost.

  "You know this is for the best. I can earn good money to support papa, the family. I need you to help mama and papa as much as you can while I'm gone. I'll be back when the contract is over. I promise. Be strong, be good."

  And I tried, for him. Even though he'd never come back. Or maybe he had, and I had already been sent away under my own contract. Helping mama and papa the only way I could now.

  Here, with my master.

  ****

  He paced around me, his torso bare and covered in a sheen of sweat. I kept my eyes lowered to his hairy chest and plump stomach. He was heavyset but maintained a bit of muscle as well. Certainly more than me.

  I wished my master had tied me to the bed or bound me in some way; it made it easier not to react. I felt safer when he restrained me. I knew what was expected. I didn't have to think about whether or not I was allowed to move—because I couldn't. I just had to stay silent.

  Tonight was not one of those nights.

  I'd been standing in the same position—feet shoulder width apart, back straight, hands linked behind my head, elbows back, naked—for over an hour, waiting for each fall of the cane as my master paced behind me angrily. Striking relentlessly at first. Now, the bruising hits were more sporadic, intermixed with a hand soothing over my back...my hips...my buttocks...

  And I hadn't broken. Not yet.

  I felt like I could do it now. I was sure he'd be done any moment. I'd lasted this long, through the worse of his fury, I should be able to make it, right? If I could stay quiet. If I didn't break. He'd see how good I was. And I desperately wanted to be good.

  The next strike landed across the bottom of my buttocks, stinging the sensitive skin, and I choked back a cry.

  "What was that, pet? Did I hear something?" the deep voice crooned next to my ear.

  I felt my naked body tremble as cold fear washed over me. Fucking hell. It sounded like he was
looking for me to fall apart now, just so he could punish me more. "No, master," I managed to croak out.

  "Hmm, we'll see," he muttered, his breath hot against my damp shoulder.

  I couldn't let him see my fear.

  It would only make it worse. And believe me, it could be worse. I broke more times than I could count. You'd think after five years, I would have learned better discipline.

  Sometimes, I was able to let go, drift away, dream of a place where I didn't hurt anymore. It was easier when I was bound; I didn't have to concentrate as hard. But master hated when I escaped into my head like that. He wanted me there, in the moment with him. And I wanted to be anywhere else.

  I felt his hand slide down my back, slick with sweat and probably blood as well. I hissed at the sting of his fingers scraping against my raw skin. Was he done with the cane?

  A moment later, his finger slipped into my crease, jabbing into me without warning. A strangled cry escaped my parched throat as I instinctively arched away from the invasion.

  Fuck! My chin dropped slightly as I snapped back into position, praying master wouldn't punish me more. I'd broken my position, my control.

  Fingers snaked through my hair, yanking my head back. "So close, my pretty little Kye, so close."

  I sucked in a sharp breath, knowing what was coming next. I wanted to beg, but that would be even worse. I'd broken, now I had to face the consequences.

  He propelled me forward until my thighs hit the bed. My heart raced in panicked beats as he shoved my chest down on the mattress. I knew better than to move my hands and managed to keep them clasped behind my head as my face buried in the thick blankets. His fingers traced down my ribs to my jutting hipbones before he yanked them back. In the next instant, my training, my discipline failed me completely when he stabbed into me, and I screamed.

  "Control!" he snapped angrily, his hand squeezed against the back of my neck.

  I gasped in air as it came in short pants, my airway constricted by his strong fingers wrapped around my neck and my face being smothered in the mattress. As he drew his hips back, I felt the burn inside me, scraping me raw. He drove back in, tearing me open, and I felt a slickness I knew wasn't the oil he used when I'd been good.

  "Please!" I cried out, even though I knew I shouldn't. Begging was bad. Begging brought more—

  Fuck! Stars exploded in my vision as he pierced me again, and I tried to drag in air through my pained cries. One hand held me still by my throat, the other scraped down the lacerations scoring my back.

  Why the fuck couldn't I stay quiet?

  Why couldn't I keep control? Obey the rules?

  His own breath started to sound irregular. "Your control is worthless, pet."

  I already knew that. I'd never been perfect, even before I became his personal thrall. Probably why my father had tried to send me off while wanting to keep my older brother with him. I'd been the worthless one, the one he could throw away.

  "You should be better than this by now." His voice was distant, fading, but the pain spiked up my back as his thrusts grew erratic.

  At that moment, I prayed. Maybe it was time. Maybe he'd finally lose control—not that he'd been in much control earlier as he'd flayed my back. I could hardly draw any air now. Maybe...if I was lucky...

  His heavy weight was bearing down on my emaciated frame as he sought his release, squeezing my lungs, his hand biting the back of my neck, crushing the top of my spine.

  I prayed as I let the air escape my lungs. I prayed he wouldn't notice I couldn't draw more air in. I prayed he didn't know how hard he was pushing on my neck. I prayed for oblivion. It was one thing I could control.

  I prayed...

  Chapter 2

  I shifted just enough to know I didn't want to move when my back cramped in agony. I focused on breathing through the pain, controlling my reactions. I'd had enough practice, it should be second nature now.

  Master would be upset if my cries woke him.

  The hardness beneath my side told me my master had moved me to my bench in the alcove of his room. I don't remember him moving me, but the ache at my neck reminded me of why. At least he hadn't just left me to collapse in a heap on the floor next to the bed. He had even thrown a thin blanket over my lower body. I managed to shift to my stomach, burying my face in my blankets, fisting them as another burn raced up my spine.

  I slowly rolled my head, peeking through my honey strands as I squinted at the sun barely pulling itself over the horizon. I could still hear Master's snores from across the room. I pulled my arms under me, holding them close to my chest—my only way of comforting myself for the last eight years.

  I closed my eyes again, trying to ignore the pain by escaping into my mind—picturing my brother's broad grin, hearing his laughter in my mind, imagining his arms wrapped around me in the cot we had to share. He'd huddle against my back, telling me stories as I fell asleep, promising to protect me always. Then he'd whisper that he loved me just before I drifted off. I don't remember father ever saying it; mama only a few times more, but my brother...he said it every night, so I'd know someone loved me, cared for me. I'd grown up for ten years with those arms engulfing me, keeping me safe, warm.

  I missed him.

  I hugged my arms tighter to my chest, not wanting to move, hoping to drift back into oblivion away from the pain.

  ***

  The sun was higher in the sky when I pried my eyes open again. The warmth from the sun streaming through the windows heated my back. I knew from experience, I needed to move. I was just putting off the inevitable. I rolled, whimpered, and pressed my head to the dark mahogany window seat to fight the wave of searing pain spiking through my body.

  "Ahh, pet, you're awake," Master's voice drifted across the room. I prayed he didn't expect me to jump up and ready myself for a day at his side. He had to know I couldn't pretend to be his amorato today.

  "Yes, Master," my voice was barely a whisper, hoarse and raw.

  "Hmm." Oh hell, he was behind me now, probably expecting more movement from me, but there was no way I could jump up into position right now.

  I jerked when a hand ghosted over my lacerated back. "I might have been a little harsh last night, pet."

  Might?

  "Can you move?"

  I hoped he actually wanted the truth because I rolled my head to shake it. "Not yet, sir."

  "Mirde." I heard him curse, stalking away, and I released a breath. Thank the Gods. Maybe he would leave me alone today to deal with my pain.

  "Samuel!" I heard Master shout, presumably to the servant out in the hall. "Send a small tray up for Kye. He's not feeling well today, so he won't be joining me for breakfast."

  Food. I realized that the normal hunger pangs I felt were absent, hidden in the depths of my mutilated back.

  There must have been a response, but I didn't hear it. I was just relieved master didn't expect me to put on my amorato mask today. Amorato, amorato, my mind chanted, playing with the term in my head, and the perverse twist it had become for me: amistrato he liked to call me in private sometimes—his trained pet.

  I'd known about amoratos before meeting the marquis; hell, I'd even seen some when I'd gone to town with my father. I'd been fascinated by the duke doting on the young man he'd held close, and the kiss between the marchioness and her beautiful amorata. They had appeared so blissful. The same-sex lovers of aristocrats were adored and cherished, flaunted even. Keeping an amorato showed the noble was keeping themselves 'pure' for their future husband or wife.

  Not that my master was interested in finding a wife. He had wanted the attention and status of having a lover, but he'd wanted more than a true amorato could give him—something no legitimate lover would ever give—their pain. He wasn't interested in love. Control, lust—yes. Love—no. So he'd acquired me. Paid a contracted fee to my parents for my 'services in his household'—only he hadn't detailed what those 'services' would be until we'd arrived here.

  I prayed my parents hadn't kn
own before, and I prayed they still didn't. The marquis was very strict about who knew his true predilections and my real purpose. Not even his staff knew. As far as I knew, only Richard, my master's steward, knew what I was to him—his pet to control, to torture.

  Outside of this room, I'd learned quickly to play my part as the devoted amorato, and my master lavished his attentions on me when in the presence of others. But I only ever left the room with Master; I wasn't allowed to wander the estate. Most likely because I'd tried to run in the beginning—and paid for it later. So I spent most of my time, here, on this window seat watching everyone else enjoy the sun, or by my master's side in his study—usually on my knees at his feet if no one else was there.

  So I was glad he wasn't going to expect me to accompany him today. I was quite certain keeping an affected smile plastered on my face would be torture in and of itself, let alone not grimacing every time I moved. Today would be one day I'd relish not leaving the master's room.

  I heard Master disappear into the washroom, running water into the tub. Maybe if I laid here quietly long enough, he'd leave me alone and I could eventually work on moving. I stared at the bright blue sky, focusing on my breathing, testing my muscles with tiny movements.

  When the blanket covering me was yanked away, I jerked, immediately regretting it. But I didn't have time to adjust before Master snatched me up roughly in his arms and carried me toward the bath. I couldn't help the cry that escaped my lips at the sudden scorching pain, but at least Master gave me no more than a severe frown for it.

  He dumped me in the tub, and I hissed sharply as the hot water hit my wounds. I heard master dump the soap and wash cloth in the tub with a splash.

  "Soak for a bit, then get cleaned up."

  Biting my bottom lip to keep silent, I could only nod, afraid if I spoke it would come out as a scream.

  A knock at the door kept Master from chastising me about not verbally responding to him.

  "Yes?"

  "The tray you requested, sir," came the muffled response.

  "You may open the door and put it on the table beside the door."