Free A Bedtime Story by L.C. Moon

you, Miss Spencer, Master Kayne would like you to
     meet him in the living room.”
    Laura’s heart skipped a beat, then pounded frantically in her
     chest. She had hoped against hope the incident would be forgotten.
    “Oh? Did he say why?”
    “No, he simply asked me to fetch you. He’s waiting for you.”
    “Like now?… NOW now?” Her tone raised a few octaves, as
     panic slowly crept throughout her entire being.
    “Yes, Miss Spencer.”
    “Okay…”
    Laura obediently followed Olga into the living room to find Kayne
     sitting on the couch she had fallen asleep on, his legs open wide, and his head
     thrown back. He was smoking a cigarette. His expression was impervious as he
     motioned for her to sit down, his hand pointing somewhere between the available
     space on the couch and the adjacent La-Z-Boy. She chose the La-Z-Boy. He didn’t
     speak to her right away as she sat nervously at the edge of her seat, playing with a
     loose strand in her jeans. He took his time, slowly inhaling and exhaling his last
     few puffs, before putting out his cigarette. Only then did he venture to speak to
     her.
    “Can I get you anything to drink?”
    She cleared her throat. Her mouth was dry from her faltering
     nerves. “A glass of water?”
    He nodded, getting up to get it for her, and grabbed himself a
     beer.
    He sighed, his expression grave. He didn’t beat
     around the bush. “Laura, I have to ask you something.”
    “Okay…” She had initially feared he changed his mind regarding the
     consequences to last night’s incident, but now she understood; it was about Peter.
     For how much longer did she hope to dodge further interrogation?
    “Were you ever abused?”
    “ What? ” Of all directions this conversation could have
     taken, she did not expect this.
    “Answer me.” His voice was quiet, his muscles tense.
    “I don’t understand… like… sexually ?” She hated having to
     say the word, any word containing those three letters, in front of him. “Have
     you?”
    “No!” Her answer was unequivocal.
    He closed his eyes as relief washed over him. He hadn’t realized
     his hands were in fists so tight the blood had drained from them and wondered what
     made him feel so strongly about the issue. Granted, sex victims weren’t ideal lovers
     considering his peculiar taste, too many triggers . He had neither the
     patience nor the mildest inclination to even hope to make it work if that had been
     the case. But it was more than that. Sheer rage blinded him at the thought of her
     being abused. The emotion was too strong to be explained away by his hope for sexual
     compatibility. Had she said yes, had she given a name, that name would have been
     carved on a tombstone not long after. He was surprised at how fast he had already
     claimed her as his. He was the possessive type, had never shared his whores with
     other men. However, even more than bare possessiveness, he recognized a strange
     feeling, one he hadn’t often felt: protectiveness. This girl had strange effects on
     him indeed. He pressed on.
    “Were you ever abused any other way?”
    “What do you mean?” she stuttered, utterly confused with his line
     of questioning. She couldn’t understand his reasons for asking such questions. Did
     he intend to sexually abuse her himself?
    “Mistreated… Physically? Emotionally? Perhaps…
     locked in a cage ?” He put emphasis on the last word. As expected, her face
     instantly paled.
    “Yes.” Her lips thinned, her face down, she breathed the word.
    “Your father?” he guessed.
    Her eyes shot up, round with surprise.
    It wasn’t such a difficult assumption to make from what she had
     told him. “Did he ever lay his hands on you?”
    “Why are you asking me all this?” she asked, distraught, her voice
     barely above a whisper.
    “Answer my question, Laura,” he warned.
    “I just don’t understand—”
    “I didn’t ask you to understand,” he interrupted her sharply.
    She was beginning