Free Roxy Harte by Sacred Revelations

“I’m sorry.”
    I stroke her cheek and draw my thumb over her pouting lip. “Whatever for?”
    “I’m weak. You were right. Maybe I’m just not tough enough for you.”
    There is honest desolation written across her features. Scooting closer to her, I lift her to pull her halfway into my lap, causing her to gasp.
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    “Long-term bondage is exhausting. Where do you hurt?”
    “Everywhere,” she moans. I have no doubt.
    “I’ll run you a bath; a good soak would be good,” I offer.
    “Not yet. Did you mean what you said when you first brought me here about being honest enough to tell you what I need?”
    “Yes.”
    “Does that include asking you to just hold me?” Her lip dips out farther and I know it is not contrived.
    Quivering, it is an honest pout. A tear slips and slides over her cheek.
    “Do you need me to hold you?”
    “Yes, Lord Fyre.” Her voice breaks, a prelim to the larger sob that wracks her body when I pull her fully into my lap.
    “You were a very good girl caged, Sophia, you were very brave,” I commend her, stroking her head, letting her cry.

Chapter 4
    “Constantly just to herself, mind! This is the quality of true passion.”
    -George Meredith, Sandra Belloni
    Kitten
    I fell asleep in his lap, actually cried myself to sleep, and obviously he let me. Awake, I am still exhausted, and still held in his arms. He sleeps as well. I shift in his arms and he is awake instantly.
    “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.”
    “It’s okay,” he answers, looking down at his watch. “You’ve only been asleep an hour,” he says, shifting his weight to lie me on the bed. “Scoot beneath the blankets.”
    I obey, gladly, every muscle on fire from too long in the cage. Stretching out, I moan, unable to help myself. Lord Fyre stands. “I’ll be right back,” he says before he disappears into the adjoining bathroom.
    He leaves the door ajar and I can hear the sounds he makes, his piss hitting the water in the toilet bowl and then the water running as he washes his hands. I flush, embarrassed that I’ve overheard the intimacy of such a small thing as him using the bathroom. Was it only a few days ago that he caught my piss as I urinated out of desperation? Does it get any more intimate than that?
    He returns with three pills, a glass of water, and a bottle of liniment, Icy Hot. “Ibuprofen,” he explains, having me open my mouth so that he can put the pills directly in. He holds the glass of water to my lips and helps me drink, washing down the pills.
    “That was a very un-sadist thing to do, Lord Fyre.” I say bravely, thankful for the pain reliever.
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    “How do you know I am not thinking of my own comfort?” he asks.
    I frown, not understanding, as he lays me back onto the pillow and takes my right arm between his hands. I had not noticed he had already squeezed a good size measure of Icy Hot onto his palm until he started rubbing the cream into my muscles. Massaging me until the massage and the Icy Hot covers every inch of my arm, his massaging fingers paying particular attention to the places that make me gasp and moan, his fingers pressing harder, finding all the agonizing tender spots.
    “My God, you’re enjoying this,” I hiss between clenched teeth, trying to breathe through the pain he is causing. He spreads the cool cream into the other arm, bringing me to tears because he won’t stop, even when I beg. He doesn’t stop torturing my muscles with the firm pressure of his fingers.
    “Relax,” he commands, spreading more over my sternum, between and around my breasts, over my abdominals and my ribs. I’m embarrassed that he is touching me intimately, but it isn’t sexual. It still feels sensual. When he rubs my stomach, I tense, feeling things happening low in my belly that I am not ready to face