His Indecent Revelations (Bound and Shackled to the Billionaire BDSM Erotic Romance) Read Free Page A

trying to let her own life force flow into him – to heal him, to make him whole again. But try as she may, he still does not wake up.
    Her tears spill over her cheeks in a deluge. She sinks to her haunches by his bed, still grasping onto his hand. She doesn’t ever want to let him go.
    I love you, she says silently, kissing his hand.
    She sits for hours this way. And when she falls asleep, she lies on the floor beside his bed so that he would not have to sleep alone.
     
    *
     
    She tends to his wounds with the gauze, cotton and alcohol she finds in the drawers. The little house is rustic in the way of a Middle Eastern peasant abode, with warm brick walls and a traditional kitchen.
    But despite her careful ministrations, he burns up with fever.
    Under the sheets, he wears the bruises and cuts of being severely beaten up. She feels for broken bones, but can detect nothing save a suspiciously mobile rib on the right side of his chest. There is also a suppurating open wound on his left testicle, which fills her with panic. What have they done to him? What have they tried to do to him?
    Oh, she can’t bear to think of what he had been through. Her thorough examination of his body reveals that his anus has been severely compromised. With a deep shudder, she remembers the chair he had been tethered to, and the hole made in its seat.
    She sponges his brow with a cold compress. Over and over, she wrings it dry and soaks it in ice cold water again. But his skin still flushes with the sheen of the unwell. He does not seem to be sweating it off either. And more alarmingly, he does not wake up. He lies there on the bed like a beautiful fallen angel. His features are not at rest and he does not sleep the sleep of the peaceful. The orbs of his eyes beneath his closed eyelids are constantly in flux, dreaming stuff that can only be nightmares from the tortured expression on his face.
    If only she can give him her life!
    Their meals are brought to them every day by a woman in a black burqa. Nothing fancy. Certainly not steak and potatoes but plain rice and broth filled with sour-tasting vegetables.
    Susan says to her, “Please . . . we need a doctor. Can you get us a doctor?”
    The woman blesses herself in the Arabic fashion and shakes her head.
    Susan is left to fret and tear her hair out over Channing. She can’t feed him. She can’t make him drink anything. And meanwhile, he is wasting away before her eyes.
    She goes to the spiked iron gates and screams her lungs out – “Alia! Please, we need a doctor!” – over and over, hoping to rouse someone to their plight. But her cries only echo in the cavernous walls surrounding the house. Is anyone around at all in this section of the citadel? What a strange place this prison is, built almost as an isolated gaol for long-term political prisoners.
    She is certain Alia knows that Channing is very ill. Which means she intends to let him rot without any medical aid . . . and for Susan to watch him die a slow death.
    No!
    Something tells her Channing would not last long unless she does something. For he has been stricken with not only an illness of the body. His spirit is suffering and he has lost the will to fight.
    But what can she do? She is as much a prisoner as he is. She can cut open her arm and let her blood drip into him, but he would be none the better. If only she was more resourceful. If only she had more survival skills. She briefly contemplates overpowering the burqa-clad woman and holding her hostage, but decides that Alia probably would not respond.
    She can almost hear Alia’s bored, uninflected tone. What is that old woman to me? Let her die.
    Besides, that would make her no better than her kidnappers.
    Channing’s eyes are hollowed and sunken. His skin clings to his muscles. He is severely dehydrated. She dribbles water constantly into his mouth – which she prizes forcefully open – and pinches his nose, hoping that he would swallow some of it.
    He needs more than