Page 3 of Reclaimed

In one swift motion, he rises from his seat, his hand never leaving my neck as he forces me forward and pins me against the desk. His mug crashes to the floor, the contents of his pen holder spilling across the desk as he folds over me. "You are nothing without me," he snarls, his hot breath skating across my cheek. "You aren't Grace, you are property. My property, and the only reason you have for breathing each day is to serve me."

“Yes, sir,” I squeak, wincing as he sinks more of his weight onto me.

"And I decide when you no longer have a reason," he continues, his grip tightening to restrict my oxygen. His own breath quickens, his erection grinding against my ass cheeks. "So, if you value your pathetic little life, you'll stay still and serve me. Understand, A311?"

Even though he’s choking me too much to speak and my face is pressed against the desk, I give a slight nod that seems to be answer enough. He releases his hold and I inhale sharply, but the relief I feel as air fills my lungs is immediately snuffed out by the sound of his zipper lowering.

Commander Martin yanks down my shorts and panties, and I yelp as the palm of his hand strikes my bare skin. He positions himself behind me, my stomach knotting and body tensing as the head of his cock nudges against my back hole.

"Let's see how easily you forget your duties when I'm through with you," he growls.

Searing pain ripples through me as he forces his cock into my ass, the tight ring of muscle straining to stretch around him. I blink back tears, frantically searching for something to focus on; for somewhere else my mind can go. My gaze catches on the glint of a silver letter opener lying on the desk amongst the scattered pens, and I stare at it until my vision blurs out of focus.

"So tight," he grits out as he slowly inches further inside.

My nostrils flare, my molars gnashing together as my vision sharpens, eyes tracing the intricate details carved into the letter opener’s handle. I follow the etched pattern over and over, committing it to memory.

Swirl in. Swish up. Flourish out, swoop down. Swirl, swirl, straight up, monogram M.

The shrill chime of the doorbell makes me flinch, Commander Martin groaning as he jerks back and pulls out of me just as roughly as he entered.

"Go get that," he grumbles. "And if it takes longer than I think it should, I'll test the limits of your cuff’s compliance functions."

Panic seizes in my chest at the promise in his words. Pushing up from the desk, my fingers tug at the waistband of my shorts as I stumble out of his office, the dull ache in my ass throbbing with each wobbly step as I rush down the hall.

A rapid burst of knocks reverberates around me when I step into the foyer. A wave of apprehension ripples through me, my Guardian’s lingering threat ticking down seconds on an invisible timer as my fingers fumble to undo the locks.

I ease the door open to find two men crowding the front entrance, their hands settled on their holsters. A broad-shouldered redhead looms behind an older man with tightly cropped silver hair, both of them expressionless and clad in navy camo.

Registry Enforcers.

"Identify yourself," the older one barks.

"Asset A311," I rush out.

"Confirmed, Lieutenant Stewart," the redhead states, shifting to hold a tablet out in front of him.

With a curt nod, his focus swings back to me. "Is your Guardian home?"

"Of course." I hook a thumb over my shoulder. "Let me just get him."

"Take us to him now," Lieutenant Stewart orders, his palm slapping against the door as he pushes inside.

"O-oh, okay," I reply, my voice faltering as I pivot on a heel.

Commander Martin is The Registry's treasurer, but it's rare for him to do much business outside the walls of The Vanguard. A last-minute meeting would explain his recent mood, but surely he'd have had me prepare the den instead of fetching coffee if he was expecting guests. That feeling of unease returns, goosebumps prickling across my skin as we move down the hall.

And if the Enforcers were invited, would they have had to ask if he was home?

"Commander!" I call out, an involuntary sense of loyalty weaving through me as I quicken my pace.

The Enforcers follow suit, the menacing sound of their boots thudding behind me.

"Commander Martin!" I call again, darting into his office.

"What!" he barks, shooting to his feet and reaching out to snatch me by the arm.

"Isaiah Martin," Lieutenant Stewart shouts, drawing his gun as he enters. "You have been deemed an Enemy of The Registry."