Page 21 of Savage

“You appear to be feeling better,” Savage says as he picks up an apple slice from the plate. “Good.”

I obediently open my mouth, already knowing what to expect from this. Refusing doesn’t get me anywhere, and there’s no sense in even trying. The apple is crunchy and sweet, just a little bit tart, and I feel like I can really enjoy food for the first time in days. I sit up a little more, watching him.

“You never told me your name,” I say, feeling like the words are coming from nowhere but wanting to know anyway.

Savage takes another apple slice, and this time he dips it in peanut butter. “You know my name. Savage. But you will call me Master or Sir.”

“Your given name. The one your family calls you,” I say, again opening my mouth for him.

He feeds me the apple and rubs my lower lip once I’ve swallowed. “It’s Hunter. You may only use it if calling me Master would put you or me in harm’s way.”

“You’d have to let me out of this room for that to happen,” I say, pulling back a little. “Are you going to let me out now that I’m better?” I don’t really dare hope that he will. I know better. Men like him… He’s not going to let me roam around.

Savage—no, Hunter—lowers his hands and looks at me with a strange expression. “It would be inconvenient if I had to come here every time I wanted you. You’ll be allowed to stay at my side while I’m at home, and if you’re good, you’ll be allowed to sleep in my bed. I will not tolerate disobedience or general unruliness.”

“Yes, sir,” I say, much preferring that to Master. I have no real desire to fight him, though, and I’d rather be on his good side.

Hunter nods in approval and gets more food. “When you’re done eating, I’ll give you the tour.”

That sounds… almost promising. I eat from his fingers, my tongue accidentally licking his skin a few times, until I feel full from the fruit. Hunter brushes my hair aside and stares down at me again.

“Are we… going to do the tour? Sir?” I ask hopefully.

“Don’t rush me.” Hunter’s hand travels from my head down to my jaw, my neck, my shoulders. He gently caresses the skin on my chest, barely even touching my nipples. His fingers tap along my ribs, then go down to my cunt.

I squirm beneath his touch, not knowing if it would count as disobedience to pull away from him. I’m not in the mood to be touched; for all that I feel better, I just don’t like being the sole subject of someone’s attention in a sexual way.

“Spread your legs,” Hunter orders, one finger resting against my clit.

I don’t want to, but I slowly obey, spreading my legs just a little to give him access to my cunt. I nibble on my bottom lip, trying not to protest as he massages my clit.

Unfortunately, he seems to know what he’s doing, and my cunt starts to get wet. I whimper and look away from him, trying to will the pleasure away.

Except when he removes his hand, I let out a gasp, and I don’t think it’s in relief.

“If I give you pleasure, you will take pleasure,” Hunter says sternly. “Don’t fight me.”

“Yes, sir,” I whisper. I squirm, starting to press my legs together until he fixes me with another of those looks. I spread my legs a little more this time, giving him more than enough access even as tears leak from my eyes as confusion races through me.

Hunter strokes the inside of my thigh and gently pats my folds, but he doesn’t go back to my clit. He penetrates me with his finger, only lightly thrusting, before pulling out again. He wipes his finger on my stomach then sits up.

I stare at him in confusion as he unsnaps the cuffs from around my wrists and ankles. Once those are gone, he rubs my skin, as if to soothe the chafed portions.

“Get up,” Hunter says, standing. “Take the tray and follow me.”

I blink, and it takes my mind a moment to catch up with what he’s saying. I nod, though, and carefully get out of bed. I feel surprisingly steady, and it’s nice not to have to cling to him to stay upright. Still, I take my time as I grab the tray, just in case I have any nasty surprises when I try to walk.

I hesitate at the doorway, though. “Can I… Is there something I can wear?” I ask cautiously.

He looks over his shoulder at me, makes a disappointed noise, then heads through the door.

Nibbling on my bottom lip, I consider for only a few more seconds before cautiously following him.

My first thought is that it’s so bright. My little cell had been illuminated only by those few slivers of sunlight and a small table lamp. It’s almost too much for me, and I blink quickly to try to adjust my eyesight as I shift the tray higher to try to cover my breasts.

Hunter either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care about my discomfort, and he keeps walking. I quickly follow, not wanting to be sent back into the room for daring to “disobey” by being a bit slow.

He brings me to the kitchen, which is sparkling clean, with white marble countertops and gleaming white cabinets. The floor is tiled white, too. The only things not in white are the appliances, which are brushed silver.

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