Page 6 of SKIN

My jaw clenched as I slammed the half-eaten fruit on the desk top, bruising what remained of its flesh. If Emily kept up her bullshit, the apple wouldn’t be the only thing to change colors. “Pretty sure my company was requested, Emily. But if you are so set on spending the rest of your days—hours?—in solitude, I’m more than happy to oblige.” I pushed away from the furniture, as if I were planning to leave.

I wasn’t. But she didn’t know that. My every action was conflicting, irrational, left her guessing. So that by the end of this all, she would be begging for my attention. My companionship. My condemnation as much as my praise.

“No! Wait!” she called out, and I paused.

Hook. Line. Sinker. Like taking candy from a spoiled fucking baby.

“What the fuck do you want now, Emily? Eat your goddamn breakfast and then we can try this again—when you aren’t so hellbent on being such a stuck-up cunt.” I tossed the tray on the floor, watching as the bowl of oatmeal toppled over and sprayed most of the contents across the room. “You’ll appreciate what I do for you. What I give you. Or you’ll fucking starve. Now, clean up this mess. I won’t step another foot through that door till you’ve lapped up every last drop.”

I didn’t wait for a response before I pivoted on the heel of my boot, turning my back on her and the remnants of her meal. And stalked out.

7

HER

DAY 1

The only thing worse than the bastard’s presence was the sudden lack of it. Being alone with my thoughts was the most torturous form of punishment.

My childhood had been spent in isolation. Not too far off from this, nearly as cruel. If the son of a bitch knew anything about me, he’d realize that this wouldn’t be the first time I’d been given the ultimatum of licking my meal off the floor. I was a survivor. I did what it took to get where I was in life. Despite my upbringing. Not because of it. And I would do the same here.

He dished out insults like they meant anything to me. Like I hadn’t heard the worst of it long before I even understood the meaning of the colorful vocabulary hurled my way. And he called me princess, as if his wounds were somehow more significant because they were visible.

Fuck that. I’d take damaged flesh over a damaged psyche any day.

There was nothing he could do to my body that hadn’t already been done to me before. Nothing I wouldn’t endure as I plotted my way out of here.

He wanted a pet? I’d give him one. But something told me he didn’t want that at all. No, he was pleased when I fought him. When I talked back and spit in his face. His eyes twinkled and his dick hardened. My submission was never the endgame, whether he realized it or not. What he wanted was a worthy opponent. Because when he did finally break me, that would be the ultimate satisfaction.

What that knowledge didn’t do was help me determine my next move. How to play this or play him.

My initial offer was only meant to buy me time. And it had done that… I guess. Every crime show I ever watched said the first forty-eight hours were the most important, and I’d requested more than double that. But then again, who really knew how long he planned on keeping me here…?

It took eight hours for the hunger pangs to set in and my will to finally break. Eight hours plus how ever long I’d spent in that hospital bed after being knocked out. Which didn’t seem all that significant in the grand scheme of things. But my pride didn’t outweigh my survival instincts. Being weak and half-starved only steeled your spine long enough for death to set in. And I refused to die in this basement. In captivity. Like some forgotten zoo animal.

My dry tongue scraped across the concrete flooring, the granules of dirt, dust, and mummified insects overpowering the flavor of the bland oatmeal. I told myself it was protein. That I’d stomached far less appetizing meals in my lifetime. I’d grown plump and pampered over the years, more so than the bag of bones I’d been in my teens. And a little grime wouldn’t kill me.

But I was starting to realize he just might…

8

HIM

Iwatched her lick the ground and imagined each stroke was lapped against my cock. That she was on her hands and knees in front of me instead of alone in her tiny cell. It was the most disturbingly erotic image. More satisfying than any fantasy I’d conjured up of her over the years.

I pushed to my feet and exited the small security room. Descended the stairs two at a time and stalked towards her door before disengaging the locks and barging inside. She peered up at me from the floor, her eyes alight with fury and disgust despite her attempts at schooling them.

And I realized how much I needed it. Fed off her indignation and disdain. My boots echoed with each step into the cavernous room, the sound robotic and methodical, as I marched towards my target. Tugged her to her feet and bent her over the foot of the hospital bed. She twisted her hips, bucking beneath me, and I stood back a moment to watch the action. The vision before me like a worm on a hook tempting me to take a bite.

Emily wasn’t just a fixation; she was my ruin. In so many more ways than one. And she didn’t even know the power she held over me.

Apparently, neither did I or I never would have kept this shit going…

I reached out a hand and bunched up the fabric of her hospital gown, my fingers lingering between the apex of her thighs just long enough to test the waters. She was drenched for me. Part of her, deep down, enjoyed the degradation. Got off on it as much as I did. She just didn’t want to admit it yet. But she would. Eventually.

The more she fought me, the more we each were turned the fuck on.

Keeping her wrists pinned above her head with one hand, my elbow digging into the arch of her back, I freed my cock with the other. Then I grabbed her ass cheeks as she continued to buck beneath me. And thrusted home. Her tight cunt gripped me in place as I attempted to drive deeper before pulling back and pistoning forward again. With each forceful jerk of my hips, her body gave way to the penetration till it accepted me as readily as my pet would come to accept her fate.

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