Page 40 of Take Me

Still no response.

“Please, just tell me if it’s you,” I beg as tears leak from my eyes. “I can’t take this anymore. Please, just talk to me.”

“Quiet,” Mikhail demands.

But I keep sensing the scent of pine trees—feeling his strong presence hovering above me.

One week with Nikolai has branded the juxtaposition of quiet calm and demanding authority so deep into me that I can conjure the sensation with vivid precision.

My mind knows it isn’t real, but my body can’t feel it. So I keep pressing, tears trickling down my cheeks and wetting the fabric as I jostle in the restraints. “Please,” I beg as panicked urgency builds inside me. “Just one word. I need to know it’s you.”

The dildo stops buzzing inside me, and two strong hands curve around my shoulders, thumbs stroking back and forth along my sensitive skin.

“Nikolai, is that you?” I say, and when I don’t get an answer, the insanity breaks loose.

I scream at the top of my lungs, jerking against the restraints so the leather digs into my skin. If my head wasn’t strapped in so tightly, I’d be banging it against the wood. But not even the choice to hurt myself is mine. So I keep screaming and jerking, hurting my throat and chafing my skin.

Long fingers wrap around my neck, flexing at the sides. Mikhail squeezes, shutting off the blood flow and dulling my senses.

I think the strong hands on my shoulders are still there, trying to calm me. But they can’t be. They’re not calloused enough to belong to Dax or Dorin, and Mikhail’s fingers are on my throat, draining the strength from my body, shutting off my system.

My mind blurs, and I sag in the chair as someone works on the straps.

I’m barely cognizant when someone hoists me up—the hood still over my head—nestling me against a strong chest as he carries me back to my cell, places me on the mattress, and chains me to the wall. Then I’m pulled into a strong chest, being rocked with a gentleness that hurts my hollowed-out mind.

The scent of pine trees keeps pervading my senses, and I cry like a child, for everything I’ve lost, everything I’ve endured, and all the things I won’t regain. The loss of the man, my mind, and my free will.

CHAPTER

11

“Put these on,” Mikhail says one night, throwing a stack of clothes on the mattress. “And these.” A pair of sneakers thud against the floor as he drops them in front of me.

I stare at the items, unable to comprehend what’s going on.

“Let’s go.” He claps his hands, spurring me into action.

I grab the red blouse on top of the pile and push my arms through the sleeves. The fabric feels strange against my skin. Wrong.

“Where am I going?” I ask as I stick my head through the blouse, but Mikhail is on his way out, leaving me with a ton of questions as the door falls shut with a heavy clank.

Anxiety roils in my belly as I proceed to put on panties and jeans, followed by socks and shoes.

Then I wait.

I haven’t seen a clock for ages and have no idea what a minute feels like anymore, but I can almost hear the time ticking, the minutes passing at a dreadfully slow pace.

When the door opens again, I’m fidgeting, pinching the edge of the mattress, twisting my fingers, and tugging at the hem of the blouse.

“What’s going on?” I ask Mikhail.

“It’s your lucky day.” He steps back into the hall, and I know I’m supposed to follow since he leaves the door ajar.

I rush after him, struggling to keep up with his long strides. “Am I going somewhere?” I ask in a thin voice. “Is he here?”

My stomach twists. I’ve somehow gotten so used to the fucked-up depravity of this place, maybe even gotten comfortable with the routines, that the thought of leaving makes me sick with worry.

What if the nextplace is even worse? What if this man who has bought me is a sadistic psychopath wanting to hurt me for the fun of it? What if he locks me up and forgets to feed me? Simply lets me wither away?

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