Page 51 of Violent Delights

I wrinkle my eyebrows. Why can he never give me a precise answer to my questions? He must know this is all so confusing to me.

Unless this is part of that deal I should know about. The deal he made with the real Ruby Red. Is this another one of those times when he expects me to just understand because it was in the contract I supposedly signed?

“Thank you,” I say, knowing that it’s expected of me.

“I want you to wear something for me right now,” he says, gesturing toward the clothes in my lap. “The casual outfit. I want to see what your ass looks like in those tight jeans.”

I nod and get up to get dressed. It’s weird how quickly one can get accustomed to not wearing clothes. The upscale fabric of the shirt feels weird against my skin when I slip it on, so strange and unfamiliar. The strange sensation is even stronger with the jeans.

I’m surprised to find that everything fits perfectly. Then again, he has studied my body enough over the past few days to get a good idea of what size I might be.

He looks pleased when I present myself to him, the first time I’ve been fully dressed since he took me.

“Very good,” he comments. “Just one thing, though.”

He steps closer and his hands reach up to my throat, unfastening the collar that has been around my neck constantly for the past eleven days. I’m dumbfounded by his action, and equally surprised to find myself somewhat disappointed. It almost makes me feel... naked.

“Are you letting me go?” I ask, my heart heavy with fear. Now that I’m confronted with this possibility, I cannot bear the thought of leaving this house. Of leaving him. How am I supposed to just go back to my old life after all of this? How am I supposed to go on with a life that now seems to have so little to offer?

My thoughts scare me, but I cannot help it. I don’t want to leave. I want to stay here, with him, following our twisted routine. This is my new constant. I don’t know how to go on without him, out there, by myself.

But he’s shaking his head. I’m almost relieved.

“Of course not,” he says, as if it should be obvious to me. “It’s time for a change.”

I don’t know what he’s implying with that comment, but he doesn’t give me time to ask.

“For now, I want you to come with me,” he says. “And have breakfast with me.”

He takes my hand, not leading me by the collar for the first time. We approach the door of my room, the door that leads to the corridor.

“Breakfast?” I ask, bewildered. “You mean… downstairs?”

He lets out a little chuckle as he turns around to face me.

“Yes, downstairs,” he answers, and then he opens the door for me.

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