Page 25 of Violent Cravings

Chapter 14

Ryan

When I walk into the room, I find her looking exactly the way I wanted her. The room is dimly lit, the shutters in front of the windows shut to keep out the afternoon sun. Thick, heavy drapes in red velvet frame each window, matching the color of the walls and the carpet under our feet. Almost everything in here is either red or black, with the occasional golden accent, including the handles on a dresser to my right and the metal frame of the king size bed behind her.

She’s sitting on a black chair, her eyes shielded by the blindfold, wearing an incredibly sexy dress in a ruby tone that goes so well with the interior of the room. I’m once again convinced that she belongs here. She may not be a whore, not a girl delivered to me by the agency, but she belongs here – to me – nevertheless.

She hears me come into the room and flinches when I close the door behind me. Her blinded eyes turn in my direction, anxiety written all over her face and expressed in her jittery body language. Her shoulder are tense, and she’s sitting up straight, her hands resting on the bag in her lap and clawing into the handles as if it was her life line.

No, doll, no one can save you now.

As I approach her slowly and deliberately, my gaze travels down to her feet. She’s wearing heels, just as I told her to. Even though she’s sitting, her legs appear to be endless. I can’t wait to see her standing up in those shoes. She may even match my height in them.

As I come to a halt directly in front of her, I can tell she’s shivering. It’s barely visible, and I know she doesn’t want me to notice it, but the feeble vibrations of her body don’t escape my eyes. Nothing ever does.

She’s been a very good girl so far. She went and bought herself something nice to wear for me, she’s wearing heels, and she has not spoken a word since she was brought here. I watched from afar as my driver and assistant Keith escorted her inside, making sure that she’d find her way without having to take off the blindfold. I always do it this way. I don’t want the girls to know where they are because I don’t want them to return.

I lean forward, deliberately caressing her cheek as I move my hands to the back of her head to remove the blindfold. The hint of a nervous smile plays at the corners of her mouth.

She keeps her eyes closed for a few more moments after I remove the blindfold, leaving enough time for me to cross another item off her checklist. Her make-up is perfect. I told her to tone it down and leave more room for her eye color to breathe, but I still want to see it smeared across her face when I’m done with her. She’ll cry, she’ll scream, and she’ll sweat – and I want all of it to be written across her delicate features.

She finally dares to open her eyes, finding mine within a moment. Her vibrant green is framed with a thin black line, her lashes bathed in black, as well, but she left her eyelids almost bare, only highlighting them with nude colors. Perfect.

“Welcome, doll,” I say, placing my palm on the side of her face.

She leans into my touch. “Hello, master.”

It exhilarates me to know that she’s never addressed anyone else like this. I’m her first, and her one and only master.

So far, my ever apparent rationality reminds me. She may have plenty after you.

I shake it off. The wish to ruin her for every other man is strong within me, but I can’t give in to it. It would ruin me, first and foremost.

I catch her scanning the room behind me.

“Keep looking at me,” I caution her, now holding her chin between two fingers, forcing her gaze to focus on me. She obeys, her eyelashes batting with curious excitement, like a trapped butterfly.

“Never take your eyes off of me,” I tell her. “Unless I tell you otherwise. Do you understand?”

“Yes, master,” she says, nodding.

“Good girl.”

I leave a quick peck on her painted lips. They’re dipped in a deep ruby red, matching her dress.

“Let me see that dress on you,” I say, taking the bag from her lap and stepping back to give her room to get up and model it for me.

She looks a little lost for a moment, mourning the loss of her bag, her life line. Without it, her hands have nothing to hold onto, and they hang idly at the side of her body when she rises from the chair.

My doll is so beautiful, blessed with a beauty that most women would kill for, but she doesn’t carry herself that way. She’s insecure, slouching to make herself smaller than she is, instinctively lowering her eyes for a split second, before she remembers my command just in time and raises them up to look at me again. The dress looks perfect on her, hugging her frame in all the right ways, but she couldn’t look more uncomfortable. Her toes are pointed inward, giving her posture an awkward and infantile stance. She looks unstable and helpless.

“Walk for me,” I tell her, taking a few more steps back to give her more room. “Imagine this is a catwalk; walk toward me and parade that dress for me.”

She looks horrified at the suggestion. Her eyes widen and her mouth grimaces as if she was in pain.

“Do it,” I insist, raising my voice. “I’m not going to tell you again, doll.”

She swallows hard and nods.

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