Page 21 of Blue Velvet

“You want your bracelet,” I repeat her demand.

“Yes,” she says emphatically. “It’s my special-”

“Your special item, yes,” I cut her off, turning around on the spot and leaving her alone again as I quickly slip out of the room, closing the door behind me.

I head upstairs, thoughts running wildly through my mind. I find her purse right where I tossed it in my office. Its contents are pretty typical and what one would expect to find in a young woman’s purse: make-up, a small mirror, lipstick, a wallet with only a couple dollar bills, her cell phone, a handful of tissues, and a small jewelry box. I empty the contents onto my desk, scanning one item after another. The bracelet is inside the jewelry box. It’s a simple silver chain with two little black hearts. It doesn’t look like it cost a lot, so I imagine the value is mostly sentimental in nature. I put the bracelet back in the box, and place it inside the pocket of my jeans. Just as I’m about to turn around to head back downstairs, I pause, my eyes glued to the other items still lying on the table. I focus on her wallet.

I reach for it and flip through it. Somehow, this invasion of her privacy feels just as intimate as making her come on my fingers. I don’t know what it is about wallets, but they hold claim to a person’s life. It’s the one thing people almost always carry with them when leaving the house - next to their phone. I’m surprised to find no ID or driver’s license. Instead, all I can find is a small batch of business cards that I assume to be hers. She goes by the name Ruby Red, and printed on the back of the card are the wordsViolent Delights.

My pulse speeds up. Iknowthat agency! I’ve been a client of this agency. I huff and shake my head. The irony is almost appalling. I set out to kidnap a girl because I’ve grown tired of the poor services provided by this agency, and my victim turns out to not only work for them, but she also mistakes me for a client.

“What a fucking joke,” I hiss, throwing the wallet back on the table.

My blood is boiling as I hurry back down the stairs, back to a victim who has no idea that she’s been kidnapped for real, an irresistible, fucking lamb who lured me in like a fucking idiot. No wonder I couldn’t resist her, no wonder she drew my attention from the get-go. She’s my fuckingtype, a high-class prostitute whose job it is to entertain men like me.

I throw the door open with such force that I see her jumping away in fear. She’s grasping the towel that’s wrapped around her body, and she looks up at me through wide eyes. They’re underlined with a conflicting combination of fear and anticipation.

“Here’s your fucking bracelet,” I tell her, thrusting out the jewelry box toward her.

She retreats, her gaze darting between me and the box in my hand.

“Would you just fucking take it,” I hiss at her. “You insisted on having this with you - here it is.”

She casts me a quick angry look as she reaches for the little box in my hand. I watch as she opens it, only looking at it for a second before closing the box again.

“You’re not going to put it on?”

She shakes her head. “It’s fine, I just needed to have it with me.”

I roll my eyes.

She looks at me, and her expression has changed profoundly. Anger and determination have been replaced with wonderment and anticipation. She’s awaiting orders, like the good girl she knows how to be.

No. This doesn’t work for me. Iknowthis look. I’ve seen it many times before, and I grew bored with it a long time ago. I hate that she’s looking at me like that now, like a prostitute looking at her john.

I don’t wantacting, I don’twantan obedient slave, ready to serve. I wanted thereal thing, and I’m still determined to get it.

She doesn’t move as I close in on her, lifting a hand to touch her cheek. My caress is gentle, something she’s not going to experience a lot with me. A faint smile travels across her pretty face. There’s gratitude and hopeful expectation woven into that expression, the combination causing her cheeks to glow and her green eyes to sparkle like emeralds. She won’t be looking at me like that for quite a while, once I’ve said what I’m about to say.

I almost feel sorry to have to do it.

I feel sorry for what I’m about to do to her.

“You said this bracelet is your special item,” I say. “And now that you have it back, will you obey me?”

She nods, her eyebrows knitting for just a second in skepticism.

“I have a little secret, toy,” I continue. “Will you still obey me when I share it with you?”

Worry casts a shadow over her face, but she nods.

I lean forward with the intention of closing any remaining distance between us, just so I can catch her vibrant eyes with mine. But before I know it, our lips meet for a long, overdue kiss. She’s the one initiating it, and even though I should know better, I let it happen. I let myself be seduced by her scent, her soft lips, and those damn eyes.

Her tongue is adventurous, eagerly exploring my mouth as if she’s been waiting forever. I can feel the vibrations of her soft moans when I give in to her. She lifts her arm, ready to wrap it around me and pull me in closer, but I stop her. I grab her by the wrist and force her arm around to her back. She whimpers in protest, but it only spurs me on. She tastes so good, sweet and salty at the same time. I can taste a hint of the spicy potato chips I gave her to eat on her lips.

Her kiss also is a clear reminder that she’s a professional. She yearns after me, following her own lust just as much as she remembers to squirm under my touch, pressing her round tits against my hard chest. She’s putting everything into this kiss—her mind, her body, her seductive strength. It’s almost impossible to resist.

Almost.

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