Page 14 of Blue Velvet

I do as I’m told, grimacing as the warm water caresses a sore spot on my back. As soon as I’m facing him, he reaches forward, cupping my boobs and gently kneading them. It feels good, so good that another faint moan escapes my lips.

“Do you not understand what’s going on here?” he asks.

I look at him, my mind already dazed by the warm water mist and his sensual touch. He narrows his eyes, looking displeased.

“You don’t, do you?”

I shake my head. “You kidnapped me. I’m yours now.”

He huffs. “And youacceptthat? Just like that?”

I don’t know what he’s trying to do. Is he trying to get me to act more scared? Why is this so hard? I thought things would pretty much just develop naturally. I thought he’d be louder, more aggressive. I thought he’d hit me, scare the shit out of me, so it’d be easy to be afraid.

But he’s so... calm. Calm and creepy seems to be his thing. And he wants me to fear this side of him just as much as the violent brute I’m sure he can be.

“Do I have a choice?” I ask, locking onto his gaze. “Would it help if I screamed? If I tried to hurt you? If I kicked you? Anything?”

He holds my gaze, his black eyes hiding whatever turmoil might be brewing inside of him. Maybe he’s doing this for the first time? It could be. He’s so young, so handsome. Why would a man like him even need to buy women?

Because he’s twisted, I have to remind myself. He’s not normal. He doesn’t fuck like a normal guy. For him, I’m merely an object, a toy to be played with, a possession, something to use until the time set out in our contract is over. Thirty-nine days, it said. Thirty-nine days and I’ll be paid an amount of money that is too big to grasp.

An amount that will allow me to stop doing this job forever. If that’s what I want.

“It wouldn’t, would it?” I add. “If I tried to fight you, it would only make things worse - for you and for me.”

The expression on his face barely changes. He’s impossible to read, which doesn’t make this any easier.

“You’re right, it wouldn’t help,” he says. “But you seem oddly accepting of all of this.”

Because you’re paying me to fucking be here.

I thought neither of us was allowed to address any of this? Why is he saying these things?

“What do you want me to do?” I repeat my earlier question. “Tell me and I’ll do it.”

He huffs again, and I yelp when he closes two fingers around each of my nipples and squeezes them, hard. The pain leaves a throbbing aftermath when he removes his hands.

“I’d be careful with those words, toy,” he says. “I will ask a lot of you in the time to come.”

He reaches for the washcloth and continues to let in travel across my skin. I hold still and let him proceed, obediently moving and positioning myself as he pleases. He’s thorough, and so gentle. He even shampoos my hair and takes a little extra time to clean my face, making sure that none of the carefully applied make-up from last night is left on my skin. It irritates me that I took this much effort, only to have him remove it all, my clothes and my make-up, without ever truly appreciating it.

When he’s done, he tells me to stand up and get out of the tub, where he greets me with a big, plush towel. But before he wraps it around me, he drinks in the view of my naked, wet body. He’s hard, I can tell by the unmistakable bulge at his crotch. Judging from what I can see beneath the thick fabric of his jeans, he must be huge.

It may be instinct, it may be occupational habit, but when I’m close enough, facing him as he wraps the towel around my shoulders, I reach forward, gently caressing his impressive bulge. I bet he wouldn’t say no to a blow-job; they never do.

But he confuses me yet again. Instead of moaning and leaning into my touch, he jerks back and slaps my hand away.

“Slut!” he hisses at me. “Have I given you permission to touch me?”

I look up at him, the same confusion painted across my face that has become a constant companion since I got here.

“No, but I thought-”

“You don’t get to decide!” he interrupts. “You don’t get to decide or control anything.Do you fucking understand?”

This is the first time that he’s raised his voice to me. My heart is fluttering.

“Do you understand?” he repeats, his dark eyes on fire.

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