Page 32 of Blue Velvet

I can’t wrap my head around it. Could it really be true? And if it is, why is he treating me this way? If he’s nothing but a criminal, a kidnapper, a rapist even, why is he not doing whatever he wants to me? Why did he refrain from slapping my face when I reminded him that face hitting was one of my hard limits? Why did he never fuck me?

I’m curled up on my mattress, as I always seem to be, wrapped in the luxurious silk sheets, protecting me against the cold. It’s always chilly in here, another reason why I was grateful for the clothes and the blanket.

It’s the middle of the day, but I can’t see the sun from down here. I can only imagine what it must look like outside because the windows are so small, just above ground-level, and made from frosted glass. Gray is all I’ve seen the past few days, and it only changes from a lighter gray to a darker gray, depending on the time of day and - presumably - the weather.

I straighten up when I hear the lock of the door turn, announcing his arrival. He steps inside then, wearing a dark polo shirt and dark jeans, sexy as fuck. Sometimes I wish he wasn’t this goddamn beautiful, and I wish my body wouldn’t react to him the way it does. My core is trembling with anticipation, and my heart flutters every time he shows up. It has only gotten worse since he fucked me. I want him to do it again, and I feel silly for wishing these things, because there should be more urgent issues on my mind.

Concern for my safety, for example.

“Get up,” he says, approaching me and motioning for me to rise from the mattress.

I hurry to obey, presenting myself in front of him. I’m wearing a gray cotton t-shirt and black shorts, with nothing underneath. I have no make-up, but he was kind enough to provide me with a brush and hair products, so I don’t have to look like a bum. Yet, I feel inferior and underdressed next to him.

“No one is looking for you,” he announces, stepping closer and - to my surprise - wrapping his arms around me to grab my ass.

I sigh, resisting the desire to lean into his touch.

“What do you mean?” I ask, bewildered.

“I called the agency-”

“Youwhat?”

He casts me a warning look, and I bite my lip to stop myself from talking. How the hell does he know about the agency if he claims not to be my client?

“I called them to check on you, little Miss Ruby Red,” he says. “And they said you were with a client right now.”

“Which I am,” I insist, even though I’m still having trouble believing it.

“Which youaren’t,” he corrects me. “But whoever your real client is, he’s clearly not missing you. Yet.”

Our eyes lock. His grip on my ass tightens, and I almost moan when he massages my ass cheeks like this, so demanding, so possessive. I fuckinglovebeing touched like this, and I’ve missed having his hands on my body more than I’m happy to admit.

“Now, you have to tell me something, toy,” he continues. “You said there was a window of time during which you were to be taken.”

I nod, eager to find out where he’s going with this.

“How long did you say that was? Five days?”

“Yes, five days.”

“I had been watching you for three,” he claims. “So that time window must definitely be over by now?”

I nod again. “Yes. It was day four when you... took me.”

He moves his lips as if he’s tasting my words. Something concerns him, and if he really is who he claims to be, then it’s easy to tell what it is. He’s worried that someone might be looking for me, that the client, who apparently didn’t show up in time before I followed him to his car, would now be calling the agency to ask about my whereabouts.

“You reallyaren’thim,” I whisper, my voice shaking. “You really aren’t, are you?”

It’s not a question but a statement. I’m finally giving voice to a thought that’s been creeping up on me again and again over the past few days. I already knew it. I knew since he commented on my hair.

But I couldn’t let myself believe it, not truly.

Now I can. Ihaveto.

He looks at me, and his eyes darken, but it doesn’t stop him from squeezing my ass once again.

“Took you long enough to realize the truth, toy.”

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