Page 47 of Blue Velvet

The ache these observations evoke in my chest is new to me, and I hate that it’s even there. It shouldn’t affect me the way it does. After all, can I blame her? She’s not here according to her own free will, she’s not getting paid for this, and she has no idea what I might have planned for her once I’m done with her.

To be honest, neither do I. I’ve become a complete living-in-the-moment idiot ever since I took her. She’s like a fucking meteor, destroying everything in its path. I’m no longer the man I was, a man in control, a man with a plan. I’ve never been one to just wing it, taking each day as it comes. With her, it’s all I have done. She caught my attention without even trying, came along with me, albeit as a result of a confusion that neither of us realized, and been messing with my head ever since.

I shouldn’t let this happen, and the only way I was able to make myself feel safe when I brought her up here for dinner was to tie her ankles together. I’ll admit, I never even considered the possibility of her attacking me with a knife—attacking me period, for that matter—until I saw the look on her face as she held it in her hand.

Clearing the table, I can see the hope fleeting away from her as I move the silverware out of her reach as quickly as possible without making it seem obvious.

Her eyes follow my actions as I carry the plates and silverware over to the kitchen.

“Would you have gone through with it?” I ask, never looking directly at her, as I walk into the other room.

“Gone through with what?”

I load the dishes in the dishwater, leaving her wondering at the meaning of my words for a few moments as she waits alone at the table. She doesn’t move an inch, but her eyes remain glued on me. Posing the question and then leaving her hanging was my strategy for preventing any further contemplation on attempting to escape on her part. If I hadn’t distracted her, she might have started analyzing her restraints, maybe even going as far as testing them or searching around for some kind of object that could be used to help her escape.

“Stabbing me,” I say, closing the dishwasher with such momentum that the abruptness of the sound makes her jump in surprise.

I return to the table, hands in my pockets in a move that radiates patience and calm.

“I saw the way you were looking at that steak knife, toy,” I state evenly. “It was written all over your face. You can’t hide anything from me.”

I pause, enjoying the look of horror on her pretty face. Her hands are clasped in her lap, and she’s the image of sweetness and innocence the way she sits looking at me quietly.

“I’m just wondering, would you actually have gone through with it, if I’d given you the chance?”

“I didn’t plan on doing anything, master,” she says in a low voice.

She flinches in surprise when I dart forward, removing my hands from my pockets and closing them around her throat. My motions force her into a standing position as I pull her toward me.

“Don’t lie to me, toy!”

She reaches up to her throat, trying to loosen my grip, but I know it’s mostly for show. It may be uncomfortable, but she sure as hell is still able to breathe just fine.

“I’mnotlying!” she insists. “I’m not saying that I never considered or the idea hasn’t crossed my mind, but I didn’t plan on doing anything. I’m being honest, master.”

Her eyes flicker as she stares at me, her face contorted in a conflicting grimace of pain and determination.

“Because ithascrossed my mind,” she adds. “How could it not?”

She gasps out when I let go of her. She uses one hand to steady herself with the table since her balance is slightly off-kilter from having her feet bound to the chair. Her other hand reaches up to gently massage the area where I grabbed her throat.

Such a drama queen.

“So youhaveconsidered it,” I confirm. “What an ungrateful little slut you are.”

She glares up at me with fire flaming in her eyes. “Ungrateful?”

“You can’t tell me you’re not enjoying this,” I counter. “You can’t tell me you’re not the one who comes every single day while tensing around my cock, the one who begs me to fuck her, the one who has experienced more orgasms than most will ever have during an entire lifetime just while you’ve been here. All of them orchestrated by me, yourgenerous master!”

The blush on her face tells me there’s truth behind my words.

“You said it yourself,” I remind her. “You’re doing this job because youenjoyit. Because youcravedbeing treated like the little slut you are.”

The look she shoots me is the fiercest one I’ve ever seen on her. Her cheeks are glowing a mad red, and her green eyes sizzle sinisterly. This is one of many moments when I’d love to see her natural hair color. Red. Fiery red.

“But this is nojob,” she hisses. “This isreal. I’m inrealdanger.”

“And you fuckingloveit.”

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