Page 41 of Captive Souls

The cabin had a washing machine and a clothing line I had planned on using since I was down to one last pair of clean underwear—though I could’ve sworn I should’ve had two. But I’d packed under duress, so it’s not like I was a reliable narrator when it came to cataloguing my underthings.

I could’ve put my dirty clothes and underwear on, but I already felt dirty enough, even after my shower. I’d been unable to instill it with any magic.

I wanted my clean clothes, and the towel I wrapped around my naked body covered me more than some of the dresses I’d worn before. And if I was honest with myself, some naughty, devious part of me liked the idea of walking out there in a towel. Testing Knox, coaxing that intensity out of him. And out of me.

My hatred of him and his cruelty weren’t enough to make me stop wanting him. He was playing games, wasn’t he? In order to break me. He was starving me when food was within reach. His very presence was a game.

And he was starving too. Starving for me. I’d seen it in his small lapses in control. And I got an inkling that he wasn’t the kind of man to feel a hunger like this. That whatever was between us was novel to him too.

Turnabout was fair play.

So taking a deep breath while giving myself a mental pep talk, I walked out of the bathroom with the towel wrapped around me.

The towel itself wasn’t a thick, large bath sheet like I was used to. The one indulgence in my life was expensive linens and towels.

This was a cheap towel, barely large enough to cover my torso and butt. But it did. Barely. It helped that the butt in question had shrunk somewhat during the past week.

Regardless, I was still exposing a lot of skin, and it was the suggestion that I was entirely naked under the thin piece of fabric that I hoped would serve to do something to the man made of stone and darkness.

Walking through the main room of the cabin, I didn’t look at him. I made it my mission to walk slowly, confidently, as if doingthis wasn’t making my stomach pitch and my skin prickle with nerves and excitement.

My romantic life had always been very vanilla, very civilized, no games, no hard to get, no fuckboys. I specifically chose men who called when they said they would, had manners and didn’t play games with me. Who wouldn’t threaten or stalk me when I broke things off. Although it was increasingly hard to pinpoint which man would do that. Up until that point, I’d been lucky with the men I chose.

Safe.

Boring.

That’s what I thought my kink was. I’d lived my formative years under the whims of an unstable and violent man, never knowing if he was going to hug me or hurt me.

The uncertainty and the constant state of fight-or-flight was what I was healing by going for the safe men.

Or so I’d thought.

I’d deprived myself, starved certain parts of myself that I kept hidden. Because despite all the wrought emotions around my current situation, the core part of me was … excited as I walked through the room with my captor, naked and wet.

Though I hadn’t peeked in his direction, I swore he was looking at me. I could feel the weight of his gaze and the physical brunt of it even though I’d never truly ‘felt’ someone looking at me.

Maybe I wouldn’t be able to feel a regular person gazing at me, but when that person was Knox, it was as if I could feel his very thoughts about me.

It took everything I had not to peer in the direction of the kitchen, where all sounds of cooking had ceased.

Instead, I went to my bag, bending at the hip instead of crouching down to get my clothes and underwear.

That hadn’t been in the previous plan. Yes, I’d wanted to tease him. I’d wanted to establish some kind of sexual, feminine power, but I hadn’t intended on flashingthatsexual, feminine power.

But it was what my body commanded. The dark, lustful voice inside of me that had been silenced without my even knowing it.

And without self-consciousness or doubt, I just did it.

Bared my naked pussy to him.

I didn’t imagine the swift intake of breath I heard from across the room.

He had been watching me.

My hunch was proved by the sound of his gasp. The sound of him losing control, the tightly wound man coming undone at the appearance of a vagina.

He wasn’t the first, nor would he be the last. I smiled to myself in victory as I grabbed my clothes, straightened and turned.

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