Page 2 of Milking His Lass

A massive round light, like the type you see in operating rooms in movies and shows, looms above me. My fingers dig into the table below, and I’m dismayed to feel metal beneath my fingertips. So I am in the hospital then.

“W- what happened to me?” I finally croak out, my lips, tongue, and throat parched and barely working.

“Can you understand me?” The maddening voice growls again.

“Yes, I can fucking well understand ye,” I snap out, my Scottish lilt taking over as irritation slithers up my spine. “Ye dinnae have to shout.”

My head aches and throbs as pain zips through me. Granted, the longer I force my eyes to stay open, the quicker the discomfort seems to dissipate. Turning, I look over toward the voice, desperately needing to see the man who’s holding me captive.

Will it be a doctor? Or will it be someone far more nefarious? However, as I open my eyes again, everything freezes. I must be hallucinating. Granted, without my glasses, it’s not like I can see details or anything, but I certainly don’t need those to make out the blue, man-shaped being next to me.

As if my brain catches up to my eyes, I jerk back, unsure of what I’m seeing. It must be some good drugs; a new one I’ve never heard of before. I blink, squinting a little so I can improve my vision.

It’s not much, but I can now make out dark blue eyes and jet-black hair. The man has a strong jaw and a stern expression. Normally, he’d be the type of guy I’d go home with, but there’s something wrong with his face. That or whatever is in my system is causing me to freak the fuck out.

Unease drips into my veins like a drug, making me wooden and unable to move. But soon, the need to actually get a good look shakes me out of this panic state. Because, honestly, there’s no way in hell I’m seeing what I think I’m seeing.

Perhaps a visit to the eye doctor will be in order. That or a neurological exam. There’s no reason why his face should be a big, blue blob. No rational reason, at least.

I reach down to grab my glasses, but find my hands and arms refuse to move. They’re not paralyzed, just pinned down. Thrashing about, I jerk on my restraints, realizing with a ball of dread gathering in my gut, that I’m completely immobile.

Hysteria bubbles up my throat as the man just stands there. I can’t see his expression, but his body language tells me he doesn’t give a shit that I’m panicking. Off in the distance, the heart monitor beeps out even faster, matching the fight-or-flight adrenaline dump coursing through my body.

“State your name.” His voice is smooth, devoid of any named emotion.

It’s as if he doesn’t care at all what’s going on inside my mind and body. Somehow, that’s even scarier than anything else currently happening. I want him to express something, show some sort of emotion. Anything.

“Why?” My voice is small, whispered, and tenuous.

Not at all the strong, capable woman I wish to present, but what can I do? I’m unsure of anything at this point. Despite being lashed down onto this immovable surface, I feel as if I’m free-floating, about to escape my skin.

He turns, presumably to look over at the other voice I heard. They exchange a low, murmured conversation not meant for me to hear. Again, the other approaches, his face clearing as he gets nearby.

“What is ailing you?”

“You mean besides a galoot like you being all demanding while I’m pinned down, scaring me nearly half to death?” Sighing, I bring my hand up to rub my forehead, but just a moment too late remember I can’t move. “My head hurts.”

“Where?”

“Unlatch me, and I’ll show you.”

His lips widen into a feral grin, showing off snow-white teeth. “Nice try, little human. You will not be released until we are done with you.”

My body tenses at his words. Something is very much wrong. Again, I jerk against my restraints, the need to flee coursing through me. The man walks over and places his hand over my breastbone, pushing me further down into the hard, metallic surface.

He leans in, his face a hair’s breadth from mine. “You will do well to settle, little cow. Do not make me hurt you.”

I blink at him, unable to form any words. My mind is a jumble, threatening to fracture and crumble at the slightest pressure. Am I truly kidnapped then?

‘Little cow.’ That phrase bounces about my mind, seeking purchase, but finding none. It makes no sense to me. If anything, I’m far skinnier than I should be. I can eat anything, and my metabolism will gobble it right up.

More than that, compared to this behemoth above me, I’m tiny, insignificant, a speck. There’s nothing bovine about me.

“Please,” I murmur, not even knowing what it is I’m asking for.

At my soft plea, the man smiles, a touch gentler now. “That’s better. Be obedient and compliant, and we will not hurt you. Now then, state your name.”

“Fiona.” My name drips from my lips, soft, nearly inaudible, but he hears it.

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