Page 14 of In You
The Captor relented to me wearing makeup and a few spritzes of perfume tonight. I hate to admit it, but I feel spoiled. This is the first time he's let me wear makeup since he's brought me to his house.
Spraying setting spray on my face, I fan myself dry with my hand and smooth a finger over my brow, taming the hair there. As well as not allowing me to wear makeup, he also hasn't let me arch my brows, and in the almost year that I've been here, mybrows have grown in a lot. Correcting how I used to over pluck them as a child. It's the one feature in my face I actually like about myself.
Turning, I head into the kitchen, anxiously checking the rack of lamb in the warmer, and giving the reduction sauce a quick stir. I'm busy fussing over the food at the stove so the Captor doesn't have a reason to beat me when his company leaves, when the doorbell rings, giving me pause. I freeze completely, turning my head to look at the cracked door of the kitchen.
Heavy footsteps in the hallway cause every muscle to tense, locking up tight as the Captor makes the right into the foyer and opens the door. At the sound of men's voices, and a hearty laugh, I put the spoon on a spoon rest and tiptoe to the doorway of the kitchen, peeking around the corner. My eyes widen as two men come into view, bathed in the light of the two lamps which flank the long foyer table graced with a singular huge bouquet of flowers strictly there for the purpose of making this house seem normal.
Homey.
As does the soft jazz that filters from the living room. But I know better. A homey abode this is not; it's a glorified prison, made up of four meticulously decorated spare bedrooms and a homemade dungeon off the finished rec room in the basement, draped in elegant beige paint and decorated with art from all over the world.
I have a half second where I debate screaming for help, but the tracker somewhere in my body keeps me quiet. Even if I alert his two guests that I'm in trouble, he'll find me. Hell, the guests themselves might be in on it. This is the first time since I've been here that he's been comfortable enough with our situation to have people over, and it makes me wonder if that means he plans to share me, but I don't think so. He's awfully jealous.
I know that from my time from before.
Before he made me his.
I linger in the door of the kitchen, smoothing my palm down my knee length patterned blue dress. It's sleeveless so I could get my cast through with no problem, and has white buttons up the front that the Captor had to do up for me. It's snug, encases my waist perfectly, as well as my heavy breasts. The dress cleverly hides every bruise and mark.
My cast itches, and I squirm, wishing the Captor had something long and thin in the kitchen I could stick in there to scratch. As if my body decides that tonight it should be uncomfortable to the maximum amount, the space between my legs begins to burn and itch along with my arm, and I suck in a ragged breath, bringing a hand down to scratch harshly at the crease in my right thigh.
“Oh my god,” I breathe, blowing out a breath at the temporary relief.
God I wish I could take a bath.
Hearing them talk, I peek my head back timidly. One of the men has sharp, brown eyes like a hawk, dark brown hair with a tiny smattering of salt throughout, an almost square, chiseled jaw with a slight beard. Broad build, thick muscular thighs and torso. Wide chest encased in a black button up shirt under a black, elegant jacket. Black watch, black leather dress shoes.
He's sharp, like I would imagine a professor would be. His English accent is clear, a bit thick and blunt with the way he speaks. Like warm molasses. Not quite solid, but not smooth like honey, either. He's handsome in a harsh, almost cruel way. Stoic looking.
That's what got you in trouble with Calvin, Tamryn. You thought he looked good too, and now look at you. Idiot.
The other man has sandy blonde hair, is about six inches shorter than the other guy, and about an inch taller than the Captor, and looks devoid of body hair. He's clean shaven like theCaptor, not a smattering of hair on his arms, or the skin of his chest that peeks through the top two buttons.
He's the man with the hearty laugh, and has a perfect, white smile that makes slight laugh lines appear on his face.
He's familiar, but I can't place how I know him.
When the Captor turns his attention from him to shake hands with tall, dark, and handsome, the sandy haired man turns his head to catch me staring and gives me a grin and a wink. I roll my lips and back all the way into the kitchen and out of sight.
Curiosity has not been my friend, and something in the man's face cautions me to hold my tongue.
Their footsteps sound loud as they get closer to the kitchen and I dive for the refrigerator, grabbing the glass picture of cucumber and mint infused water, and slip as quietly as I can through the other doorway into the formal dining room to place it on the mahogany table. It took me almost twenty minutes to buff it to perfection, so shiny you can see your reflection in it, and then it took me another half hour to set with one hand.
The Captor wanted nothing short of perfection for tonight, no matter what it cost me.
Trying to pull off a fancy, three course meal one handed while managing everything with my non-dominant hand felt like it's own brand of torture. The muscles tense and spasm in my left hand as if to remind me of just how sore it is after the long day of pushing myself too far. Did I mention the Captor won't let me have pain medicine?
Yeah, there's a heartbeat in my broken hand currently.
Just as I'm pouring water into the crystal water glasses, the men come into the room, the Captor right behind them holding the rack of lamb with two pot holders. I lock eyes briefly with the dark haired man before he shifts his gaze away disinterested, and clashes with the Captor instead. Though his face isuncharacteristically warm, gray eyes that I'd once thought were kind tell me another story.
It tells me that he'll kill me should I scream for help, or should I even hint that I'm not going to be on my best behavior.
I'll show him I can, I always do.
6
Things We Notice
