Page 26 of Depraved Lust
Tears prick my eyes, but I push them back. I need to be good. I need to be fucking perfect until I can get out of here. And the first chance I get, I need to run as fast as I can. I can never stop running. Never.
His strong arms wrap around me as he picks me up and pulls me into his lap to lean against his chest. “I chose you for a reason, kitten.” He gently strokes my back, and I concentrate on how good it feels to distract myself from the pain. He kisses my hair and then pets me as I lay my head flat against his hard, hot body. I hear his heart beating as he speaks. “You fit me, and this is exactly what I wanted. You are exactly what I want.”
For now. I focus on the plan. Survive until I’m given an opportunity. I’ll be as perfect as I can be. I’ll make him want to keep me. I pull back and he readjusts me so I’m sitting in his lap.
I don’t know what to say to move past this, but I really just want to move forward and forget that this breakdown ever happened.
“Do you like your new home?” he asks. I'm grateful to discuss a more casual topic, but I can't forget that the fact he's even asking me that question is fucked up. I didn't need a new home. I loved my cabin, and I want to go back.
I glance around the room again. It’s as perfect as a gilded cage can be. “Yes, it’s beautiful.”
“Do you have everything that you need?” he asks.
“There are a few things I’d like to get,” I say quietly.
“Yes, you told me that. Other than a few trinkets, is there anything important that I’ve forgotten?” I feel like he already knows the answer to his question. Like this is a test.
What’s the one thing I need here? One thing he hasn’t given me is my laptop. I’m afraid to ask for it. It’d be stupid to ask. There’s no way he’d let me go online.
He reaches past me to the cart and my mouth drops open.
“I told you earlier, you only need to ask,” he says.
I stare at my laptop in his hands. My fucking life is on there. I reach out to take it, expecting him to snatch it away, but he doesn’t. Instead, he kisses my hair and gently rubs my back. I hug it to my chest and wait for the other shoe to drop.
“Go ahead. I know you have work to do.” I swallow the lump in my throat and slowly open my MacBook Pro. It’s ten years old. I got it in college. It’s really past time to get a new one, but I fucking love my baby.
I type in my password, and the same screen pops up that’s greeted me every morning for the last year. It’s a meme that says, “You can’t read all day, if you don’t start in the morning!” I can’t help my smile. I instinctively look to check the internet connection. I have a few books loaded on here that I need to put on my Kindle, but what I really need to do is catch up with my FB group and my blogs, plus the editor for my column. I also need to check my email, my website for beta readers, my Goodreads account, and the reading groups online. I take a deep breath and click on my web browser and then hold my breath and stiffen as the screen pops up. I quickly hit exit and look back to Anthony self-consciously.
“Go ahead, kitten. I want to watch you work.” I release a breath I didn’t know I was holding and look back at Anthony with disbelief.
“I told you I’d give you your life back. I’m a man of my word.” I search his eyes for anything but sincerity, but that’s all I see. I bite my lip and look back to the computer.
I have work to do, and this is going to take me fucking forever. I shift in his lap. This isn’t going to work, but I don’t want to push my luck.
“You typically write on your bed, don’t you?” he asks.
A chill runs through me at the reminder that he watched me before taking me. “I do.”
“Go ahead. I’ll sit here. I have a book I’d like to read.” It takes a moment for his words to sink in, but when they do, I take my chances and get my ass up and move to the bed with my laptop. I keep my eyes on him as I put the pillow against the headboard for support, and another on my lap for the computer. I’ve always typed this way. I imagine I always will. It’s a bad habit to break.
I watch as Anthony rises and walks to the bookshelf, choosing a paperback and lying down on the sofa. He crosses his ankles and it’s the sexiest sight I’ve ever seen.
It’s fucking unreal that he’s letting me get online.
Something’s up though. And I don’t fucking like it. Everything is a test. Every last fucking thing. My eyes stay on him as I type in my password. My email is slow to open, but it does. I click on my emails one at a time and type my responses, but I keep looking back to Anthony. He simply turns a page, appearing fully engrossed in his reading.
I feel so fucking uneasy. He’s not at all what I expected, and the thought that I’d be able to do this is just...insane. He's fucking insane. Not just mentally unstable, but certifiably insane if he thinks I’m not going to message someone--anyone--that I’ve been taken. I don’t give a fuck that he’s been nice, or that he’s hot, or that this is literally a fucking dark dream come true for me. There’s no way I’m not going to try to get the hell out of here.
I click on a new tab and bring up Facebook. Cheryl’s my personal assistant and my go-to gal for everything. My cursor hovers over the box to message her, but she’s already sent me five messages. The third one was her freaking out that I didn’t respond at all yesterday, but the fourth and fifth are her fixing my shit and wishing me well because she refuses to believe that I’m dead and I better fucking message her back or she’ll find me and kill me. Yeah, that’s Cheryl.
I type in a lame excuse and don’t mention shit. Yet. I want to. Every fucking voice inside of me is screaming to do something and tell someone. But I’d be stupid to think I’d get away with it, right? I watch Anthony for a minute as I copy and paste an email to send to another reader.
What would he do to me if I did? Kill me. The answer is obvious, but he hasn’t hurt me yet. My ass smarts at the thought. It still fucking hurts, although the cream he rubbed in did wonders for the worst of the pain. I don’t know where I am. I’m not sure that there’s any way they’d find me.
Hey, Cheryl. Some psycho took me, I’m not sure where. Could you figure out a way for someone to rescue me?
Yeah...that’s not going to fucking work. My heart races and my fingers itch to type something, anything to help me get the fuck out of here.
