Page 15 of Don't Say A Word

“A lot worse. You should be grateful.”

“Grateful?”

“Yes. The man who requested you wants to love you. He wants to shower you with nice things and look after you. It’s just that he has certain tastes and requires that you satisfy them. There are many men who would prefer you locked in a basement, use you for pleasure and for pain and little else. This man doesn’t want that. You will have liberties if you please him. As long as you obey.” He looks down at his hands locked between his knees. “It could be a lot worse.”

“And it could be a lot better.”

“But it isn’t,” he says, getting to his feet and breaking what little progress I thought we had made. And then he utters the command. “Don’t say a word.”

I get to my knees, hands in lap, eyes on the ground. I don’t want to look at him. I can’t look at him. When I do, there are too many mixed emotions. Shame. Fear. Disgust.

Longing.

After days of solitude, I’ve come to crave human contact and my heart flutters a little, leaving me confused. There is nothing particularly attractive about him, but certainly nothing unattractive either. I keep telling myself that it’s only because of this forced isolation that I’m attracted to him. A type of Stockholm syndrome or something.

“Crawl.” Even his voice does things to my insides.

I swallow the rebellion resting at the base of my throat and place my hands on the cold floor. I crawl in a circle around the room, eyes downcast. Humiliation combines with arousal.

“Stand under the chains.”

I’m surprised at how quickly tears prick in my eyes. I don’t want to be chained again. There is something more terrifying about it with the knowledge of experience. My wrists are still red from the chaffing from when I first arrived. But I place myself where he commands and try to stop my quivering from showing on the outside.

“Reach up and hold the chains.”

I close my eyes and breathe in my relief before reaching up and grasp the cuffs that once surrounded my wrists. But it leaves me vulnerable and exposed, bringing back the memories of him standing so close. His mouth on me. The flush that ran over my skin.

My captor steps toward me, so close his scent invades me again. Only this time it’s not sawdust he smells of. He smells of the outdoors. Of sunshine and rain. Of pine and grass. Of sea and sand. Of dirt and wind.

I breathe in deeply, not caring that he notices.

“Open your eyes.”

Storm-filled eyes lock on mine. He reaches up and wraps his fingers around my wrists, his body parallel to mine, mimicking my stance, and then he begins to drag his fingers down my arms, exploring every inch as though looking for flaws.

“Look at me,” he growls again.

I hadn’t even noticed my eyes were closed. He’s too close. It hurts to look into the coldness of his eyes as his fingers scrape over my skin. But I do as I’m commanded and force them open, mustering as much hatred into my glare as I can.

But it’s hard to muster hatred when he sets my heart pounding like it does. His hands are on my sides now. They caress my skin, leaving goosebumps in their wake. Then they move to my back and he dips a little, his knees brushing against mine as he explores the flesh of my backside and thighs. He moves them in continuous motion, back up my spine and around my sides until they cup my breasts. And then it is his eyes that close, his breath that inhales when he digs his fingers into the soft flesh.

It almost hurts.

Almost.

But a hurt that feels good.

One that has me cursing myself for even thinking that way.

He travels downwards, over my stomach and when he lowers himself to his knees, my heart leaps in my chest. Fear and anticipation prickle over my skin. Inwardly I beg him not to touch me there. Not to feel the moisture and dampness.

He probes my thighs, sliding his hands between them before skimming higher. I let out an exhale of air I didn’t know I was holding when he gets to his feet again, his face only inches from mine.

“You may bring down your arms. You are doing well.”

I snort then immediately cut it off, fearful of his reaction.

“It’s time to add a little something to your training.” He takes a step back, allowing me to breathe. “When you receive a command, you are to reply with, ‘It is my pleasure to obey your command.’”

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