Page 47 of Don't Say A Word

I shove past him to grab the clothing rack and push it into Mia’s cell. She’s still in the shower. The water must be cold by now. The bathroom is thick with steam but I can still see her through the fog. The way the water caresses her body. The way her skin gleams as though someone has doused her in glitter. She catches me watching and I shift uncomfortably. My mask wasn’t in place.

“Come here.” I want to say it as a command, but it doesn’t come out that way. I wonder if she hears the longing in my voice. The conflict that constantly rages within.

Ever obedient, she walks over and I dry her, running the towel over her body and trying not to think about all the things I want to do, to say. Once dry, she follows me into the cell.

“He’s allowing you to be clothed.”

Even though she tries to hide it, excitement shows in her eyes. She runs her hands over the clothing and I have to swallow the knot of desire as my mind automatically imagines what it would feel like for her to touch me that way.

“Pick something. Get dressed.”

She chooses a simple red dress. One which hugs her frame perfectly. And suddenly she is no longer a girl in a cell. Wearing the dress, covering her nakedness, it makes her less of a thing and more of a person. She must see it in my eyes because she steps toward me with a boldness that’s never been there before. She steps closer and closer until she is only a breath away. She scans my face with those dark eyes and my heart starts racing in a way I haven’t felt in a long time. In fact, I’m not sure if it’s ever raced this way before. Her hand lifts as she searches for permission in my gaze. And I want to give it to her. I want her to touch me, to run her hands over my skin. To want me. But if I let her, I know I won’t be able to resist.

I sway with indecision. She’s so close. It would be so easy.

She wants me.

But before the fire can be lit, I grab her wrist and twist it away. “Don’t touch me.” It’s more of a plea than anything else.

“Why?” There’s confusion in those big eyes.

“Because you’re not mine.”

“And yet you touch me.”

“He’s allowed me to. It would be hard to train you if I wasn’t.”

“Who is he?” There’s the question again. The one that’s constantly behind her eyes.

“You know I can’t answer that.”

She keeps those dark eyes trained on me in such a way that I don’t know how much longer I can resist.

“Why me?” Another question she’s already asked.

Her mouth is so close. I can’t help but let my gaze keep slipping to her lips, imagining how it would feel if she closed the breath of a gap between us and pressed them to mine.

“It has nothing to do with you, or what you have or haven’t done. It’s about him, who he is, not who you are. You are merely something he wants.”

I want to touch her. I want to tell her that I will take her away from all this. I want to make her mine. But I can’t. It’s not why I’m here.

I twist her wrist again and say the words I have learned to hate.

“Don’t say a word.”

Our session is quick. She does everything I command her to do, but I don’t touch her this time. I can’t.

Marcel is watching the monitor when I leave. Watching her. Watching me with her.

“You should just fuck her.”

I ignore him and head into the kitchen. I hid a bottle of whiskey in here the other day and I need it now. Desperately. But he follows.

“I won’t tell Daddy’s Boy if you do. You don’t need to worry about that.”

The bottle isn’t where I left it.

“I can tell by the way you look at her, the way you touch her that you want her. She can tell too.” He pauses. Marcel never pauses. I look up at him and see the whiskey bottle dangling from his fingers. “You looking for this?” The liquid is half gone. “You know we’re not allowed it, don’t you? Senior worries that we’ll get too rough on the girls if we get drunk.” He scoffs and takes a swig. “Too rough. Is there such a thing?”

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