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Who even said that?
Who wanted that?
A monster, that’s who.
I shuddered as he tugged the leash again, jiggling the awful collar fastened around my throat. I’d only worn it a few hours, yet I hated it more than anything.
I hated the claustrophobia.
The weight.
The wrongness.
The constant reminder of pain, obedience, and captivity.
“Get up,” he hissed when I didn’t move quick enough.
Scrambling to my feet, I swayed a little as my head rung from Victor hitting me before Henri had arrived.
He’d only slapped me, but the force still throbbed in my cheekbone.
The berry smoothie Peter had made me drink fermented in my stomach, adding to my nausea that this was real, this was happening, and no matter how much I wished I could wake from this nightmare, I couldn’t.
“Can you walk, or did he hit you elsewhere?” Henri asked tightly.
My gaze wrenched to his. At least he had the decency to look me in the eyes and not leer at my nudity. “Do you care?”
His jaw worked. “Of course I care.”
I fought the urge to cover myself, keeping my hands balled and arms down by my sides. “Oh, I’m sorry. I must’ve mistaken your decency for obscenity, seeing as you’re the reason I’m here.”
With a low groan, he pinched the bridge of his nose. For a second, he didn’t respond. He shook his head as if unable to figure out a response.
“Henri, is it?”
His head snapped up as a middle-aged guest stepped around the abandoned breakfast table and held out his hand. His skin bordered on leathery from too much sun, but his thick head of brown hair said he wasn’t as old as his crow’s feet suggested. “I’m Patrick.”
With an unreadable expression, Henri shook Patrick’s hand. “Henri.”
“First day, huh.” Patrick smirked, his green eyes landing on me and making their slippery way down my bareness.
I shivered.
My nipples puckered.
I hated that evolution used the same reaction for coldness, fear, and lust. Biology didn’t care why it pebbled my nipples and flushed my skin with highly sensitive, highly reactive states of awareness.
The racing heart.
The sweaty palms.
The sudden prickling, tickling sensations in my bones to fight, submit, or cry.
Heightened sensitivity should only come from good things. Wanted things. Not because of this. Not because I was so fucking scared, I felt sick.
Livid tears dared roll down my cheeks.
Henri’s attention snapped to those salty droplets. His gaze darkened beneath thick black eyelashes. He stood taller, somehow sensing how close I was to shattering. How fragile my self-control turned out to be.
