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6
EMME
No matter how I curled up, I couldn’t stop shivering. The cold from the concrete floor leeched up through the scratchy blanket he’d thrown my way. I’d tried folding it into thirds and lying beneath one layer, or lying on top of it, but the basement room was ice cold. My clothes, when I found the shreds left of them, weren’t much help, but I wrapped them around myself anyway.
The darkness in the room was the kind where I couldn’t tell if my eyes were open or closed, and the house was absolutely silent other than the faint hum of electricity and the infrequent knocking of plumbing.
What if he forgot about me?
There was no way to know if he was even home. I’d groped my way to the door after what seemed like a ridiculous amount of searching, considering the size of the room. Every step made me worry I would trip over something. And I had almost fallen over those chairs. With my hands tied that was likely going to hurt. Even crazier, I feared falling off an edge into a bottomless hole. The blackness was that absolute. Although the doorknob turned in my hand, the door wouldn’t budge. There didn’t seem to be a deadbolt, so there must be a bar or a lock on the outside.
I lay huddled in the blanket, trying to figure out if I’d been abducted for real. Nothing he was doing seemed safe or sane, even if it was technically consensual.
I had signed up for this kind of treatment.
Was I enjoying it?
The memory of him—his cruel face, and big, rough hands—made me shiver harder. He was hot, but the kind of hot that made you wonder if there were women buried in his backyard. There was just something…disturbing about him. Like, this wasn’t a roleplay.
When I’d gone into this, I’d thought it was what I wanted. But now?
It was debasing and degrading, but the man definitely knew what he was doing when it came to consensual non-consent.
If this actually was CNC.
If it wasn’t…
God, Charity wouldn’t even realize I was missing for at least a week. Our trail would be cold. There was no way the police would be able to find me here—not when there was no link between Mr. Scott and me. Charity had wanted me to put a tracking app on my phone so she could find me if things went wrong, but I’d refused.
I’d wanted this to feel as real as possible.
Was this too real?
How much danger I was in?
Even if he wasn’t dangerous but followed through and kept me a few more days, it might ruin me in the eyes of the college. A police investigation would reveal my weird kinks.
My mind drifted, abandoning the discomfort of my body to replay what he’d done to me.
Shit—he’d fucked me with no condom, and he might not even be the man I talked to about testing and safety.
I had a quiet panic attack that seemed to go on for hours, but there was no way to know how long I’d been down here.
Eventually, a beam of light shone under the door. At first, I thought it was my imagination—my brain playing a trick on me. I had almost given up on ever seeing anything again. The door opened, and more light fell into the room. I squinted, even though it wasn’t that bright. What I assumed was Mr. Scott stood backlit in the doorway, the very outline of him looking sinister. There was an air of malevolence about him even though he hadn’t moved or said anything.
“Bathroom?”
“Yes, please.” I said, my voice more of a croak than I would’ve expected after what had probably been only a few hours. Maybe it had been longer?
As he came toward me, I scrambled away, pressing my back to the cinderblock wall behind me.
“What are you going to do?”
“We can do this the easy way or the hard way.”
My nipples puckered tighter at the threat in his deep voice.
“Easy way,” I blurted.
