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When I'm returned to the cell, Seven can't meet my gaze. I run, flinging myself into his arms. He holds tightly onto me, clearly surprised that I'm not hurt or angry, pushing him away after what I just saw him do. I bury my head in his chest, breathing in his clean masculine scent, feeling his heartbeat thud against my own skin.
I expect our captor to stay, but he leaves us alone in the cell. A minute later, I hear a metallic sound as the silver key drops through the slot again. I go get it and unlock Seven's wrists. This time I'm shaking because I've missed him so much and just want to get the damn chains off him.
When he's finally free, he stands and pulls me into his arms for a real hug.
“Are you okay, Kitten?”
“Yes, Master.”
He doesn't flinch when I say it this time. After he just jerked off to a video of me helplessly coming for our captor, this title I offer him no longer seems like such a big deal.
He doesn't ask any more questions about what happened to me. I know he doesn't want to know, and I don't want to tell it. The main reason I don't want to tell it is because what happened to me wasn't nearly as terrible as I wish I could say it was.
We soak together in the tub, and he takes me again in the shower. At night, we lie in the darkness, and he resumes his pattern of stroking me to orgasm, my moan filling the cell before we both drift off to sleep wrapped in each other's arms.
This temporary peace is broken the next morning.
“Breakfast time, inmates,” our captor says cheerily over the speaker.
Seven goes to the slot to collect the food. It's sausage and gravy biscuits. A white plate and a blue plate. I know what this means even before our captor's voice rings out again.
“The blue plate special is for Seven.”
“You can't keep drugging him like this,” I say. “You'll kill him.”
Our captor laughs. “Awwww, Seven has a girlfriend. So sweet. He'll be fine. He's tough.”
A couple of water bottles are dropped in through the slot.
We sit on the floor of the cell and eat in silence. Seven goes to sit against the wall when he's finished. After a few minutes, he's unconscious.
I move back to my corner when the door slides open and warily watch our captor. He drags Seven to the door.
“Don't hurt him,” I say.
“Careful, Pretty Toy. I might get jealous of the affection you lavish on him.”
I don't say anything else. Afraid that if I do, he might take it out on Seven. He presses his thumb against the scanner and takes Seven out of the cell.
He returns a couple of hours later, and I'm terrified by what he may have done to Seven in that time and why he hasn't brought him back.
“Come,” he says, beckoning me toward him. I slowly get up off the floor and walk even more slowly. Even just a few hours away from our routine, and his constant attentions has made me afraid again.
“It's okay. I'm not going to hurt you.”
He opens the door and urges me out ahead of him. His hand rests on my bare lower back as he guides me down the hallway to the door that leads down to the dungeon. He strokes my back when I tense.
“It's okay,” he says again as he inputs the code.
When we get downstairs, Seven is still unconscious, lying naked on his back, spread-eagled and bound to the bed the same way I've so often been. It's hard to look at him like this and imagine this was what I looked like. So exposed and vulnerable.
I rush to him, running my hands over his body, searching for injuries, but unless it's his back, I don't see anything. But there must be something.
“What did you do to him?” I demand.
He advances on me and pulls me off Seven before pushing me up against the wall, his hand at my throat, his gray gaze holding mine. “Do not speak to me in that disrespectful tone.”
