“Thanks, Celine,” Frequency muttered just as the doorbell sounded off. “Can you make sure that Harbor gets back to her room please?” I watched him excuse himself, but there was something different about him.
He didn’t seem like the kind of man that even had a child, so it was surprising to me. For the last year, we hadn’t been exposed to one another outside of breakfast. I didn’t get freedom. I was held captive like I performed treason or some shit. Maybe a crime was committed to him, and I was just guilty by association. I stared after him, and Celine caught me watching. A slow smile crept over her lips. She was making a plate, probably for the young girl.
“How can you work for a man like that?” I asked her.
To me, she was sweet, kind, and caring. The only person in the damn house that seemed to have any compassion or empathy for me. I couldn’t all the way trust Celine though, because in the end, she worked for Frequency, and I didn’t trust him at all. Celine paused just across the counter. She was a woman with many layers and plenty of burdens of her own to carry. I could tell by the way she interacted with Frequency that she cared about him beyond what she did around his home.
“Frequency is a… complex man,” Celine worded, arms propped on the counter as she spoke to me.
“He kidnapped me and is holding me hostage in this damn castle!” I hissed, face wrinkled in disgust.
I hated this!I’d been here long enough. What was I supposed to do? Be his captive for the rest of my fucking life? He had me fucked up. Cabin fever had kicked in months ago. I missed the outdoors, the sun on my face, and the wind blowing through my hair.And can we talk about that for a minute.My fucking hair had grown so long and flowed freely down my back. Mynails were also long and hadn’t been tended to. I was a girl that loved to be pampered and look good. This shit right here was depressing.
Celine brought her attention back to the food she was preparing. I was a different kind of woman. I could tell that she admired my strength, resilience, and overall willpower. I didn’t think I was bad looking either. My skin was red underneath my milk-chocolate layer, and I had wide-set eyes that kind of curved upward on the outside and pierced people whenever I gave them my attention. My slim nose pointed down to my perfect, full mouth. I used to smile. Being under this rook it was as if I’d forgotten how. I was detached and disconnected from everything.
“Harbor, have you been mistreated in any way since being here?” Celine posed, making me snap my mouth shut.
“Other than the fact that I get locked into a room every day and can’t even remember what fucking day it is because they all run together while I’m under this roof? Nah. Life’s a fucking dream, Celine.” My brows dipped above my eyes and drew into tiny slits.
Celine actually snickered and shook her head at me. “You have quite the sense of humor. Tell me about your family, your life before here.” She prodded, making me tense up.
I didn’t want to talk about that. If I thought about it too long, I was going to fall apart. That was for damn sure. It was one thing to be ripped from my life, but it was another to not know what was going on outside of the walls of this massive home. Was anyone looking for me? What happened? Did they think I was dead? Would I ever see anyone I love again? Those questions haunted me daily. Had I been mistreated? Not at all. No harm had come to me locked within these walls. Seclusion, however, was driving me crazy. The unknown and not having control of my life was what was pushing me over the cliff.
“I’m good. Just take me back to my room please,” I requested, sniffling a bit before I marched toward the back staircase that Celine often took me through.
I was the dirty little secret around there.
* * *
Frequency
When I flung the door open, Lyra’s fine ass waited on the other side. With brown-sugar skin and the craziest hazel eyes a nigga had ever seen, she was indeed a bad bitch. Her waist was small, and her hips and ass were wide. Honey-blonde hair flowed down her back as she allowed herself across the threshold. My eyes followed the curves, and instantly, my dick bricked up. It’d been days since I had felt something wet, and a nigga needed to shoot some shit off. Frustrated was a fucking understatement.
“Hmm, so what is it that I can do for you, Quency?” she asked, doing a spin and placing her hand on her hip while sizing me up.
Shit was sexy as fuck, and I could tell she was mad. That was when the pussy was the best.
“More like what I can do for you,” I replied, arms crossed in front of me. “You didn’t come all the way out here to talk shit, Lyra. If you missed this dick, just say that.”
I could tell my words startled her. She stalled in her little rant and lost some of her sass as she took me in from head to toe once again.
“Nigga, fuck you.” She turned her nose up, but I saw that shit as a challenge and stepped to her.
Lyra backed into the railing of the wide, winding staircase behind her, and I could tell it took her breath away.
“That’s what you want, right?” I asked, peering down my nose at her.
My hand fell on her neck, and I brought her in for a slow tongue lashing. She clung to me, dropping her bag at the bottom of the steps. When I pulled away from her, she held my stare with one that was full of longing.
“Daddy,” Ivy’s voice interrupted us from the top of the stairs.
With her arms crossed, she watched me and Lyra together. Lyra turned her nose up at my baby like she was annoyed by her presence. Damn it if my daughter didn’t give her the screw face right back, looking just like her damn mama.
“I didn’t realize you had company,” Lyra said with a smirk.
She pulled herself from the railing and ran her fingers through her thick hair.
“Ivy, my daughter. Ivy, this is Lyra,” I introduced them.
