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There’s a part of me that loves this, and I know that’s wrong. I should be fighting him. I should be trying to escape. I should be looking for ways I can run away, but I’m not. I’m not doing anything. I’m just accepting my fate.
And what does that say about me?
It says I’m messed up.
Weak.
It says there’s something about me so dark, so twisted, that I like the way he’s looking at me. I like what he’s doing to me. I like that he’s forcing me to be this way for him.
I look up at him, and he nods, almost imperceptibly, but I notice. I stare at his length for a long minute. Now that it’s up close, I’m nervous, but I shouldn’t be. Plenty of women before me have done this. I can do it now. How difficult could it actually be?
Slowly, I lean forward and stick my tongue out. I swirl it around the edge of his cock. He sucks in a breath, and I know I’m on the right track. I keep my eyes open so I can see what I’m doing, and I slowly start to lick up and down each side of him.
“Good girl,” he murmurs, and I feel happy, content, that he offered such a genuine compliment. A rush of satisfaction rushes through me as I realize that all those little noises he’s making are because of me. He’s groaning because of me. He’s moaning, hissing, because of what I am doing to him.
That feels good, and I keep going.
Slowly, I tease his body. I reach up and grasp his balls as I slide his cock down my throat. He moans again, louder this time, and I keep going. Each sound he makes excites me more and more, and I am thrust into the realization that this is who I am.
This is the type of girl I am.
This is the type of woman I am.
I’m not just the butcher’s daughter.
I’m not just some kidnapped damsel.
I’m more than that, and I’m proving it right now.
Whe
n Forwal releases into my mouth, he pulls my hair.
“Swallow,” he commands. I didn’t realize there was any other option, but I obey, just the same. I do as he asks of me, as he wills, as he desires.
When he’s finished, he looks down at me for a long time. What thoughts are running through that pretty head of his? Is he happy he decided to take me? Is he trying to decide if he’ll keep me?
I don’t know what happens to Forwal’s women once he gets bored of them, once he gets tired of them. I know without asking I’m not the first woman he’s taken. I don’t think I’ll be the last.
And I don’t think he’ll free me.
I should be trying to escape, but I don’t have it in me.
There’s something about him that’s not what it seems, and something tells me I’ve only scratched the surface.
Chapter 8
After a few days in the library, Forwal lets me roam the house. After that, I spend each day exploring the mansion. I stay far away from the dungeon; I already know what secrets that particular room holds. The rest of the house proves to be far more interesting, anyway. There is an entire room full of paintings on the third floor and on the fourth, there’s a room with a giant dollhouse. I could stay here forever, I realize, and I probably will.
A week passes quickly. Forwal goes off during the day and I don’t see him again until after supper. The household staff and I fall into a sort of comfortable companionship. They leave me alone, for the most part, and I stay out of their ways. I might be Forwal’s toy, but I don’t want to be a burden on the people he actually employs, assuming he didn’t kidnap them, as well.
I don’t miss my father as much as I should, I realize one day. I don’t miss the village as much as an ordinary person would miss her home. I haven’t spent much time crying and I haven’t spent much time thinking about the people I know.
I haven’t wondered if they’ve thought of me.
I haven’t wondered if they’ve missed me.
And then, one night, after Forwal and I climb into bed together tired, sweaty, and exhausted, I ask him the one thing I have been curious about all this time.
