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“Don’t look at me,” I rush out.
“Why? You belong to me now. I’m going to be looking at you a lot.”
“Don’t you feel even the slightest bit bad about what you’re doing to me?”
“Bringing you to safety. Allowing you a hot shower. Making sure you’re fed. Inspecting you while setting boundaries for my own safety.”
I snicker. “Your own safety. What a joke!”
“I saw a man get his throat slit bending down to look at a woman’s twisted ankle. Don’t talk to me about jokes.”
I feel suddenly ashamed. As much as what he’s doing is depraved, there is a weird logic to his methods.
Justifying his actions is gross. I’m gross.
He brings a cup to my lips, switching from the powdered chocolate drink he was giving me to water.
“I’m going to continue the inspection.”
I know I have no choice but to comply.
He starts again at my hair, this time rummaging through it quickly. Then he inspects my bruise again.
“The forehead wound is definitely not a bite. It would have small black tendrils branching out by now if it were.”
“You weren’t convinced before?”
“There was a shadow of a doubt. I decided to let you live, but remained on high alert.”
He inspects my ears, literally looking in them, then my eyes and nose.
His large hands touching my body are a constant annoyance, because it livens me, which is confusing as hell considering I’m a prisoner at this point.
His eyes fall on my breasts as his hands close over them, lifting them, looking underneath.
“You sick fuck!” I grind.
But just as quickly as his hands grab, they leave, traveling down my ribs.
As sick as I feel about what just happened, it was aligned with the rest of his inspection. A monster he may be, but he’s not going out of his way to be depraved. Even his inspection of my asshole was…formal.
Dread coils in my gut as he closes in on my sex. He stretches my belly button, literally shining a light inside it like I’m hiding something in there, then travels down, down, past my sex…
Which is weird as fuck because he doesn’t stop and he could find all kinds of things in my folds.
Did I really just think that? I guess it’s logical. If he thinks my belly button could somehow hide something, just think of what my vagina could hold.
And because nothing about this encounter is at all appropriate, I break out into hysterical laughs.
His gaze travels up to mine, his right eyebrow forming the perfect arc.
“Just hurry up.”
He explores my legs, knees, ankles, feet—again.
“Oh, come on. You’ve seen my feet already!”
“Different angle.”
