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Chapter Thirteen
Branson
Strange dreams haunt my sleep, dreams of blood and vengeance, but when I wake it’s dawn and she is still asleep beside me. Lifting my head slightly, I look down, noting the small smile on her lips. The corner of my own lip turns up and I let out a small chuckle as I drop my head.
She may have complained yesterday, but I think my little Mia likes being tied up.
Sighing, I sit up with a small groan.
Yesterday's events run through my mind. Even a fraction of the events that happened were enough to elicit more emotion than I’ve felt in years, much less everything. I’m still in shock, but I do feel an increasingly familiar, bubbling anger. Simmering, but not forgotten. As much as it would be nice to have the time to come to terms with it all, I realize today we have some decisions to make. With Bud dead, there really isn’t anything stopping us from leaving.
But as much as it shames me, my stomach twists at the thought. I have no love for this place that’s brought me so much misery, but apart from television, I don’t know anything about the real world.
She does, a small voice reminds me.
Swallowing deeply, I think again about what happened in the dining room yesterday. My dick hardens at the thought of her on her knees in front of me. Of her doing exactly as I told her, the rush of dominance I felt.
She wanted to do that, the voice argues. Can you really trust her? Will she listen when it matters? Is she really sorry?
My brow pulls into a frown at the repulsive thought of things going back to how they were. I would rather die than be someone’s fucking slave again. I squeeze my fists into the bed, only stopping when I feel a small stir behind me. Her eyes widen as she sees me and my heart beats faster just from her gaze
“Good morning,” I say, my voice gruff and hoarse.
She lifts her head a touch to look up at her bindings. “You’re a dick, you know that?”
I smile. “Yup. And you deserve it because you’re an evil bitch. Ready for breakfast?”
She narrows her eyes at me. “Fuck. You.”
“That doesn’t seem like the actions of someone who’s contrite,” I chide her even as I yawn and sit up with a stretch. I hear the creak of her tugging on the rope.
“Fuck, let me out. I have to pee,” she whines, and I turn to her and raise a brow
“Then this will be even more suitable penance,” I reply before heading over to the bathroom.
“Branson! You—” her voice cuts off as I close the heavy door behind me. I chuckle to myself as I turn on the shower, excited to take as long as I fucking please.
When I finish, I head through the other door and into the hallway rather than pass Mia again. She can wait a bit longer before I release her. If she pisses herself, even better.
???
It’s almost midday by the time I make my way back to the bedroom. When I enter, her eyes are on me immediately, full of fire. I keep my pace slow as I make my way to the bed, sitting down on the end of it. My nostrils flare as the scent of piss hits me.
“Ready to be nice yet?” I ask her. She lets a breath out of her nose, and I can see the wheels in her head turning. When she speaks her voice is low and measured.
“Please, let me out.”
I look at her a moment longer before nodding.
“I told you I’d own you,” I tell her as I begin to untie her feet first, not convinced she won’t try to hit me when I untie her hands. “And you said you were willing. Seven years of abuse is a long fucking time, Amelia.”
I don’t say anything else, leaving it as a statement rather than a question. When her wrists are untied, she curls up away from the mess. She rubs her wrists but doesn’t leave right away.
“Did you enjoy it? Last night?”
She flashes me an accusing look but nods slowly.
“I did, other than the last part, obviously.”
