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Though it's not like that excuses what he's done.
Out of all the girls in the world, why would he do this to me? He seemed offended when I mentioned being a sex slave, but he can say anything he wants. He can pretend to be offended. Hell, he might actually be genuinely offended, for all I know.
But in the end, it doesn't matter. It's like buying a bag of chips and promising myself I'll only eat a few at a time. Obviously, there's going to come a moment when I break down and empty the whole damn bag while sitting in front of the TV.
It doesn't matter what my original intentions were. Eventually, everybody's self-control has a breaking point.
And considering he's already stripped me naked, tied me to his bed, and jerked off on me, I'd say his self-control is pretty thin.
He seemed so normal, too. Am I that bad a judge of character?
No point blaming myself. I need to think.
This is an extremely nice house from what I've seen so far, including my escape attempt. I'm not saying nice compared to my IKEA furniture, either. Nice by anybody's standards. A big, solid bed, buttery-soft sheets and blankets under me, an enormous closet to my right, and a marble bathroom to my left. Both doors are open so I can get a feel for the level of luxury this man lives in.
For Pete's sake, the closet looks like an upscale men's store. High ceilings with intricate molding, curtains at the windows that look like they could be silk. And a massive TV hanging across from the foot of the bed, underneath which is a fireplace.
I imagine curling up in bed like this, with a fire going on a cold night, would be pretty close to heaven.
If it was my choice to be here. That's a big caveat.
I don't know where I am geographically. I don't see a clock nearby, but the light coming through the window has that warm, amber glow that tells me it's late afternoon. It was late morning when I went to the employment agency. How long was I out? How much of the time was spent in travel?
I don't know, but I can find out. I just have to be careful, is all. If this guy is as wealthy as I suspect, he must have at least a couple of brain cells working. And I'm sure he'll be looking for any signs of a scheme now that I made a run for it.
The first order of business has to be getting him to let me wash up, then get dressed. I’m not going to stay naked all the time… or am I?
Nausea churns in my gut, and the only thing keeping me from letting go is the thought of how disgusting it would be, covered in not only a stranger's cum, but my own vomit. Maybe I'd get especially lucky, and it would drip down and puddle under me. The cherry on top of a shit sundae.
Click!
The turning of the doorknob fills me with dread, making my already chilled skin pebble with goose bumps, and my legs clamp shut before I have the conscious thought to close them.Please, please, don't let him hurt me. I'll do anything. I'll devote my life to the needy and even become a nun or something. I'd have to convert, but no big deal. Just please, God, don't let him hurt me.
He's shamefaced, sheepish, and barely able to meet my gaze. “That was rude of me. And I'm sure it must have frightened you.”
Does he have a fucking split personality? The audacity of coming in here and acting like it was all one big misunderstanding.Oops, I accidentally spilled jizz all over your stomach while you were tied to my bed. These things happen.
No harm in being honest. “It scared me.”
He gives me the once-over and grimaces. Now that he’s out of that coat, his muscular body is better displayed in a gray cable knit sweater that outlines his thick shoulders and arms. Not to mention his chest—I’m already familiar with its size and firmness.
“You need a bath. I'll draw one for you.” Yet I notice he deliberately leaves me tied up while he does so. I can't blame him, though it would be pretty stupid of me to run while I'm naked. Still, he's being nice. I might be able to talk some sense to him.
It isn't long before the sound of running water turns to silence. I see him in there, bending over the tub, turning the taps before taking a few towels from a well-stocked closet. “I have a few other things for you—pajamas, sweats. I figured they would be forgiving since I don't know your size.”
“Thank you.” How insane is this? Thanking him when he kidnapped me. It's almost enough to bring tears to my eyes, but I fight them back. I'm not going to give in to emotion when trying to save my own life.
And I thought I had problems before this?
Relief doesn't even begin to describe the feeling when he unties me, then leads me to the bathroom while I rub life back into my wrists and hands. “Thank you,” I murmur again. “I can’t remember the last time I had enough hot water to fill a tub.”That’s right. Be quiet and very grateful.
A warm smile transforms his already handsome face into something breathtaking. “You’re welcome. It’s nothing. From now on, you’re going to have everything you need.”
There he goes, sticking a dagger in my heart and souring the idea of a hot bath.
He sours it even worse by taking a seat on the edge of the tub after extending a hand to help me in. The tub is deep, the water up to my knees before I sit. I’m glad for the bubbles that cover me up. He’s seen me naked, but that doesn’t mean I have to be on display all the time.
“Once you’re finished, I’ll get you something to eat.” He’s not going anywhere. Dammit. I was hoping to relax and get my head on straight, but he needs to watch me. I don’t think it’s to make sure I stay put, either. Not when his eyes are half-narrowed, and his nostrils flare when his breathing picks up. And he didn’t bring me here just for sex? I’m finding it hard to believe.
