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It’s not even about sex anymore. Until I can be a hundred percent sure that he won’t use me and discard me like everyone else in my life has, I can’t. What if it’s all about possession with him? What if he gets what he wants, then decides the shine on me has worn off?
I spent five years, looking over my shoulder for Carter Santorino and rotten fuckers like him. Could I return to my old life, waiting for the moment someone blames me for his death?
Would Burns even let me?
He thinks fucking me will make me want to stay. I’m terrified that fucking him will effectively end this little game we’re playing. Right now, sex with Burns is the last thing—the only thing—I can hold over him. As much as my body aches to be dominated by his, I can’t give in.
I don’t know how much longer I’ll be able to hold out. At first, it was because I refused to let my captor have everything he wanted. But after Carter… it’s hard to understand, but what has started as obsession and captivity andsexhas turned into something different.
Somethingmore.
I never thought it would’ve been possible when I first woke up in the basement, but Burns and me… we’ve actually developed a homey routine. I can go hours at a time without thinking about my old life in Springfield. Escape? Sometimes I wonder what I’d even be escaping to. Is it worth it? Returning to a dead-end job? My crummy apartment?
Last night, Burns mentioned getting me a computer. I’ll never want to go back to a college campus. We both know that, even though the reason why is buried somewhere behind Burns’s cabin. Still, I made it through three years of FU before I dropped out. I have credits. I could get my degree after all by doing online school.
That’s not all. As one last ‘fuck you’ to Carter, Burns promised that, in the spring, I can start my own garden in the backyard. I can plant any flower I want—including kiftsgate roses—and use Carter’s corpse to nourish them.
I cheekily tell him that I want hundred of daisies before realizing what I’ve done.
It’s October. I don’t know the exact date, but spring? That’s like six months away—and I basically committed to sticking around ‘til then.
Now he’s standing in front of me, a crooked grin on his wickedly handsome face as he tells me to hurry up and shower. We have reservations in an hour.
Of course, because he needs to get ready, too, we share the shower. I have to remind him of these so-called reservations once or twice when he decides he wants to lick my pussy clean instead of just using a washcloth, and we’re both dressed with ten minutes to spare.
I honestly thought it was a gag. That Burns set up dinner in the kitchen in a bid to finally get me to wear that sexy red dress he picked out for me.
I was wrong.
About a five-minute drive from his secluded cabin, there’s a small town. He doesn’t give me the name, though he says the population is less than five hundred. It’s a hamlet. A place where everyone knows everyone’s name—and their business. It boasts a single inn, two rival restaurants, a post office, and… that’s really about it.
One restaurant does a decent Italian, he tells me. The other is standard American fare, with burgers and fries. Considering he’s dashing as all hell in a black button-down shirt, matching slacks, and his polished shoes, I figure he chose Italian.
I’m right.
As he parks the truck in front of the restaurant, I can’t help but squint over at him.
Recently, Burns’s whole attitude has become relaxed. Almost like his being my captor has taken a toll on him, and he only started to show me his more sensitive side after I stopped fighting him so much.
I was actually enjoying getting to know this new Burns. The idea of going out to eat with him had intrigued me.
Now I’m not so sure.
“Is this another test?” I ask suspiciously.
“Not really.” At my disbelieving look, he adds, “I’ve got a good reputation up in the hills. Even if you told any of these people that I brought you to my cabin and chained you up, they’d never believe you. I know it hurts you when people don’t, so I wouldn’t even bother.”
That definitely isn’t the answer I was expecting. It was brutal and honest, just like the Burns I’ve come to know, but also a hint of… protectiveness weaved into his suddenly cavalier tone.
“You really care if I’m hurt?”
He’s not so cavalier in his next response. Laying his hand on my bare thigh, he gives it a gentle squeeze. “More than anything, angel.”
Damn it.
I wish I didn’t believe him. It would be so much easier to continue to hate Burns if he wanted to use me the same way that Carter did. And though he’s been open from the beginning that he won’t be satisfied until he owns every part of me from the inside out, he’s held true to his word. He even made up for how close he came to being just like Carter. Despite the tears, looking back, I realize that while both men are dangerous to my health, only one cares that he is.
Burns.
