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“No. Digging hurts. I want this, only this.”
Fyre’s voice changes. Deeper, rougher.
“Of course you do, Dolly. Because it feels good, doesn’t it?” Red’s words pull me out of the daydream I’d slipped into. I’m naked, inside the shower. Red’s jacket is off, his sleeves rolled up.
The keycard is in that jacket. My eyes skip idly over the bundled-up fabric neatly stacked on top of the closed toilet lid. If I could get past him, grab the jacket, run, make it to a door, unlock it, escape…
My gaze latches onto the window, and the icy winter air outside.
So cold. Why do I want to be out there when it’s so warm in here? So warm, and so lovely, and so fucking nice?
Red unlatches the collar around my neck. It gives a musical jangle as he takes it off, and I lean into his touch when he rubs his fingers over the side of my neck. “It’s left a mark,” he says. “We’ll have to put some lotion on your skin.” He turns on the water, and I flinch when it hits my body, expecting it to be cold. But it’s warm, and it feels good. My eyes drift closed as Red’s hands move over my skin, and it feels so good.
He’s being so gentle, so careful, so nice.
Nice.
Nice.
Nice.
I’ve never felt this way. It’s like a piece of me has been missing all this time, and now I’m whole. My mouth opens with a sigh, and Red chuckles as he works a citrusy lather over my skin. His hand glides over my ass, and I laugh when he squeezes me hard, because I barely feel a thing.
“You can’t hurt me,” I tell him, my half-lidded eyes fluttering as I turn to look at him over my shoulder. “Not even if you try.”
He chuckles again. “I know, Dolly.”
There’s a pair of scissors in his hands. It should concern me, but so what if he stabs me with it? I won’t feel a thing. And that’s so much better than the pain. So much better than the fear. I watch him as he steps closer. Not curious, just too blissed out to bother looking away.
I gaze impassively as he drags his fingers through my wet hair, as he draws the dark locks forward, as he snips them just like a hairdresser would. I giggle at the thought that he cuts hair in the real world. A man like him? It would be ridiculous.
He chops another length, then another. Thesnickof the scissors slicing through each strand is as clear as the sound of my breathing, as the sound of his. I didn’t realize my hair had grown so long. Then again, I’d never really cared much for my appearance after I came out of the Toy Box. The only time I dolled up—ha ha ha—was when I needed my fix. When I went out to a club and smiled at the first guy to look my way with the single intent of letting him fuck me.
“You like this?” Red asks, another chunk of hair falling to the shower floor.
When did he turn off the water? I feel a breeze sliding around my legs. Will it make me cold? My eyes move past him, to the open bathroom door. I wish he’d close it so I didn’t risk losing the warmth enveloping me. But I don’t care enough to ask.
“I asked you a question, Dolly.”
It’s a monumental effort to answer him. “Yes,” I manage with another sigh. I shift my head, relishing the light bounce of the hair he left behind. It barely brushes my shoulders now. “Light.”
“Such a pretty little dolly,” he murmurs, taking the last section of hair and sliding it between his fingers. It falls to the ground, and my head tips down to stare at the floor where a handful of black snakes coil against the tiles. My toes curl up, and even that feels nice.
Warm water patters over my head. I keep my head down, watching the snakes dissolve and clog the drain. Red bends, the back of his neck exposed for a long moment as he gathers up my hair.
I could bite him. Sink my teeth into those strong muscles and clamp down as hard as possible. Would it be enough to hurt him? Will he be in so much pain that I could shove him away and bolt out that door?
The thought of blood in my mouth makes my stomach turn. Running is equal parts as unpleasant as doing anything but standing here in the warm, wet water. Red looks up at me, a slow smile spreading on his mouth.
“I’m always cleaning up after you, Dolly,” he says. “Why do you keep making such a mess?”
I look down at the floor, my mouth turning into an unhappy crescent at his words. “Sorry.”
He shows me the handful of hair he picked up, standing, looming like a monolith. “Sorry isn’t good enough.”
The air blurs as he moves. I don’t even know how it’s possible for him to go at such speeds. I’m against the tiled wall, Red’s hand on my throat. His other arm shoots out, tossing the ball of wet hair into the waste basket beside the vanity. A few strands cling to his skin until he wipes them off on my breasts and stomach.
“Think I want this?” he hisses in my ear, grasping roughly at my breast. “Think it’s fun for me to spend my days cleaning up after you?”
