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"Motherfucking fuck. You're a goddamn sight." His approval was guttural, as he continued to move the dildo within me, milking every last shudder that wracked my frame.
The fabric of the blindfold twisted against my skin as I lay there, my body still quivering.
"Christ, you're fuckin' beautiful when you break," he muttered, fingers tracing patterns on the damp skin of my thigh. The blindfold denied me sight, but I imagined the wolfish grin that must have played across those full lips.
Hours seemed to pass, or maybe it was minutes—time had lost all meaning. At last, the blindfold was removed, a sliver of light causing me to squint. My eyes met his, deep blue oceans I could drown in, and for a moment, the world outside this room ceased to exist.
"Drink," he ordered, lifting a glass of water to my parched lips. I drank greedily, the cool liquid a balm to the fire that still licked at my insides.
"Enough, I'll drop you some water bottles and food in your room," he said, pulling the glass away. With careful movements, he untied my wrists, the sudden freedom both a relief and a loss. I didn’t realize how much I had begun to crave the restraint until it was gone.
"Can you stand?" His voice was almost gentle.
I nodded weakly, limbs trembling as he helped me to my feet. My legs felt like they were made of something softer than bone, wobbly and unreliable. He pulled an oversized t-shirt over my head and helped me slip on some black tights.
"These should be more comfortable to sleep in."
I was at a loss for words. He seemed to care about me and yet he was shoving me back in that room.
"Lean on me," he instructed, sliding an arm around my waist.
"Back to your cage, princess." His words were a mocking endearment as he guided me through the maze of hallways.
"Chris, please," I managed to whisper, my voice hoarse. It was a plea, a question, a prayer—all the things I couldn't articulate, loaded into the syllables of his name.
"Relax, Ella. I'll be back with food in a bit," was all he said as he ushered me inside, the door closing with a soft click behind him.
I stood there, my flushed skin prickling with the chill of the room, feeling the lingering heat where Chris's hands had been. My body was a live wire, thrumming with energy. I didn't want to rest, or sleep, or eat.
I wanted to be fucked by the man who put me here. The one who refused to release me.
Nine: Chris
Unlocking the door, I opened it, plate in hand. Ella's room, her fucking prison. I promised her food, and I delivered. She sat curled on the bed, long blonde hair spilling over her shoulders as her eyes flickered to mine. Hunger gnawed at me – not for food, but a more primal kind.
"Got you dinner," I grunted, placing the plate between us. She moved to the small table and sat across from where I stood. A pathetic attempt at normalcy. I towered over her, arms crossed, tattoos itching under my skin like they wanted to break free and wrap around her. To smother her in my darkness and watch her light rip me apart.
Ella eyed the meal, then me, her brown eyes big, too fuckin' innocent. She picked up the fork and took a bite. So trusting. What if I'd poisoned it? Gunna have to teach this girl some street smarts. Her next question floored me. "What happened to the previous girl you guys had? The one before me?"
"Shit happens." My answer hung between us. "Eat." Her fork scraped against the ceramic, a harsh sound in the quiet.
"Will the buyer... what do they want with me?" She fiddled with her hair as she looked anywhere but at me.
"Depends." I shrugged. A lie. I knew exactly what Gustov would to do her, and it was fucking sick. "Some are collectors, others..." I trailed off. Couldn't let her know how deep the darkness went. Couldn't admit I was part of it. For the first time in my life, I felt shame.
She pushed, tenacious despite the fear I saw flicker in her gaze. "And if I'm not what they want?"
"Then you'll be found in a ditch." The words tasted like ash.
"Chris," she whispered.
"Fuck, little ember, don't. You're cracking a dam, and it will flood the spark inside you." I paced away, a caged animal in her too-small room. Her hope was a fucking knife, threatening to tear it down. I'd keep her from the hands that would ruin her - somehow.
The room stank of desperation, a scent pungent enough to taste. She was trying to draw more of the softness out of me. There's no way she couldn't know how she affected me.
"Talk to me about the others... like Belle," she prodded.
"Can't say." A gruff dismissal. "Not relevant."
