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“Five…four…three…two…one. And zero.” His hand is on my cheek, and I feel it. I feel it hard. “Open your eyes, beautiful.”
I open them because I want to. I look at him for answers because he holds them. “I’m back.”
“Yes, you are.”
He doesn’t elaborate. Doesn’t tell me what Rylan has to do with my mental block. Wordlessly, he picks me up from under the blanket, carries me to the bedroom. He places me on the bed, puffing the pillows so I can sit straight. Then he helps me up and tucks me in.
“Be right back,” he promises, and he does exactly that. A few minutes later, he returns, a steaming mug in his hand. “Here.”
My face lights up. “Chamomile tea.”
“Yes.” He sets the mug on the nightstand, cupping both my hands between his much larger ones. “How are you?”
I think for a minute or two or ten. “Not sure.”
“Okay.” Marcus turns pensive. “Okay. You’re okay. That’s what matters. We’ll get to the rest. We have time.”
“When I hit the wall, Rylan was the one I blabbered about.” The tea is forgotten as our session resurfaces like a distant, eerie memory. “Does that make sense?”
“Maybe. I’d prefer not to go there right now.” Marcus rubs my wrists with his thumbs, demanding my attention. Protecting me. “I might be wrong. I’d prefer to hear it from you. I have both patience and faith that we’ll get our answers. Soon enough, we will.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Leighton
Aweek has come and gone since my hypnosis therapy session.
A week of freedom in my body and soul.
Seven days where Marcus has fucked me on every available surface in the house. Where he’s made me eat, drink and sleep with varying butt plugs stretching my ass. Each one of them has Marcus’s property engraved onto them, I discovered.
Everything he’s done serves to tell me he owns me.
And I love that.
I love his patience even more. While he’s been training me. Stretching me. Coaxing another part of me to accept him.
Through routine.
Each day in his glass house has started the same. Morning exercise, food, then therapy, where he asked me about my life. About the parts that he hadn’t been privy to, that I hadn’t talked about with anyone. Not even Ry.
Each day, we had hypnosis sessions scheduled right after.
In each of them, I made progress as well. Just not enough.
According to Marcus, my consciousness had been censoring my subconscious. Marcus has been asking why I resented him for kidnapping me. My answers have been a repetitive string of blabbering. Pink sequin bikini and blue eyes.
As in, Rylan.
The friend I haven’t heard from or about from Marcus.
Neither of us has brought her up other than in our therapy sessions. In fact, he hasn’t brought up our sessions outside his study. Other than to reassure me I’ve been doing great, he’s said nothing.
He’s been hugging and loving harder when the tears of frustration started to flow.
No matter how much I cried, the door in my head didn’t budge. My mind shut me out, keeping this secret to itself.
Marcus leaves it at that, doesn’t push too hard. He explained once that under hypnosis, he’s searched, not drilling. A forced intrusion could break me, and he’d die before he’d do that.
