Total pages in book: 139
Estimated words: 128488 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 642(@200wpm)___ 514(@250wpm)___ 428(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 128488 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 642(@200wpm)___ 514(@250wpm)___ 428(@300wpm)
This man, though—she didn’t have the desire to draw away from inhaling his air. He smelled good; she’d give him that. And she’d take it as a very small mercy.
“Can I take off this blindfold?” she asked. She’d felt exposed before, but this was a whole other level of bared. To be naked and blind, while the other untrustworthy person was not, was awful and unnerving. He might hurt her, and she’d never see it coming.
“No,” he said. “I believe you’ve already been advised that the rules of this room were established beforehand. If you break them, the large man by the door will not hesitate to put a bullet in your brain.” He opened her palm and ran his fingers across it. “Some would enjoy that. Some would benefit from that. I, however, would do neither.”
“So others are watching then? That’s all this is?” She didn’t know why she was being so brazen with this man. He was just like the others. Vile. Taking advantage of a helpless girl without consent. But she felt she had a chance to speak her mind, and she had no idea if she’d ever get that again. The way he was running his fingers down her skin made her want to scream, although she bet he thought she’d find it relaxing. In this way, she was actually glad for the blindfold. It was like being hidden behind the windshield of a car and feeling more comfortable road raging. She wanted to attack him with violence, but she also wanted to appeal to him for help. She didn’t know why or what or how. All she knew was that since she’d arrived here, she’d been operating mostly on instinct and gut survival, and this man was somehow different from the others she’d so far come into contact with. Was it his refined voice? That gentle accent that almost seemed to ebb and flow? The clean, elegant scent of him? Forget all that. He’s no different than the others. All those things were falsehoods, a costume so to speak, meant to put others at ease. He’s a monster. He rented me.
“Roll over, little rabbit,” he said, and she heard the command in his tone. This was someone used to being listened to. It had been the same with the others. The difference was, they’d said it meanly. And they’d added insults to the orders. Roll over. Her heart thumped in preparation of being hurt in a new and different way. She wanted to scream, but that would only prolong things. She did as he asked, bracing. She felt his heat above her and was surprised when his hands came to her shoulders and he began kneading, his thumbs pressing into her sore muscles. Oh God. She clamped her lips shut as she sucked the sound of pleasure that had threatened back into her mouth. She wouldn’t give him that. She would not.
He chuckled as if he saw her struggle and it amused him. “Do you want me to tell you a story, little rabbit?”
“No.” She held herself still, willing her body not to respond to the manipulation of her muscles. But, oh God, it felt good. She’d been in a cage for weeks, sleeping on hard cement, hunched over, and contending with stress that most other people had never come close to experiencing.
She hurt everywhere. She’d stopped addressing it, but his hands on her muscles made her extremely aware.
“I believe I will anyway,” he said.
“I’m shocked.”
He laughed softly, and she heard genuine appreciation in the sound.
Her mind was going slightly fuzzy in response to the combination of his melodic voice and kneading hands. That, too, was a pleasure, and one she hadn’t allowed herself since she’d been taken. By necessity, she’d been on high alert, her mind constantly churning with a way she—they—might escape. “Go on then,” she said, and he again produced a deep chuckle that rolled over her skin. “Tell me your story.”
“Did I say it was my story, Noelle? It was relayed to me recently, and it’s one I find vastly interesting.”
“What’s the point of you telling it to me?”
“Does there have to be a point? I’m simply trying to put you at ease.”
“Why?”
“Because it satisfies me. I find pleasure in yours. Some men find fulfillment in hurting others, and some do not.”
“But you’re using me, just like they did, so what’s the difference?”
“I’ll leave that to you to decide,” he said.
That confused her, but she didn’t press it. And maybe he was lying. Maybe his kink was to lure her into relaxation and then spring something terrible on her. She would try to be ready. Or maybe she wouldn’t. Maybe she’d take what she could, too, while she could. Maybe a back massage would better prepare her to fight.
He paused in his machinations, as if expecting something, but then continued, her body sinking into the mattress beneath her. “There was once a man who collected things, very fine things,” he said. “Jewels. Rubies. Emeralds. Diamonds. And he draped them on the women he stole.”