Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 77841 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 389(@200wpm)___ 311(@250wpm)___ 259(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77841 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 389(@200wpm)___ 311(@250wpm)___ 259(@300wpm)
That makes me frown at the breakfast. I just don’t have the energy to cook a steak or make a sushi roll in an effort to try to convince her that it’s a different time of day. Breakfast consists of toast, oatmeal, eggs, and bacon. It’s not fancy. There’s not a sprig of parsley in sight. Feeling spiteful, I make only one cup of coffee. Either she’s gonna stare at me while I drink it, wanting some of her own, or she’s going to be annoyed with the smell of it filling the air. Either way she won’t be pleased.
This is one more way for me to control her. I need control over her but at the same time, it irks me relentlessly that she’s so quick to obey. It’s as if she’s biding her time, as if she knows something I don’t know. It’s as if she has information that I’m not privy to, and that’s another thing that drives me crazy.
She’s sitting up on the bed when I bring breakfast into the room, the light flowing in from behind me lighting up the bed. She blinks rapidly from the sudden onslaught of light. I don’t know how long she’s been sitting here on the bed in the dark. But it doesn’t look like she’s moved a muscle.
I hit the light switch with my elbow before crossing the room and placing the tray of food on the table in front of the small sofa.
“I have to go pee,” she says timidly.
I angle my head toward the bathroom before pointing down at the untethered chain. “Go ahead and go.”
She looks down and I can tell the instant she realizes that she’s been semi-free. She woke up in the dark room alone. She didn’t test her restraints. She didn’t move a muscle. I’m not stupid enough to think, or even try to convince myself, that she wants to be here, but it says something that she didn’t try to leave.
It doesn’t stop the regret from swimming in her eyes. Regret that she didn’t try. I smile at her when her lip begins to quiver. “Don’t tell me you’re tame already, Raya,” I taunt.
She must recognize something in the look on my face. “You promised not to hurt me.”
I shake my head. “I promised not to rape you,” I clarify. It doesn’t set her off. It doesn’t anger her. It doesn’t spark that argument I can see forming in her eyes. It’s exactly what I’m looking for.
She’s okay with being abducted. She’s perfectly at ease, being told what to do all the time. She may be accustomed to obeying. She may have rules that she follows because her dad is a politician and always in the spotlight but there’s fight in this woman and that’s what I’m looking for. Raya Reed will never be her true self until she loses complete composure.
She continues to watch me silently, like always. I wonder if this is part of how she’s trying to control me. I’m waiting for the explosion. I’m waiting for her to lose her shit and just rail on me. But each time she complies, each time she obeys, I have mixed feelings. I like it because I want it and that is the end game. But at the same time I want the fight. I want her to stand up for herself.
Eventually, she climbs off the bed and heads into the bathroom. I hear the toilet flush then the water in the sink comes on. Then I hear the shower. I’m annoyed because she didn’t ask permission to shower. It doesn’t take me long before I’m standing in the doorway, watching her. I never promised her privacy, and she’d be a fool to expect that from me.
I see the second she realizes that I’m standing there, but she doesn’t shy away. She doesn’t try to cover herself or angle her body in a way that I can’t see her. She’s just bathing. She’s not washing in a way meant to entice me, but that doesn’t stop the arousal and the desire from rearing back to life.
I don’t pull my sweats down this time. I don’t stroke my cock watching her, but I’m left feeling like I’m missing out on something when her shower finishes and she reaches for the knob to turn the water off.
“Don’t,” I snap.
She turns around to face me, questions in her eyes that she’s either too afraid or too confused to ask.
“You know what to do,” I tell her. All I see is relief in her eyes. There’s no fight. There’s no argument. There’s no hesitation as she runs her slender little hand down her belly and goes to work. She doesn’t look up at the ceiling this time. She doesn’t cry. Her lips don’t tremble. She doesn’t fight it. When she locks eyes with me as she comes, if anything, she looks relieved. It says she needed it, but more importantly, it looks as if she needed me to tell her to do it.