Total pages in book: 216
Estimated words: 206530 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1033(@200wpm)___ 826(@250wpm)___ 688(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 206530 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1033(@200wpm)___ 826(@250wpm)___ 688(@300wpm)
I shoot to a sitting position and pull my knees to my chest, looking around like I’m just waking from a trance. Which is when I realize I’m still naked.
My hands go to my head. I rub my eyes, then my temple.
What the fuck was that last night?
I had a freaking plan. I was just supposed to let him think I was going along with his shit.
Did he drug my food or something? Maybe he sprinkled some kind of compliance-inducing chemical on the eggs? Do those kinds of things exist outside of CIA laboratories?
I swing my legs over the side of the bed and stand up, trying to gauge if I feel drowsy or out of it in any way. I lift my arms and hop up and down. Which reminds me that I’m naked. I grab a pillow from the bed to cover myself.
But, all right. Everything feels ok. At least it does now. Maybe it was a drug that’s quickly metabolized and wears off within twelve hours? Or however long I’ve been sleeping.
What time is it anyway?
I turn around and look over at Xavier’s desk to try to find a clock. And see the two giant monitors.
He left me in here with all the electronics. Ignoring my nakedness, I run over to the computer and move the mouse. The monitor comes to life, but of course, duh, I’m met with a screen asking for a password.
“Damn it.” I look around the desk for anything else that might be useful for communication. Doesn’t the guy even have a landline somewhere? Does he actually get cell service out here in the boonies? But there’s no phone to be found, and while there are three enticing drawers to the desk, they’re all locked.
I jerk uselessly on one of the drawers yet again, frustration building, when I hear heavy footsteps on the stairs.
“Shit,” I yip, then run back the few steps to the bed and jump in it, yanking the covers back up over myself right before Xavier pushes open the door.
I open my eyes and stretch like I’m just waking up but the amused look on his face tells me I’m not fooling anyone.
“Good morning, Pet.”
I look up at him warily. His dark curls are matted down by the shape of his hat even though he doesn’t have it on. He’s carrying some clothes and… are those cowboy boots?
“Time to get dressed for the day.”
He heads toward the bed and I can’t help pulling the covers tighter to my body. He pauses at my action, a small frown creasing his brow.
“Gonna have to retread some ground,” he murmurs under his breath, more to himself than me.
What? That doesn’t sound like it bodes well for me.
He pulls the covers down as soon as he gets to the bed. There’s a small tug of war before he pries my fingers off the cloth. Which makes me feel about five years old. But still, having no barriers between me and him, God, it just makes me feel far too… well, naked.
I squeeze my eyes shut. What now?
But all Xavier does is urge me to a sitting position where he puts on my bra, then lifts my arm, slides on one sleeve of a denim shirt, then the other. Then he crouches in front of me and buttons each button, slowly and methodically, not saying a single word the whole time.
Next he pulls me to a standing position, then taps one leg for me to lift and step into a pair of cotton panties, then jeans. They fit me comfortably. Everything does.
But still. Does he have to dress me like this? He even rolls on my socks. He pauses to rub my arches in deep massaging circles in a way reminiscent of last night before he finally urges each foot into one of the tall black cowboy boots.
The way he handles my body… I can’t help gulping hard when he has his hands on my second foot, briefly massaging up to the calf before reaching for the boot. For a second, just a brief flash, I remember how I felt last night. And it’s not just a memory—for that brief moment, I feel exactly the same way—like I could melt into his touch and willingly want to do whatever he asks. Not like I was drugged and doing things against my will.
“I got it.” I pull the boot away from him and tug it on myself. It slides on with ease and when I stand up and walk around, purposefully not looking his direction, I’m surprised at how comfortable they are. You always see cowboy boots in the movies, or I mean, some of my friends have fashion label versions, but these are definitely the authentic thing. When did he get them? And how the hell did he know my size?