well."
Frustrated, I ripped off a piece of the bread and bit into it. The crust was chewy and crunchy, just the right amount of both, the fresh, yeasty flavor rising to my nose and making my mouth water. "How do you know so much about Stoker, anyway?" I demanded, only slightly distracted by the bread.
Tate's face darkened. "I said no questions," he muttered, getting to his feet and pacing the length of the room. "Why is that so hard for you to accept?"
"Because I'd like to know what kind of man owns me now," I said. "Or thinks he does."
He raked a hand through his hair, just a hint of a crooked smile playing at his mouth. "What happened? Not too long ago, you seemed so eager to follow my orders."
"I was pretending," I told him, defiantly. "I thought maybe you'd be a little nicer to me, if you thought you wouldn't have to fight me for submission."
He chuckled. "Maybe I want to fight you - did that thought ever cross your mind?"
I shivered, but didn't answer.
"I'm not talking about your transparent act, by the way," he said. "Pretending to be the perfect obedient little slave. I'm talking about what happened before that."
Glimmers of the man from the bedroom were showing through, again. Something thrilled inside me. Anticipation, fear, arousal. I wanted to meet that man again. He was much easier to read. Much more straightforward.
He was pure lust.
"It was all an act," I said, haughtily. "You really think I liked that? Check your ego."
His eyes flashed. "You're lying . Remember what happens when you lie to me?"
Laughing, I ate another grape. "I'm not afraid of you."
The biggest lie of all. But instead of leaping to punish me, he just watched me. His eyes searched for answers, and I tried to give up none. But something told me he was reading deeper than I could have imagined.
When he finally left, wordlessly, the echo of the heavy door left an oppressive silence in its wake. The room seemed even emptier than it had before he walked in. I ate some of the cheese, reveling in its sharp, salty flavor, and finally drifted off into a fitful sleep.
When I finally fell asleep deeply enough, I dreamt about Tate.
I dreamt that he touched me, grabbed me, spanked me and fingered me until I trembled and screamed and coated his hand in my juices. His eyes were dark, lustful, and filled with promise.
I woke up with my own hand clenched between my legs, waves of pleasure coursing through my body.
This was ridiculous. Absurd. I had to stop.
Shaking all over, I forced myself awake and went into the bathroom to wash up in the tiny sink. The old, slightly warped mirror showed me bloodshot eyes and a face flushed with guilt. How could I feel this way about such a dangerous stranger?
It was like my body already belonged to him, no matter how hard I tried to fight it. He commanded me. I hated it. I hadn't managed to stay alive this long by letting other people control me, and I wasn't about to start now. No matter how badly I craved him.
Without windows or a clock, I had no way to judge the time. Finally, I went to my door and tried it. Slowly, and silently, it swung open.
It was so hard to remember that I wasn't actually a prisoner here. Tate's presence was such a heavy shadow over me, like he was watching my every move.
Maybe he was.
I hadn't thought of checking for cameras. What if he'd seen me touching myself in my sleep? A sick sense of shame coursed through me, but what could I do?
I was about to step into the hallway before I saw a parcel sitting there, just beside my door. I glanced down the hallway to see if Tate was still in his room, but the door was shut. Faint sounds were coming from the kitchen.
The brown paper was clean and unwrinkled. I set it down in the center of the bed and stared at it, trying to decide what I should do.
Obviously, it was meant for me. Tate wanted me to have it. And I wasn't sure how I felt about that. It wasn't ticking, and it wasn't moving or growling or leaking toxic substances. I
Frustrated, I ripped off a piece of the bread and bit into it. The crust was chewy and crunchy, just the right amount of both, the fresh, yeasty flavor rising to my nose and making my mouth water. "How do you know so much about Stoker, anyway?" I demanded, only slightly distracted by the bread.
Tate's face darkened. "I said no questions," he muttered, getting to his feet and pacing the length of the room. "Why is that so hard for you to accept?"
"Because I'd like to know what kind of man owns me now," I said. "Or thinks he does."
He raked a hand through his hair, just a hint of a crooked smile playing at his mouth. "What happened? Not too long ago, you seemed so eager to follow my orders."
"I was pretending," I told him, defiantly. "I thought maybe you'd be a little nicer to me, if you thought you wouldn't have to fight me for submission."
He chuckled. "Maybe I want to fight you - did that thought ever cross your mind?"
I shivered, but didn't answer.
"I'm not talking about your transparent act, by the way," he said. "Pretending to be the perfect obedient little slave. I'm talking about what happened before that."
Glimmers of the man from the bedroom were showing through, again. Something thrilled inside me. Anticipation, fear, arousal. I wanted to meet that man again. He was much easier to read. Much more straightforward.
He was pure lust.
"It was all an act," I said, haughtily. "You really think I liked that? Check your ego."
His eyes flashed. "You're lying . Remember what happens when you lie to me?"
Laughing, I ate another grape. "I'm not afraid of you."
The biggest lie of all. But instead of leaping to punish me, he just watched me. His eyes searched for answers, and I tried to give up none. But something told me he was reading deeper than I could have imagined.
When he finally left, wordlessly, the echo of the heavy door left an oppressive silence in its wake. The room seemed even emptier than it had before he walked in. I ate some of the cheese, reveling in its sharp, salty flavor, and finally drifted off into a fitful sleep.
When I finally fell asleep deeply enough, I dreamt about Tate.
I dreamt that he touched me, grabbed me, spanked me and fingered me until I trembled and screamed and coated his hand in my juices. His eyes were dark, lustful, and filled with promise.
I woke up with my own hand clenched between my legs, waves of pleasure coursing through my body.
This was ridiculous. Absurd. I had to stop.
Shaking all over, I forced myself awake and went into the bathroom to wash up in the tiny sink. The old, slightly warped mirror showed me bloodshot eyes and a face flushed with guilt. How could I feel this way about such a dangerous stranger?
It was like my body already belonged to him, no matter how hard I tried to fight it. He commanded me. I hated it. I hadn't managed to stay alive this long by letting other people control me, and I wasn't about to start now. No matter how badly I craved him.
Without windows or a clock, I had no way to judge the time. Finally, I went to my door and tried it. Slowly, and silently, it swung open.
It was so hard to remember that I wasn't actually a prisoner here. Tate's presence was such a heavy shadow over me, like he was watching my every move.
Maybe he was.
I hadn't thought of checking for cameras. What if he'd seen me touching myself in my sleep? A sick sense of shame coursed through me, but what could I do?
I was about to step into the hallway before I saw a parcel sitting there, just beside my door. I glanced down the hallway to see if Tate was still in his room, but the door was shut. Faint sounds were coming from the kitchen.
The brown paper was clean and unwrinkled. I set it down in the center of the bed and stared at it, trying to decide what I should do.
Obviously, it was meant for me. Tate wanted me to have it. And I wasn't sure how I felt about that. It wasn't ticking, and it wasn't moving or growling or leaking toxic substances. I
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