Chapter 2: Horny for my captor

2

I lose privacy privileges again a few days later. I smashed the mirror in the bathroom and cut a wrist with a shard.

I'm not suicidal, but I do have a masochistic streak, it would seem.

I tell myself it's to annoy him, to damage the goods so that when he's finally used me up and returned me to my father, Dad can see the physical toll.

Secretly I just want to see what he'll do.

In the initial minutes, he's rough with me. He catalogues the immense flow of blood flowing from my wrist, the puddle at my feet, the paleness of my face.

"Shit. What did you do?"

He tugs me out of the bathroom. I'm shaking by the time he pushes me down on the bed.

"Stay," he orders, as if I could go anywhere else.

He leaves the room only to return a minute later with a first-aid kit. That he has such a thing at all strikes me so bizarre that I can't repress a laugh.

I receive a glare. "You really need stitches."

He treats me. It stings terribly, but it's what I deserve. Or so he keeps telling me.

I lay out to rest and he vanishes. The pain is exquisite and I don't quite sleep, drifting in and out.

In the middle of the night he creeps in, obviously assuming I'm asleep. His cool hand touches my forehead. If he's looking for a fever, he doesn't find one. I wonder if I'm hallucinating when I feel him push back my hair in something that almost feels like tenderness.

Then I feel him poking around my wound. I'm not sure how he can make anything out in the blanket of darkness surrounding us.

He must be satisfied, however, because he leaves immediately after.

Only then do I find myself tearing up.

It's strange, but no one has taken care of me before. No one until my captor. _____

One day he brings me chocolate ice cream. I'm not sure why, but I happily take the spoon and dig in. He sits on my bed, watching me with a severity I don't understand.

Then he clears his throat. "You are going home soon. Three days at the most."

The ice cream slides down my throat too quickly. A rush of cold flows to my head and it aches.

"Three days?"

This is good news. Why am I panicking?

He runs a hand over his face. "Yes. I'll release you someplace remote. It will be up to you how you get home." His body is tight. "You will tell your father how well we treated you. I would hate to have to come visit you and make my point."

"Do you really think me telling my father you brought me chocolate ice cream is going to prevent the cops from trying to get you?" I snort. "They probably won't even wait a minute before trailing you."

He shakes his head and I realize all too late what I've said. I make a terrible victim.

"We have our money. I'll be far, far away before you even make it to civilization."

Damn it. The thought makes me sad. Fucking Patty Hearst.

Perhaps he reads the melancholy in my face because a sardonic grin drapes itself across his face. "Sad?"

"Who else will lurk around when I take a bath?" I try, but my tone is off.

I might never be able to take a bath again if I can't feel the weight of his impenetrable stare.

He shrugs. "Pay someone to do it."

He's so cavalier that I wonder for a moment if I've imagined this whole attraction. He stands, apparently preparing to leave, and I give up pretending. I take three huge steps toward him, tossing the ice cream on the floor in a dramatic fashion. A brief thought flits through my brain that this is so Lifetime, but I'm right in front of him now and there's no time for amusement. I drag myself up his body so that I'm up on the tips of my toes. Our noses meet and our breath mingles. It would be so easy to kiss him right now.

"I would regret it very much if I didn't at least tell you that, as crazy as it is, I want you to fuck me."

His inhale is sharp and disbelieving. "What?"

"It's crazy, I know. You dragged me out of my apartment and put me in a room that's smaller than my bathroom." My heart is beating so furiously that he must feel it. "You've always been delicate with me, though. I know you'd never hurt me. And there's just something about--"

But he cuts me off with a hand to my throat. "What are you playing at? You're a breath away from being free and you tempt me like this?"

"I'm screwed up," I grind out. I can't help reveling in the tickling sensation of his rough fingers around my sensitive neck.

He scans my face. "You really are," he says in a kind of wondering way.

Then he lets me go and takes a step back. "I have no intentions of fucking you."

"But you want to."

Again he looks astounded. His gaze travels up and down my body as if he's never seen me before.

"You're crazy." He shakes his head. "I'm not going anywhere near you. All I need is for you to tell your father I raped you."

"It's not rape if I'm willing." I can't even believe the words falling out of my mouth. "And you'll be far, far away, remember?"

"Enough." He's pissed. He turns his back on me and makes for the door. "I'll be back with your dinner later."

Something flares in me and I want to engulf him in the flames, too. I'm frustrated, and not just sexually. He took a month from me. He's stolen from my father. He's scarred me for life.

And I want him inside me and it's all so fucked up that I'm crying.

It's too much to bear that in roughly 72 hours I'll be back to my plain life where the most exciting thing that happens is when my boyfriend comes too soon. Dad will ask what I'm going to finally major in, and Mom will feign disappointment in me because that's just what mothers do.

I pull at his arm frantically and he turns to look at me with reluctance.

"What the fuck are you doing?" He tries to tear himself away but I won't let him.

I catch his lips with mine somehow. It's awkward and our teeth click together, but I know I have him now by the way his body tightens up.