I rise from the bed and do what he says. I don’t want the bathroom, I want my freedom, but even with my body on display, exposed and at the mercy of his every sick desire, I prefer it to the dank quiet of my cell.
When I’m standing behind him, he turns, and pulls a rectangle of black fabric from off his wrist. I just thought it’d been a cuff, a fashion accessory. I take a step back. “No. No please, not the blindfold. Anything but the dark.”
“Shh. We must blindfold. If you don’t wish to be blindfolded, then you need to earn that right. Prove to me that I can trust you not to try to escape again, not to lash out and hurt your Master.”
“I won’t, I promise. I’ll be good.”
“I know you will, but until you are, until you can prove to me that you’ll be my perfect littleslut—”
I flinch at the word and he chuckles.
“—you’ll wear my blindfold, and you’ll say ‘thank you, Master,’ when I tie it around your pretty little head. Are we clear?”
“Yes, Sir.”
He holds the blindfold out again, and I accept my fate and close my eyes. If he needs me to be blindfolded in order to earn his trust, then I’ll do it. He ties the fabric around my head and secures it tightly. His breath, warm and minty, washes over my face and neck. My nipples form two hard peaks. He trails a finger down my collarbone and over one breast, pinching my pebbled flesh. A gasp escapes me. My pussy tightens. He lets go of my nipple and grabs my cuffed hands, leading me through the room. The cheery beep fills my cell as the door springs open, and stale, dank air whooshes in to greet us. Ares leads me into the darkness, and I have no choice but to follow blindly.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Pet
The bathroom is warm. I stand quietly by the door, I think—I can’t see with the blindfold in place, but the sound of the running water and the sweet scent of gardenia oil soothes my frayed nerves. I hear the clinking of a belt, and the rustling of clothing as it thuds to the floor, and then his arms are on me, lifting me into the bath. He climbs into the tub behind me and pulls my back against him.
He’s hard. He’s always hard. I try not to think about it.
Instead, I breathe deeply of the aromatic oils and close my eyes, praying it will go away, begging to gods I abandoned the first day I woke in that cell not to let him ask for more of me than I’m willing to give. I know that’s stupid; he’s already taken everything from me. He’s taken my life. I don’t have anything else to give.
Ares washes me with a soft cloth, and I pretend that his hands on my body are nothing more than the way a nurse might touch a patient in a hospital. But that isn’t right. Because nurses don’t play between a patient’s legs. Nurses don’t pinch and tease and lay soft kisses combined with hard nips from their teeth between shoulder blades. And patients don’t get turned on by this kind of behavior.Not like I am now.
Oh god. What is wrong with me that I like the way he knows my body, as if we really were lovers? What kind of crazy person holds her breath, anticipating whether the next kiss to my shoulder will have teeth or tongue? And is excited by either prospect?
He slides his fingers down through my sex and teases my swollen flesh. I release a shaky breath, and squirm against him. His ministrations cease, and I hate this as much as I love it. The teasing. The aching and the longing to come, to have him pick apart my seams.
His hands tug at my wrists, drawing them close to my body, and at first I think it’s just so I won’t stop him, but then he unbuckles the restraints and tosses the cuff aside. He gently massages my forearms and wrists to allow the feeling to come back.
I open my mouth to ask why, but his voice is hot in my ear. “I told you I would make the choices for you, but I won’t make this one.”