He’s not making me sleep on the floor. He’s not making me crawl around on hands and knees and beg for food. I’ve gotten to shower. I’ve gotten to eat.
I have to laugh, no humor in the sound, but he still ignores me. Is it possible for Stockholm syndrome to hit this quickly or is my life outside of this captivity just so bad that this doesn’t seem as terrible?
“Do you love me?” I ask, feeling stupid the second the words fall out of my mouth.
This gets his attention. He slowly rolls his head on his shoulders to look in my direction. “Do you want me to love you?” There’s a sinisterness in his words, as if the type of love that he could give wouldn’t be anything a sane person would wish for.
I shake my head no because that’s absurd. Good love, bad love, his kind of love, I don’t want anything to do with any of it.
I don’t know what emotion he reads on my face but a slow smile, a sinister grin, pulls at the corners of his mouth. It’s the same one he gave me when I came in the shower that says he thinks I’m lying.
I want to argue that fact. I want to tell him he’s insane if he thinks I will ever fall in love with him. I may not know true real dedicated love but I know it looks nothing like this. Love doesn’t start by getting taken from the beach. Love doesn’t start with a needle to the neck. Love doesn’t start with being forced to expose my body. Love doesn’t look like any interaction we’ve had thus far, but arguing isn’t going to change anything.
Just like asking him about his scars isn’t going to make him see me as more of a person. For a man who gets pissed often and rattles on about assumptions, he has to know that he’s guilty of it just as much as I am.
Without even thinking about it, I drop my eyes to his lips, wanting to see when that smile fades away. It isn’t until he growls and throws the blankets off the both of us that I realize I’ve made yet another mistake.
Chapter 13
Liam
Love… what an unnecessary fucking emotion. I keep that thought to myself as I watch her watch me. I’ve been hard since I climbed into this bed with her, since I took a deep breath. With the warmth of her proximity washing over me, I’ve been hard practically since I brought her into my home.
I’d laugh at the thought of needing medical intervention if I hadn’t been jacking off like a teenager since her arrival.
Love, I can’t get the idea out of my head. I don’t want it. I don’t need it. What I need is empty balls.
My eyes lock on her hand. God what I wouldn’t give for this woman to touch me right now.
Will there ever be a time she willingly does something? Will there ever be a minute where she doesn’t hesitate with fear in her eyes when she looks at me? Probably not.
It’s possible that after years of her being here, that she may just give into it, all the while never wanting it. But willing… no, Raya Reed will never be willing to touch me.
I find myself wanting her to make that decision on her own. I could force her just like I forced her to touch herself in the shower, but I don’t think that it would give me the same satisfaction.
Needing all her attention on me, I don’t command her to slip her fingers into that sweet little snatch of hers as I grip my cock. I guess I consider it a win that she doesn’t pull her eyes from me. Her undivided attention is just as encouraging as the warmth of her body was under the covers.
I’ve had her attention for the last hour as I pretended to watch television while she watched me. I don’t know what she was thinking, but I know where my mind wanted hers to be.
I wanted her imagining wrapping her lips around my cock. I wanted her imagining me on top of her. I wanted her imagining me hiking her ass to the air, slapping her skin as she fucked back willingly on my dick.
Oh God, the places my imagination can take me. I don’t hold back the grunts and the groans as I please myself. At least while my hand is stroking my dick, I don’t have the urge to strike up a conversation with her like we’re long-lost friends getting reacquainted.
I fought that urge and nearly lost several times over the last hour. She’s the one who broke the silence, asking me if I was ever going to let her go. My answer wasn’t impulsive. It was truthful. Not because I plan to keep her forever. I can’t let myself even imagine that.
My answer was truthful because the way things end has nothing to do with me letting her go and everything to do with somebody coming here and taking her from me. We both know this isn’t going to end well. Only, I don’t think that our expectations or how we anticipate that happening is the same.
My eyes want to flutter closed as my balls tighten but I can’t allow that either. I watch her watching me. Her mouth is slightly parted. Her breaths are low and noisy. Her eyelids are half-mast.
For a second, I let myself believe that she’s enjoying watching me. I let myself believe that she wants this.
I know that I’m projecting those feelings. I know that she’s a captive and an unwilling participant while I stroke off but the fantasy of her wanting it is enough to keep me going.
I don’t know if it’s the fact that my world is going to come crashing down around me sooner rather than later. Hell, maybe I have some kind of fucking brain tumor that’s making me act completely out of character around this woman.
Another hiss of delight rumbles out of my chest and I have to squeeze the base of my cock to keep from coming so quickly. It could last forever if I had the stamina to stroke my dick for three hours. I would ignore the blisters it would no doubt give me on my palm.
Her eyes dart to my face, and without pulling my gaze from hers, I lean forward and let a little dribble of spit fall onto my cock. I can dry rub with the best of them but it’s getting a little abrasive.