Neither of us knows what to say.
I don’t offer up any information about what I’m going through, and he doesn’t tell me whose blood stains his clothes.
But despite the connection of our gazes, I long for more. To understand this man, who for one second shows he cares only to show later how monstrous he can be.
His body wants me. I can see his cock lengthen and harden in his pants at the sight of me this way. Sweaty, scared, and broken.
That’s how he likes his women.
Yet, he denies himself the one thing he seems to want—me.
Finally, he swallows, and our connection is lost. He glances around the room at the curtains and then to the locks that were preventing his entry.
“I see you did some redecorating while I was gone.”
I snarl.
He ignores my response and cocks his head to the side.
“You are supposed to be dressed.”
“No, I’m supposed to be dressed when I leave this room,” I snap back.
He smiles a little at my firey response.
“There was no need to barricade yourself in this room.”
“Why not? I was told not to leave this room until I had fully healed. Might as well ensure no one gets in. Although, I see my plan backfired.”
He winces at my words, and I explode.
“You’re a fucking asshole! You’ve kept me locked in this fucking room, this house, for weeks!” I stand feeling my anger from him leaving me, and the nightmare overtakes any other thoughts.
He doesn’t blink as I yell. He just lets me berate him.
“You don’t tell me fucking anything! You just give me mixed signal after mixed signal. You were supposed to kill me but didn’t. You should have sold me or raped me by now, but you haven’t. You want me to heal, yet you spend your time yelling or ignoring me. You’re a fucking coward! Nothing has changed since you were a boy.”
“Are. You. Done?” I feel his temper rising with each word, but he doesn’t let it free. This man is practiced in self-control.
“No, I’m not fucking done!”
I realize I’ve taken several steps toward him as my anger took control of me. I’m dangerously close. Close enough he could touch me. Last time he did, I passed out for days. I won’t let that happen again. I know how much his touch burns.
But I won’t retreat either.
The shiny piece of metal captures my attention. He has a gun.
None of my previous captors had a gun. At least they never wore their guns around me, as if they sensed I would steal it if the opportunity presented itself.
Here’s my chance.
I’m risking everything by doing this.
I’m out of practice with pickpocketing.
My movements are slower than usual.
He could touch me in the process.