However, that wasn’t how I woke.
The reoccurring nightmare disturbed me first, heralding my fingers to my empty wrist, the common pang of loss lacerating my heart, and homesickness carving a hole in my soul.
But none of that mattered as a sultry purr saved me from my heart stabbing itself over and over with the past, giving me an order I could hold onto.
“Come back, Pimlico. Now.”
Sleep swirled away, trading the night I lost my life with a hard mattress and contented relaxation even with a stranger in my bed.
How long had I been away from this existence? How long had Mr. Prest let me rest? And how much longer before Master A bombed his patience and came for me?
I blinked as Mr. Prest swung his legs to the floor, his hands balled beside him. “Stand up. Immediately.”
Finally, a command I could obey without a second thought.
I didn’t have to return to full awareness—merely the automation of a slave.
Dropping my eyes from his hissing dragon, I sat up and prepared to slip to the carpet.
However, his bark stopped me mid uncurl. “Don’t get on the floor. Stand on the bed. Hold the frame if you need to.”
Okay…
Unfolding, I planted my feet on the unstable ground and stood.
He grunted as my full body opened to him.
The bare pussy that Master A demanded I shave. The concave stomach of a starving girl. The small breasts of a woman with no spare fat or hips to be feminine. I wasn’t attractive. Not curvy or bootylicious like the pop singers I’d danced to a few years ago.
I loved nothing about me when staring in the mirror. Including the discoloured purple, green, and blue decorating me from top to toe. My bandaged hand ached as I spread my fingers for balance as if the minor air displacement would help me soar.
I dared look at him.
No matter his odd way of hurting me and attempts at robbing my mind, I still feared he’d snap and be like all the rest. He’d been so oddly kind, letting me sleep when he could’ve used me for his pleasure.
I don’t understand.
To him, I was nothing more than a possession he was happy playing with. But what if he grew bored? What would he do then?
Then again, maybe I was wrong. Maybe, he truly didn’t want to rape me and merely wanted to talk. Perhaps, he’d let me rest because, beneath his shady business and contracts of armoured yachts and warheads, he had some decency left.
He paced my bedroom floor, rearranging his erection unabashedly, but he didn’t look at my bare form or mottled injuries. His eyes never wavered from my face, drinking in the way I watched him, biting his lip harder as I went against all my vows and sucked in an audible breath.
We didn’t speak.
Just stared.
Me standing like some fallen from grace goddess and him like some devil worshipper doing his best to find the light.
Time stretched on but he didn’t stop pacing. His jaw tensed, his throat worked, and his body twitched as he worked through whatever thoughts he chased.
The longer we stared, the more awake I became.
Whatever chemistry existed between us became tainted—different.
My ideas of using him for freedom seemed ridiculous now I wasn’t so fuzzy headed and afraid.
He should leave before Master A killed him. This charade has gone on long enough.
“Fuck.” His head fell back as a low growl escaped his bitten lips. “I have no idea what I’m doing here.”
I shivered with a mixture of disgust and enthrallment.
Did he want me to care? Did he want me to sympathise with his confusion?
I won’t.
I was grateful for the small reprieve he’d given but I wouldn’t forget what he’d done before. He’d made me retreat to protect myself. He’d proven he didn’t understand the word no, even if I never verbally said it.
I huffed, ignoring the urge to cross my arms and cock my chin at the door.
You can leave whenever you want.
“Is it screwed up that I find you stunning? Is it fucked up that I don’t care you’re not standing naked because you want to…only because I ordered you to.” He resumed his pacing. “Shit, this was a bad idea.”
His eyes flew to his blazer thrown over the edge of the bed.
Huh, he must’ve picked it up. It was on the floor when I’d fallen asleep.
His face contorted as if battling the desire to get dressed and leave or stripping naked and finishing what he’d threatened.
If I were any normal girl, I would’ve fallen to the mattress and covered myself from his lewd stare. To answer his dilemma and force him to choose the first option and leave.
But I wasn’t and I hadn’t been given instruction to fold, so I remained standing, even when he paced away with his trousers and belt jangling, entering my bathroom to splash cold water on his brow.
With no door hiding him, I continued staring.
Not that he cared.
What had he been thinking about while I slept? Whatever it was had put him on edge.
Had Master A attempted to come in? Did Mr. Prest do something I didn’t know about?
So many questions with no voice to ask.
After swishing his face, he wiped back his hair and buckled his belt. His eyes found mine in the mirror, black with secrets. He didn’t turn away as he dried the final droplets on his hands using the small towel by the sink.
Entering the bedroom, he sat on the stool that complemented the dressing table I never used. Linking his fingers between his thighs, he leaned forward, planting his feet on the white carpet. “Come here.”