Total pages in book: 260
Estimated words: 245483 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1227(@200wpm)___ 982(@250wpm)___ 818(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 245483 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1227(@200wpm)___ 982(@250wpm)___ 818(@300wpm)
“I’m fine,” she says quietly.
I sit down with her in my lap. I can feel my cock stirring with excitement and the darkness begging to be fed, but I block it all out. I made a promise, and I’m going to keep my promises to her.
“You feel warm,” I say softly. I take a spoonful of soup and bring it to her lips. She accepts it gratefully. I get another and another, and she eats every single one. Good girl.
“I’m fine,” she says finally. I break off some bread and gently feed it to her. My fingers slip past her soft lips, and I feel the warmth of her mouth. Again my dick hardens, but I ignore it. I can feel my breathing coming in heavier, but I don’t act on the thoughts screaming in my head.
I shift her weight in my lap. Her whole body rests against mine, almost like she can barely keep herself upright. She’s so damn light, and I marvel all over again how easily I could break her if I wanted. She’s not well, I remind myself. I’m not well.
It’s so fucked that I keep having these thoughts. I keep thinking about taking her, breaking her, making her mine. I want to feed her and make her well again, but the darkness inside of me keeps warring against that, begging for me to go against my promises to her.
“What do you like?” I ask her, trying to distract myself.
“What do you mean?”
“For the room. What things do you like?” I need to know what the hell to get her. There’s not much that I require. But nothing seems to tempt her.
She goes quiet for a second. “Music,” she says.
“What kind of music?” It figures she’d ask for something that would fill the room so she can stay in that cage.
“Classical.” Her voice is almost a whisper. “Piano. Quiet things.”
“Okay,” I say softly. “Music. What else?”
She bites her lip and looks away. “I don’t know.”
“That’s okay,” I say gently, tilting her head back to me, and feed her some more soup. Next, I hold the lemonade to her lips and she drinks it greedily. Her hands come up and hold the cup, but I control it.
“Books,” she says after a few more minutes of silently eating soup.
“What kind of books?”
“I don’t know. My father…” She trails off, and I can see the pain in her face.
“What about your father?”
“He didn’t let me have many.”
“I see.” That little piece of information speaks louder than anything else has. “What else did he keep from you?”
“A lot of things…” She trails off again and I hold her close, my heart racing. I can’t believe how vulnerable she is, and how much I love it. Normally I destroy vulnerable things, but right now the only thing I want to do is get her to open herself to me.
I want to drink her in.
“What did he do to you?” I ask.
“He’s like you,” she says suddenly. “Except also, he’s the opposite.” She shakes her head; confusion clear on her face.
“Did he give you these?” I ask, trailing my finger along the scars on her shoulder. She shivers under my touch and I feel my cock stir, the desire flowing through me.
She nods slowly, her lips parted, and shuts her eyes. “Yes,” she says finally.
The desire leaves me in an instant. That fucking bastard. Anger boils through me, but I have to keep myself under control.
“What did he do to you?” I ask her again.
“Those were from a belt buckle I think,” she says, her eyes still closed. She’s practically trembling in my arms. “I was a disappointment. I'm still a disappointment. He wanted a son. But he got me instead.”
“So he took that anger out on you?”
“Yes,” she whispers. “For a long time. The scars are nothing. I can survive the scars.”
Revulsion and hate flood through me. I realize with a jolt that I’m just like her father in a lot of ways. And I fucking hate it. I resist the urge to ball my hands into fists. He abused her for years. He controlled her, dominated her, and used her for whatever he wanted. I’m doing the same thing, although none of this was my choice.
She was forced on me. Now I’m just trying to do my job. Lies, a dark voice whispers. You enjoy this. You’re just as sick as he is. I don’t want this. I don’t want to leave scars on her beautiful body. I want to leave pleasure with my touch. It’s different. I don’t want to hurt her. Not like that.
“Why did you stay?” I ask her, trying to stay calm although internally I’m at war.
“I couldn’t leave,” she says, shaking her head. “He locked me up. He bolted my windows shut. He kept me in a cage, a nice cage, but it was a cage.”