by Linnea May
“Sit,” I tell her, pointing toward the dining table that’s already laid out for us. “And stay seated.”
She casts me a cautious look before she obliges and sits in one of the chairs.
“Can I help you somehow?” she asks when she sees me rummaging through the kitchen, but I tell her no.
“You just sit, and I’ll be there in a minute.”
I prepare the same food she’s been eating for breakfast since she arrived. Incidentally, it’s my favorite breakfast, a very rich and hearty meal, perfect for after an exhausting workout. I usually get my workout out of the way in the morning and hardly ever miss a day. I need it to stay fit, and installing a home gym was one of the first things I did when I moved in here.
I place the usual portion of bacon, eggs, toast, and avocado in front of her, as well as a carafe of steaming coffee.
She’s visibly confused by this and looks at me as if I have lost my mind. Maybe I have.
“Let me at least pour the coffee,” she says, just as I’m about to reach for the carafe.
I have to laugh at her eagerness to serve me. I may be able to train her more thoroughly than I originally thought.
“Go ahead,” I tell her, beckoning for her to pour our coffees.
She casts me a grateful smile, and I watch as she serves the savory brew.
“So is that your new thing now?” she asks, changing to a sassy tone I haven’t heard from her before. “Are we pretending to be a couple now?”
Her question angers and amuses me at the same time. It shouldn’t surprise me that this puzzles her, but I don’t like her making fun of me.
“Don’t get cocky with me,” I say, casting her a warning look. “I told you, good girls get a treat.”
“And have I been a good girl?” she asks, before taking a bite of her toast.
“Very much so,” I reply without looking at her. She doesn’t need to know every detail about what’s going on inside my head. Hell, I don’t even understand it myself. When I came into her room this morning, I had no intention of following her into the shower. I had no intention of making her mine like this, by fucking her bare against the wet tiles, being consumed by the most amazing orgasm I’ve had in a while, maybe ever.
Just thinking about it brings my cock back to life. I’m getting hard just looking at her, even now. I just emptied my balls inside her, but I don’t think I can leave the house without fucking her again.
“Do good girls also get to ask questions?” she wants to know.
“That depends,” I say. “What kind of questions?”
She shrugs.
“Just random things,” she says. “Like we’re having a conversation.”
“Alright,” I say, sensing danger. “But I can’t promise answers.”
She smiles at me, and I hate the effect it has on me.
“What’s your name?” she wants to know. “That one should be easy to answer.”
I furrow my eyebrows at her. Telling her my name would be another breach of our contract. She knows that I chose to remain anonymous and that there’s no reason for us to exchange names. She’s to call me Master and I will call her Pet. We don’t need any names besides those.
It’s bad enough that I called her by her agency name a few days ago. It was a dumb slip-up, a mistake made in the heat of the moment. But I’m in my right mind now, calm and collected, and not in the mood to add further confusion to the situation.
“You know I can’t tell you that,” I tell her. “And I won’t.”
Chapter 33
Liana
So, he can’t tell me his name?
You know that.
Again, he’s implying that I know something that I actually don’t. It’s satisfying to realize that I must be right about my assumption, but it also scares me.
I scare myself. I’m not using this information like a sane person should, but instead I’ve started to dig a hole for myself. Isn’t there a chance that he will find out about his mistake? And what about the other woman? What about the real Ruby Red? If she still expecting to be ‘kidnapped’ by him? And at what point, when it doesn‘t happen, will she contact him? Shouldn’t there be a woman out there who’s just as confused as I am? As confused as I am about being here, this other woman must be just as confused about not being here.
“I know you can’t tell me,” I lie to him. “But I thought we could make an exception.”
He shakes his head, his facial expression hardening. “We can’t.”
“You’re stubborn,” I tell him, watching him with intent to make sure I’m not going too far.
“No,” he objects, averting my eyes and focusing on the food in front of him. “I’m not stubborn, just strict. Flexibility is not really my thing when it comes to rules. Another thing you should know.”
“You made an exception with this,” I say, gesturing toward the food. “And with giving me clothes. Didn’t you say those things weren’t part of the game either?”
“Game?” he asks, sneering at me. “Stop calling it that.”
I bite my lower lip. Okay, that one went too far. I have to be more careful, if I don’t want him to cut the conversation short again.
“So, um, are you living here by yourself?” I ask, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible, which only makes my question sound even more stupid.
He furrows his eyebrows at me again.
“Well, not at the moment,” he says. “You’re here, too.”
I roll my eyes at him, something that would usually make him furious, but this time it causes him to laugh. This must be the first time I’ve ever seen him laugh out loud like this. There’s never been more than a quick chuckle or a smirk before.
I smile at him, which causes his face to harden.
“So, it’s just you otherwise?” I press, unwilling to let go of my line of questioning.
He nods. “Yes, it’s just me.”
“Isn’t it weird to live in such a big house all by yourself?” I ask. “Doesn’t it get lonely?”
“A lot of people live by themselves,” he says. “That doesn’t mean they are lonely.”
I nod. “Yes, sure, but-”
“Do you live by yourself?” he interrupts me.
I bring the coffee mug up to my face, taking a big sip, as if I was trying to hide behind it. My first instinct is to deny it and tell him that I’m living with my boyfriend. It’s not even because I want to lie to him, but because that’s what still pops into my head when I’m asked about my living situation. Luke and I haven’t been living together for that long, but it felt so natural to me that I still can’t believe it’s over.
“Yes, I do,” I say. “As of late.”
“And are you lonely?” he wants to know.
I pause, placing the mug back on the table, absentmindedly turning it on the small bottom plate. The sun rays are playing on the cutlery, randomly blinding me with sharp flashes of light as he moves his fork and knife before me.
“Yes,” I whisper solemnly without looking at him. “Yes, I am lonely.”
I can feel his eyes on me, but I don’t reciprocate the gaze. I don’t even know why I’m telling him this. He doesn’t want to hear my little sob story. He just wants to have fun with his little sex slave and not be burdened with her emotional luggage.
He doesn’t say a word, but reaches for his own coffee mug, taking his sweet time sipping from it. This is awkward for him, and he doesn’t know how to react.
“This was my grandparents’ house,” he says after a few more moments of uncomfortable silence have passed between us. “I used to live here with them, partly grew up here. It feels more like home to me than any other place.”
He pauses, waiting for me to lift my chin to look at him. Our eyes meet across the table, our gazes speaking silently to one another. His face speaks of concern and empathy. Even if he’s only faking it to make me feel better, he’s doing a really good job at it.
“Maybe that’s why I don’t feel lonely,” h
e adds, his words heavy with meaning. “Despite the vast and empty halls. Every room echoes voices from the past. It’s hard to feel alone among them.”
I’m struck by how beautiful his words are, just like the man who spoke them. It’s hard to imagine that this is the same man who enslaved me, the same man who locked me up, who whips and spanks me, and who fucks me like a savage.
“Your grandparents?” I ask. “You lived here with your grandparents?”
He nods. “Yes, they moved to Florida and gave this house to me.”
“What about your parents?” I want to know.
His face changes, and now he’s the one who’s avoiding my eyes.
“They’re gone,” he says. “Not much to say about them.”
“I’m sorry, I-”
“Don’t worry, it happened a long time ago. I was still a kid,” he says. “It doesn’t bother me.”
He takes a big bite of his toast and looks at me squarely, burying any hint of sadness that might have been there a second before.
“What about your parents?” he asks.
I’m confused at his question. He has never asked me anything personal, and I didn’t expect him to, especially after I found out that he thinks I’m just a whore he bought for his pleasure.
“They‘re alive,” I reply. “I think.”
He chuckles. “You think?”
“Well, the sperm donor who’s supposed to be my father did nothing but drink and hit me and my mother until she finally had the guts to kick him out when I was nine,” I tell him. “And my mother married another asshole shortly after that and had another kid with him. He’s not as bad as my father used to be, but he hates me and I hate him. They are still up in Maine, we barely talk.”
“So you’re not from here?”
I shake my head. “No, I moved here for a job.”
He turns to me, drawing in his eyebrows as his casts me a skeptical look.
Damn, that was stupid. Who would move to a different state just to become a whore?
“Er, not this job,” I correct myself. “I mean, it-”
“I don’t need to know,” he interrupts me. “But I’m sorry to hear about your family.”
Now he’s the one trying to console me just like I did for him before.
We continue to eat in silence for a few moments. There’s so much more I want to know about him. There was such a deep sadness behind his words when he talked about this house and how its halls are filled with voices from the past. I wonder if those voices also echo fights and yelling, as they would in my family’s home.
“How did your parents die?” I dare to ask, certain that he will deny me a response.
“Car accident,” he says. “My father was wasted and drove their car into a ravine. Killed them both, but luckily no one else was hurt. I was with my grandparents at the time.”
“Fuck,” I gasp, unable to come up with a better remark.
“Amen to that,” he says. “Guess we both have that in common, fucked-up fathers.”
He casts me a weird look, questioning, searching, as if he was trying to find something else hidden behind my exterior.
“I guess so,” I say, raising my coffee mug to him in a toast.
Chapter 34
Joseph
I check the time once we’re done eating our food, and I‘m relieved to see that I still have a few minutes before I have to get on my way to Boston.
Time has flown by while we were sitting here eating together. We have been downstairs for more than an hour, but it didn’t feel like any time had passed at all. Talking to her comes so easily to me, it feels natural, right. I shouldn’t be surprised to learn what I did about her family‘s past. No girl ends up as an escort if she grew up in a healthy family environment. There’s always something wrong with them, and just like in her case, it’s most often the father to blame.
I guess the same could be said about me, but I refrain from blaming my father for anything that I’ve done or who I’ve become. He doesn’t deserve the attention. He hasn’t even earned the right to be blamed for my misdeeds.
I pour us another coffee, not ready to return Ruby to her room upstairs. This will be an exception. I won’t bring her downstairs again because it would be a stupid thing for me to do. But since it’s just this one time, I might as well make the most of it.
She’s holding on to her coffee mug, looking so innocent, almost too prim and proper in the outfit I gave her to wear, and it’s hard to believe she’s a prostitute. She strikes me as too smart and timid for that profession. I wonder what was really behind it.
Maybe she’s in trouble? A good girl who made a bad decision, or somehow got caught up in some kind of shady business and now owes a bunch of money to some bad people, perhaps?
Or maybe she simply enjoys it, though knowing her as I do, I can’t believe that.
I would love to ask her, but that would be such a big breach. We can talk about our families, but not about her real job, and definitely not about the reason why she’s here.
“There’s something else I’m curious about,” she says, casting me a cautious look.
“I’m not surprised to hear that,” I say, leaning back in my chair, as I beckon her to continue speaking. “What is it?”
“Your tattoos,” she says. “They are quite… peculiar.”
I smile to myself. “That’s an interesting word for it.”
“What do they mean?” she adds. “I mean, why did you get those particular ones?”
I hesitate, looking at her as I contemplate my answer. The truth may scare her, and it would tell her a lot more about me, and I’m not sure that I want to share. I’d rather say nothing than to lie to her.
“They remind me of something,” I say, deliberately being vague in my answer. “Or rather of someone.”
“Your father?” she guesses.
I snort.
“Fuck no,” I say. “He doesn’t deserve to be remembered.”
“Well, who then?” Ruby presses, leaning forward with interest.
“Myself,” I tell her. “They remind me of the person I used to be but no longer want to be.”
Her eyes flicker with anxious fascination. “What kind of person?”
“An angry person, very angry,” I reply. “I was an angry child, and I wasn’t very good at handling my emotions. I let it out on other people.”
“So you beat up other kids?”
“Yes, a lot,” I confirm. “I constantly was getting into trouble, and I wasn’t shy about using my fists. I’ve always been tall and strong, and I used it to my advantage. I did some real damage.”
That’s the understatement of the year, but she doesn’t need to hear the entire truth. She doesn’t need to know that I almost killed another boy when I was sixteen. She doesn’t need to know that I robbed him of his ability to walk for the rest of his life, and she doesn’t need to know that I took out an eye from another kid shortly before that. Those two were only the tip of the iceberg, but they were also the last ones.
I will never get those images out of my head, no matter how hard I try. They will haunt me forever. The boy, lying on the floor before me in a puddle of his own blood, motionless, so badly ravaged that I wasn’t the only one who thought he was dead. He survived, his life was changed forever, while I continue to walk the Earth being able to use both of my legs. No amount of money that my family paid out to him will ever make up for the fact that he will never walk again. He can’t forget about that day, and when I - with the help of my grandfather - decided to make a change in my life, I wanted to make sure that I could never forget about it either.
The marks on my skin resemble the scars left on my victims. They aren’t pretty, and they don’t look anything like the kinds of tattoo men usually get, but they serve a purpose. They aren’t designed to be vain decorations, but rather to help me never to forget.
“So you really hurt people?” she asks, her voice tight and concerned.
I nod. “Yes, I really hur
t people.”
Ruby’s eyes are locked on me, observing me. I can see her mind working, processing what I just explained. She doesn’t look scared, but only because she’s working so hard at hiding it.
“I don’t anymore,” I tell her. “And I would never hurt you.”
She takes a deep breath, relaxing her shoulders a little.
“I want to believe that,” she says, sounding anything but convinced.
Seeing her like this drives me insane. That real and raw fear pervading her entire being. She’s too good of an actress - or too tricked into thinking that all of this is real. I don’t want her to feel this way, not like this. It fucking bothers me.
“You can trust me on that,” I tell her, reaching for her hand on the table. She doesn’t flinch, but welcomes my touch as a reassurance, intertwining her fingers with mine as she smiles at me.
“I have no choice, do I?” she says.
The smile on her face is lined with sadness. I wish she wouldn’t look at me like that.
“Will you let me clear the table?” she asks, nodding toward the dishes in front of us.
I raise an eyebrow at her. “Why?”
“I would like to,” she says, shrugging. “I haven’t done anything since I… got here. I’d like to be useful.”
“You are useful to me,” I tell her. “Very much so.”
The blush that rises on her cheeks is so much more appealing than her frightened sorrow from before.
“Alright, if it makes you happy, clear the table,” I say.
Ruby smiles as she gets up from her seat, gathering our plates and carrying them over to the kitchen as my eyes follow her. She knows that I’m watching her, and she makes sure to move her hips in a way that emphasizes her round ass in those tight jeans I bought for her. I knew she’d look delicious in them.
She deliberately bends over, taunting me by poking her ass out as she places the dishes on the counter top. The effect it has on me is clearly visible in my crotch. I rub across the hardness between my legs, checking my watch one more time.
