“Roll over, little rabbit,” he said, and she heard the command in his tone. This was someone used to being listened to. It had been the same with the others. The difference was, they’d said it meanly. And they’d added insults to the orders. Roll over. Her heart thumped in preparation of being hurt in a new and different way. She wanted to scream, but that would only prolong things. She did as he asked, bracing. She felt his heat above her and was surprised when his hands came to her shoulders and he began kneading, his thumbs pressing into her sore muscles. Oh God. She clamped her lips shut as she sucked the sound of pleasure that had threatened back into her mouth. She wouldn’t give him that. She would not.
He chuckled as if he saw her struggle and it amused him. “Do you want me to tell you a story, little rabbit?”
“No.” She held herself still, willing her body not to respond to the manipulation of her muscles. But, oh God, it felt good. She’d been in a cage for weeks, sleeping on hard cement, hunched over, and contending with stress that most other people had never come close to experiencing.
She hurt everywhere. She’d stopped addressing it, but his hands on her muscles made her extremely aware.
“I believe I will anyway,” he said.
“I’m shocked.”
He laughed softly, and she heard genuine appreciation in the sound.
Her mind was going slightly fuzzy in response to the combination of his melodic voice and kneading hands. That, too, was a pleasure, and one she hadn’t allowed herself since she’d been taken. By necessity, she’d been on high alert, her mind constantly churning with a way she—they—might escape. “Go on then,” she said, and he again produced a deep chuckle that rolled over her skin. “Tell me your story.”
“Did I say it was my story, Noelle? It was relayed to me recently, and it’s one I find vastly interesting.”
“What’s the point of you telling it to me?”
“Does there have to be a point? I’m simply trying to put you at ease.”
“Why?”
“Because it satisfies me. I find pleasure in yours. Some men find fulfillment in hurting others, and some do not.”
“But you’re using me, just like they did, so what’s the difference?”
“I’ll leave that to you to decide,” he said.
That confused her, but she didn’t press it. And maybe he was lying. Maybe his kink was to lure her into relaxation and then spring something terrible on her. She would try to be ready. Or maybe she wouldn’t. Maybe she’d take what she could, too, while she could. Maybe a back massage would better prepare her to fight.
He paused in his machinations, as if expecting something, but then continued, her body sinking into the mattress beneath her. “There was once a man who collected things, very fine things,” he said. “Jewels. Rubies. Emeralds. Diamonds. And he draped them on the women he stole.”
“Stole? What do you mean?”
“He took them, Noelle. Much like you’ve been taken. He took them and he used them.”
“Used them for what?”
“Sex. Violence. But mostly, he took them for power. All those half-drugged girls, naked and draped in gems. They made him feel like a king.”
“If he could afford all those gems, it sounds like he already was a king.”
“Peculiar, isn’t it? Or maybe a better word is gluttonous.”
Gluttonous? What did he mean by that? Her mind defined it for her before she’d even decided to try. Greedy. To want more and more and more. Never enough.
His hands moved down the backs of her arms, kneading and then feathering lightly. She pretended to be merely enduring his touch. How would he know if she wasn’t? Why not take what comfort she could? Wasn’t this the same as the nourishment she was provided each day in the form of bread and water and small treats? Who would she be punishing if she turned away the food? I need it if I’m going to find a way of escape. “Are you a second tier of torture?” she asked. “Here to bore me to death?” He couldn’t read her mind. In this moment, it was one of the only things that was hers.
“On the contrary,” he said, his hands moving over her buttocks, lingering, squeezing gently. She came out of the half trance she’d allowed herself to be lulled into. Of course this wasn’t just a massage. But she’d known that. “Others have told me I’m quite interesting.”
“That’s not exactly the word I would use, considering the circumstances,” she said. Pervert and sicko came to mind.