Chapter Twenty-One
Juliet
Six Weeks Later
Saldar is usually here by now. I don’t have a clock, but I’ve learned the patterns of the simulated sunlight. It creeps across the ceiling predictably. By the time it hits the tiny, triangular crack, the door is usually opening. Unless it’s one of the days he comes late.
He likes to keep me guessing. I’m sure he does it on purpose, but he’s ignored all my attempts to ask him about it. The worst thing about him—besides the whole captor situation, of course—is that he only answers the questions he feels like, which isn’t very fucking many.
I watch the light edge away from the crack, then force myself to look away. I’m not going to sit here like some dumb teenager waiting for her crush to text. I’ve got things to do.
Sort of.
I can’t track the days in here—when I try, whatever I’m using disappears in my sleep—but I’m sure it’s been over a month. At what I think was the two-week mark, Saldar started bringing me gifts.
Little things at first, like hair conditioner and gummy bears.
A pillow and a thick comforter. Then a collector’s edition of the Lord of the Rings trilogy—I prefer the movies, but beggars can’t be choosers, even though I still skip past the damn songs.
But one day, he brought me a sketch pad and colored pencils, and the world opened up again.
I spend most of the day drawing. At first, I drew colorful nature pictures to offset the gloom.
Saldar eyed the first batch in his silent way, and the next day, poster tape appeared.
I started tessellating sheets together to form giant murals, and the goal is to cover every inch of my cell.
Saldar studies every new project. He never comments.
A few days ago, though, the torpor started to creep back in. I found myself staring at the wall for what must have been hours, mind blank, no desire to move. But then right at the back of my brain, an idea formed, and I picked up my pencil.
I’m designing a new game.
Not a Saldar game or a spin-off. A completely new project, something I haven’t done in years. If I get out of here. No. When. When I do. I’m going to make it. And it’s going to be fucking amazing.
I pick up my pencil and get to work. I slip into my usual trance, lost in the way that first lines, then color, fill the page, and I nearly wreck it all, jumping when the door finally clicks.
He’s here.
I fling myself to my knees, legs spread, shoulders back, hands clasped behind me, head up, just like Saldar taught me.
I struggled to hold the position at first, but I’ve had plenty of practice.
My body heats, already reacting even though he’s not even through the fucking door yet.
My version of solitary confinement would be a lot worse without the conjugal visits.
I blurt out a laugh at the thought. It’s loud in the silence, and there’s a wild edge to it that I don’t like.
Being alone so much isn’t working in my favor, however busy I’m keeping myself.
The mysterious woman’s voice never returned, nor did the flashing lights. Sometimes I wonder if I imagined them.
But he’s here now. It shouldn’t be a good thing, but it is.
My heart races, blood surging to the parts of me that seem to be in control whenever he’s around. The anticipation burns hot, sick but undeniable. I’m his plaything. What game will we play today?
He enters, pausing to look at me, and I swear I feel it. His gaze has weight, taking in every detail. I’ve been naked for so long now I can’t imagine covering myself with clothing. And no matter how many times he looks at me, it never seems to be enough for him.
His mask shifts into its version of a smile. “I brought you something. Close your eyes and keep them closed.”
Fuck yes. Maybe it will be chocolate. Or paint.
I’ve been asking for paint to decorate, but so far, it hasn’t arrived.
I close my eyes and wait. A couple of loud thunks have me twitching, desperate to open my eyes, but I manage to restrain myself.
If I peek, he’ll know, and whatever this treat is will disappear in a heartbeat.
After a whole ice age, he pets my head. “Good, doll. Happy to see you’ve learned a little patience.”
I’ve had no option. After weeks—months?—I’ve had to learn to appreciate the quiet times. “Thank you, Master.”
“You may open your eyes and examine what I’ve brought you.”
Heart racing, I do. At first, what I see makes no sense.
He’s placed a freestanding cabinet against the wall, and a small, high-sided tank stands on top of it.
Soft light fills it, and it’s full of foliage.
What the hell? I get to my feet, squint into the tank, and let out a squeal when I see its occupant.
A regal jumping spider sits on a leaf. Its fur is a beautiful shade of burnt orange, and it scuttles up the branch as I watch. I smile as I follow its quick movements.
I’ve always loved spiders. Back when I was married, I went through a phase where I was desperate to get a pet one, but Hadrian was petrified of them, so it didn’t feel fair.
I never used to let him kill the ones that appeared in our various apartments, making me the official spider relocation specialist.
Sometimes I’d come home to find a spider trapped underneath a glass, ready for me to remove it. I loved that he didn’t kill them even when he could have gotten away with it.
Now I grin up at Saldar, and he moves to stand behind me, hand resting on the small of my back.
His deep voice rumbles, “Everything you need to take care of her is inside the cabinet, along with a book on what to do. You can train her to be handled with a little effort. Food will arrive daily.”
Her.
My little captive is female. It’s stupid, but my heart swells, and tears sting my eyes.
Before I can stop myself, I’m sobbing.
Fuck’s sake.
Saldar wraps me in his arms, as he always does when I lose it like this. It happens every so often, and I can never predict what will kick it off. The first few times, I was terrified he’d lash out—what man wants a weepy sex slave?—but he never did.
I snuggle into his chest until the storm passes. I don’t even know why I’m crying. This just made everything better.
Once I quiet, he strokes my hair. “Do you like her, doll?”
The words vibrate through me, and I crane my neck to look at him. “Yes. Thank you.”
More tears threaten, but I force them down and ask a question to distract myself. “How did you know?”
“I know everything about you.”
It’s his stock response, and I don’t bother pushing for more, but the analytical part of me has kicked into gear.
How the fuck did he know? I’m sure he’s had my phone and browser cloned for a long time, but that wouldn’t have told him about my spider obsession.
Not unless he’s had them cloned for the last ten years.
Jesus. Has he?
At times, his knowledge of me crosses the line to absolutely freaky. Sometimes I think he can read my mind. Is it possible? Of course not. Probably.
I look back at the vivarium, mainly to distract myself from the dark thoughts. Saldar gives my ass a quick squeeze. “Go on. Take a proper look at everything.”
He seats himself on the altar and watches as I do just that. For the next hour, I immerse myself in my new companion. The cupboard holds a box of mealworms, a book on caring for spiders, equipment for cleaning and maintaining the tank, and a paintbrush to train her to sit on my hand.
I don’t dare try handling her yet, in case she gets frightened and bolts, but I feed her a few of the bugs and watch, transfixed, as she catches them. Her days are going to be much like my own, though hopefully the food selection is more to her taste.
Saldar’s voice snaps me out of the hypnotic trance I’d fallen into. “Doll.”
I spin immediately, meeting his glowing red gaze. He’s as relaxed as he ever looks, seated on the altar with his hands behind him. As time has gone on, some of the stiff formality has worn away. He’s still as strict as ever, but he seems easier in the role than he did at first.
It feels like he gets genuine enjoyment from bringing me things that make me happy, but I can’t assume his motives. Maybe he’s just following a step-by-step slide to brainwashing a captive. If he is, it’s working. Whoever wrote it could sell it for a million bucks.
“Yes, Master?”
“Kneel and thank me properly.”
Of course.
There’s no hesitation in my mind as I settle myself between his spread thighs. This has become as much of a ritual as kneeling for him or calling him Master. When he does something nice, I thank him.
It feels right, and it’s one of the many things I’ve stopped beating myself up for enjoying. Maybe it’s just how he’s conditioned me, but the taste of him and his skin on my lips feels like a reward.
He pulls the laces open on his trousers, and I catch sight of his tattooed skin before I get to work. Just a flash of vivid color. I rarely see any of him undressed—he makes sure of that—but his ink fascinates me. I want so badly to see the man beneath the costume.
He tangles his hand in my hair as I set to work taking his cock with the slow, firm strokes I know he enjoys.
The light, salty taste sends a thrill through me, and I press my thighs together as I take him deeper.
He won’t let me come today—I’ve already had a reward—but knowing that doesn’t make me squirm any less.
Quite the opposite, in fact.
Knowing he holds the keys to my pleasure makes everything more intense.
I’ll spend the rest of the day frustrated, but it doesn’t make me angry.
There’s something about the needy haze he leaves me in that satisfies me.
It makes waiting for his next visit exquisite torture, exactly as I always thought it would in my fantasies.
He tightens his grip on my hair, drawing me back to the present and the task I’m supposed to be completing.
Shit. I focus on him, breathing in his familiar scent as I hollow my cheeks, adding more suction.
He controls me with his grip, pushing me deeper, deeper, deeper until I’m right on the edge of gagging.
I control it, though. I’ve gotten very, very good at this.
I recognize the telltale hitch in his breaths as he approaches the edge.
I find just the right pressure, the perfect speed, and I’m ready when he moans and spills into my mouth.
His taste fills me, and God, I wish I could touch myself right now.
It’s hard keeping my hands where they’re supposed to be.
He doesn’t let go of my hair, keeping me in place as I struggle not to spill a drop. His fingers caress my cheek, then slide lower to play with my aching nipple. “That’s a good doll.”
I whimper as he toys with me, stoking the ache in my pussy that I know full well he won’t do anything about. It’s a special kind of torture, knowing he’s winding me up on purpose. I lean into it, though. I’ll take all the sensations I can get.
Too soon, he loosens his grip and stops his slow teasing. I swallow and lick my lips as he tucks himself away, costume complete once more. My whole body aches for his touch, and I find myself checking the ceiling, working out how long it will be until his next visit. Too long.
My gaze lands on the tank, and an idea hits, distracting me from my upcoming loneliness. What about a spider companion for one of the characters in my new game? That would be fun. I can think of just the one, too. Mentally, I’m already sketching it.
“You’re a good girl, doll.” Saldar pauses, watching me, then adds. “I’ll be back later. Think of a name for her in the meantime.”
I smile. “Yes, Master.”
I have plenty to keep me occupied until he returns.