36
Lia
“Agala,” I echo, staring first at Logan, then at the long red dress he’s holding out to me, then again at him. “You’re fucking with me.”
“No, Lia. I’m not fucking with you. And watch that dirty mouth of yours.”
I don’t even roll my eyes at his paternalistic tone, instead gaping as he eats up the distance between us, holding out the dress. It’s a beautiful one, with a plunging neckline and just a few scattered rhinestones that make it shimmer in the light.
But instead of admiring it out loud, I mutter, “It’s very tight. And, as you so often like to remind me, I’ve got a fat ass. It’s going to highlight every one of my rolls. You could’ve let me choose my own dress.”
“Yes, well, I didn’t. So come here, and let me get a look at that fat ass of yours.”
I don’t budge, but I don’t try to move away either as he hooks his hands around my waist and pulls me to him.
Lately, I haven’t even bothered to get dressed, because what’s the point?
It’s not like I’ll be able to go out. I can’t remember the last time I was outside.
I don’t even get any fresh air unless Logan’s around: the rest of the time, he locks all the windows and the doors.
“You stink, baby,” he says, burying his face against my neck, before rolling up my shirt so he can access my arms, which he promptly lifts up. And then, he takes a whiff at my objectively smelly armpit.
“Okay, then, stop smelling me. If you let me go out every so often, I’d—what the fuck, Logan? What are you doing?”
He’s just licked a long stripe up my armpit, and I try to bring my arm down to my side, but he holds it up firmly.
“Logan, why the hell are you licking up my sweat?”
“I want it. I want you.” He licks me again, and I shiver, part ticklishness, part pure embarrassment.
“Don’t you think the whole licking tears thing is enough? Or are you turned on by all my bodily fluids? Are you going to make me wear a diaper next, so you can collect it and…” I practically gag at my own words, and Logan chuckles.
“Maybe I will, if you don’t behave, brat. Come on. I’m gonna wash you.”
I let out a few swear words as he leads me to the master bathroom in his sprawling apartment, the one that holds a large tub. He only leaves the small bathroom unlocked when he’s not here. I guess he figures I can’t drown in a shower.
“You know, I think I could manage to do it anywhere,” I tell him, as he undresses me.
“Clearly you can’t do much more than dress in my old shirts. But that’s okay. I’ll take care of you.” He kisses me on the cheek. “I should be taking care of you a whole lot more. I know I’m away during the day a lot. I’m going to try to be with you more often.”
“Oh. I wasn’t talking about that. By the way, you could have turned on the faucet before undressing me. Now I’m going to be naked for… however long it takes to fill the tub up.”
“Good.” He sits on the closed toilet lid, drawing me down on his lap. “What were you talking about?”
“Uh… never mind. Aren’t you going to undress too? You’re not taking a bath?”
He smirks. “I, unlike you, am clean. It’s a lot more fun when you’re naked and I’m dressed, anyway. What were you talking about? What could you manage anywhere?”
The minute I’d uttered the beginning of that thought, I’d known it wasn’t a good idea to speak the rest of it. But he’s not letting it go, so at last I relent. “Just about the bath versus shower thing. I could manage to drown in a shower… if I wanted to.”
He pauses a beat before saying quietly, “I see.”
Fuck. I really shouldn’t have said it. The atmosphere has suddenly gone from playful to cold. And I can tell he’s already thinking about how to give me less freedom than before. If it’s even possible.
Yes, I guess it is. There’s always the cage. But then, I managed it there, didn’t I?
“The point being,” I add hastily, “is that I haven’t done it.
You think the locked windows, door and bathroom are the reason I’m alive.
You think that by removing razors and scissors and knives, I’ll survive.
You think the only reason I’m here is because I’m a prisoner.
But if I wanted to die… or escape… I’d find a way. ”
“Okay.” I shiver at the sound of his icy voice. “I’m not really seeing your point, Lia.”
I swallow audibly. He still has the ability to make me so nervous. “The point is that there’s no point. In keeping me a prisoner, I mean. So please don’t. Please let me be free.”
“I’m taking you to a gala tomorrow night, Lia.”
“That’s not freedom. That’s a gala.”
“Okay,” he says again, not even bothering with his usual vague promise of future freedom. “The bath is ready.”
He lifts me in his arms and gently sets me down in the bath. The warm, soapy water does feel good, and it does have an effect on my mood to feel the stench leave me. Enough of an effect that I start to regret the whole conversation, and cling to Logan’s arm.
“I don’t want to leave you. I just want…”
“Yeah,” he murmurs. “Yeah, I know what you want.” I breathe easier when his voice turns warm again, and don’t even mind it all that much when he concludes, “But you’re not going to get what you want, baby. Now, arms up.”
He’s sat me against the back of the bathtub, where he’s set up some sort of cushioned surface where I can rest my head and neck. I breathe in relief when I lean back and the pressure leaves my sore neck.
“Why do you want me to lift my arms?” I ask suspiciously. “Is this the first step to… making me come?”
“No.” He smirks. “I told you, that won’t happen until the brace is off. And if you keep bringing up things that will never happen, I’ll make sure to add orgasms to that list.”
I scowl at him, but still lift my arms up.
“Good girl.” He wraps a hand around my wrists, holding them in place above me.
“Now, I don’t want you to move. Close your eyes, and don’t move. I’m just going to wash you, baby,” he adds with a chuckle. “Don’t look so nervous.”
“Uhm… okay.” I am nervous, because I never know what to expect with him. Still, I breathe out slowly, and then… jump.
He’s back to licking long stripes up and down my armpits, down to my breasts. He alternates with a brush, and it both feels good and… very ticklish. Especially knowing that I can’t move, that it’ll hurt if I move.
It’s gentle, though. Very gentle. He drags his tongue over my skin, waking up nerves I never even thought I had. He kisses the places he’s licked, and when I start moaning, he replaces his mouth with the soapy brush.
It’s just like him to make sure even his gentleness turns into a form of torture. My nerves are on fire, his tongue, his kisses and the brush making goosebumps break out all over my skin.
And the worst is, I can’t move.
“You’re my ticklish girl, aren’t you?” he coos, rewarding me with yet another lick, this time under my ear, and I hiccup out a strained laugh.
“Okay, I get it, Logan… stop… fuck! My neck hurts!”
“I told you not to move,” he scolds. “It only hurts because you’re tensing up. Stop tensing.”
“Easier said than done! Ahh!”
At last he lets up, stroking the side of his face. “Alright, baby. You need to be better at listening. If you did, things would go a lot easier for you. Now, up you go. I’m going to put you into your pajamas, feed you dinner, and then tuck you into bed like a good girl.”
I glare at him, but still let him do exactly as he says. It’s not like I have a choice anyway.