Chapter 18
Madelene
I can’t help the growl that rumbles out of my throat.
My mother always warned me to get better control of my attitude. She told me countless times it would get me in more trouble than I could handle.
“You can’t be serious,” I say, my eyes darting from his to the bag of food on the table.
He shrugs. “You have a choice.”
My mouth waters as I watch him pull the burgers and fries from the bag.
He left the house, and for some reason, I stayed here.
I could’ve easily walked right out the front door, but this isn’t exactly a normal kidnapping if any kidnapping could be called normal.
I don’t have a family out looking for me because they care for me.
There are no pleas broadcasted for my safe return.
I want to stay hidden from those searching for me as much as they want to find me.
“It’s not much of a choice,” I argue.
“But it is a choice.
“Get naked or don’t eat?”
“See?” he says, a grin that doesn’t reach his eyes spreading across his face. “Two choices.”
I cross my arms over my chest, but he seems more interested in the food than me as I stand there staring at him.
“Are you hungry?”
The scent of greasy food meets my nose when he unwraps one of the burgers. My mouth waters at the sight of the cheese clinging to the wrapper.
“Are you serious?”
“You can suck me off or stay dressed.”
His eyes lift to mine, and I know better than to question if he’s joking again.
His offer is to either get naked and eat or stay clothed and starve.
If I press too much, he may actually change the terms to something I couldn’t live with.
“You’re a pervert,” I mutter, wondering when he’ll turn violent like Alessio and Marcello did. I suspect that all men are like that when whittled down to their innermost reactions.
He shrugs, not confirming or denying my accusation.
I shift on my feet, but I know what my response is going to be.
I hate that I’ve been reduced to this, that fear has transformed me into someone willing to get naked for food.
I tell myself it’s for my survival, that I’m not whoring myself out for a cheeseburger and fries, but I don’t feel like I’m being honest with myself as I pull my dress over my head.
Convincing myself that it’s the temperature of the air and not some deep, dangerous thrill at the way his pupils dilate at the sight of my naked breasts is just as futile.
I can’t convince myself as I drop my dress to the sofa that it’s fear or shame making my nipples turn to stone either.
This has been going on for the last three days.
Want a shower? Get naked.
Hungry? Get naked.
I considered being naked when he walked back into the house after telling me he was leaving to go get food, but deep down it thrills me to be commanded to strip.
He turned the tables by offering me a choice.
Yesterday it was, “I grabbed you something to eat, get naked.”
He doesn’t touch me, but he doesn’t dart his eyes away either. He wants me naked, and he uses every second that I am to watch me, letting his own food get cold as I eat.
“Well?” I ask, holding my hand out for my portion. “I’m naked.”
His eyes slowly drift back up to mine, and I wonder how long it will take before I refuse to take my clothes off. If he keeps buying shit like tacos and cheeseburgers, then it won’t take long before I put on so much weight he won’t want to look at me anyway.
“The price went up.”
“Excuse me?”
His eyes drop to the apex of my thighs, and I try my best not to tremble when a cold chill runs up my body. I knew it was a mistake to think that him just looking at me was enough to appease his perverseness.
“You asked for bacon on your burger.”
My jaw clenches at my mistake.
I can see laughter in his eyes as he speaks, but I know better than to think he’s joking right now.
“I’m not sucking you off for bacon,” I say, torn between wanting to take a step back or standing my ground as to not show further weakness.
His laughter washes over me, and I wonder just how much the abuse I’ve suffered in my life has scarred me when the sound of it sort of thrills me.
It doesn’t have a sinister edge to it. I’m not comfortable enough however to actually think he’s laughing because he feels joy.
The man may not draw blood by striking out at me, but that doesn’t mean he’s safe either.
“Eat with your legs spread,” he says, offering up his demand for the barter.
“Fine,” I say, stepping to the side of the table opposite of him.
He laughs again, but it has a much different edge to it than the first chuckle did.
“We sit on the couch, remember?”
I glance over my shoulder. The couch he’s referring to is actually a two-person settee that barely holds the two of us when our legs are closed.
It would be impossible to sit beside him with my legs open and not touch him.
It makes me too vulnerable. It would make him draw more conclusions than I care to explain right now, things I don’t understand myself.
“I’ll sit here so you have room,” he offers, pulling out the chair I usually sit in because it gives him a better view into the living room.
“Fine.” I huff, taking the burger and fries from his hand when he offers them to me.
My hands are trembling as I cross the room.
“Forgetting something?” he asks when I sit down and immediately start opening the wrapper on my burger.
I spread my legs a mere few inches, grateful for the single lamp he has in the room. I can see that it’s casting shadows on my body, making it virtually impossible to get a good look at what he desires.
I clamp my legs closed when he stands and walks into the living room.
He doesn’t reference or reach for his erection on his prowl in my direction, but I still jolt when he reaches for the lamp, jumping in fear when he pulls the shade from the top.
He has a victorious look in his eyes when he positions it a mere foot from my leg.
“Spread them,” he commands, that growl in his voice making my body respond in the most confusing way. “Better yet. Lift your feet and rest them on the edge.”
It’s almost enough to make me throw the burger and fries at his face, but that feels too much like defeat.
I lock eyes with him, challenging him, but he doesn’t mind losing that tiny battle as I lift my legs and his eyes drift down my body.
Cool air hits my sensitive skin, making it very clear, incredibly quickly, that my body is responding in a way I don’t understand to his commands.
I know it’s a way to condition me. I know just looking eventually won’t be enough.
It’s proven by him making me do this when just this morning for breakfast, sitting naked was enough.
Things are escalating. His commands will grow more perverse, and although him telling me that I could stay dressed if I sucked him off was a mere suggestive challenge, I know eventually it may come to that.
I blame my mouth watering on the burger I’m lifting to it rather than the thought of his fingers tangled in my hair as he forces me down on his dick.
The food is absolutely delicious, the bacon crispy and perfect, the fries salty and fresh.
It takes me a long moment after my food is gone to realize my legs are still pulled up and spread for him to see. I drop my legs, and he doesn’t start to eat until I do.
I watch him take a bite.
I watch him lick ketchup from his fingers.
I watch him from the living room as he eats his entire meal.
It isn’t until he stands and gets rid of his trash that I realize I sat here naked the entire time he did it when normally I’d get dressed the second the barter ended.
The glint of victory in his eyes as I pass by him to grab my dress tells me he’s well aware of it as well.