Three mornings I’ve woken up in Carter’s bed, and just like the last two, he’s not here.
Not physically, but he’s watching. I learned the hard way yesterday, only the second day of being out of the cell. I thought I couldn’t waste another day, listening and obeying. I had to try to find a way out of here. The memory forces my gaze to the dresser.
I was snooping. How could I not? He wasn’t here, and I still have no way out of his grasp. No one comes in and no one goes out. The place is a fortress and I its prisoner.
And so, drawer after drawer, I slipped them open, hoping to find something. I’m not sure what. A gun or a weapon.
I’m not sure he’d listen to me if I made demands and held him at gunpoint, or that I’d be successful in rushing him or forcing him to let me go. Somehow, I find it hard to believe, but still, I had to try.
My eyes close and my body tenses, remembering his deep voice and how it shook me to the core. The drawer slammed shut as I screamed out and dared to look over my shoulder at Carter leaning against the doorframe.
“Kneel.” The one word I’ve refused over and over from Carter brought me to my knees. My words tripped over one another as I tried to apologize or hide what I was doing.
But I’ve always been a terrible liar and he knew better.
“Open your mouth.” Hearing him give me the command made my pussy hot and clench with desire. He throat fucked me. A punishment, I suppose, but it’s not what it was for me.
With my fingers digging into my thighs, my eyes burning, and my breath cut from me, he shoved himself down my throat. And I was nothing but wet for him.
The fear was still present. It’s always present. The knowledge that when he was done using me, he could send me back to the cell kept that fear very much alive.
He wasn’t done with me when he pulled away and allowed me to breathe again. As I heaved for air, he forced me to all fours. Shamefully, my face turned hot as it hit the rug and he slammed inside of me. My back tried to arch as I moaned a ragged, strangled sound of pleasure.
I came nearly instantly, and Carter stilled deep inside of me. Gripping the hair at the base of my skull, he forced me to arch my back and whispered in my ear, “You fucking love what I do to you.” And I couldn’t deny it.
I fucking loved it. But it was a punishment and I was reminded of that and what I’d done before he left me panting and sated on the floor.
“Next time it will be the cell.” His words ring clear in my head as I glance at all the drawers I have yet to open.
I may love the way he fucks me, but that doesn’t change much. I don’t fight the urges anymore. I want them, and they help me to survive, but it doesn’t make me any less ashamed, because I know very well I’m a prisoner here and Carter can do with me as he wishes.
Although I crave my freedom, that doesn’t mean I don’t have desires in my captivity.
The one thing I always notice is what Carter doesn’t do.
He never kisses me. Never once. And he doesn’t talk to me the same way when there are people around. I’ve met two of his brothers and each time I anticipated being tossed aside or demeaned. But each time, Carter’s talked to me as if I’m a friend, maybe. Or a business acquaintance. As do his brothers, although their words are few.
When we’re alone, it’s different. There’s a comfort in his voice I didn’t expect that’s only replaced by a heavy cadence of desire when he gives me a command.
The combination of all of this is a whirlwind of chaos in my mind.
But one fact remains the same: Another day survived is another day I’m Carter’s whore.
My bare feet sink into the rug beneath the bed as I slink off of it and walk toward the cup of coffee on the dresser. It’s still hot to the touch.
A million thoughts bombard me every waking moment. Why is he doing this is the one that’s a constant. Carter’s a man of intentions. Calculated and manipulative.
Lifting the hot cup of coffee to my lips, I blow across the top and feel the heat caress my face.
He could have slipped something into the cup. He could have left it on the dresser intentionally to remind me of yesterday. My feet are planted right where I was when he punished me.
I go over every possible reason he could have had for putting a cup of a coffee within sight and leaving it for me. It’s flavored with enough cream and sugar that the bitter coffee flavor is less evident. Yesterday I made a cup for myself, my first cup of coffee since I’ve been here. And he must have watched.