preferences. He never told me. He may want my hair a certain way, my makeup to be heavier, or my clothes to be different. I have no fucking clue. I need to ask him. He hasn’t given me anything. He’s not playing fair.
As soon as I find out what kind of mood he’s in, I’m asking. So long as it’s a good mood.
I hear him walk by the sofa and toward the bed, but I don’t look up. I keep my head bowed and wait. I’m on my knees, sitting back on my heels with my hands slightly in front of me, palms up.
I’ve read a lot of books and there are so many damn positions. I don’t know which one he means by kneel. For Christ's sake, in movies they kneel on one foot, but I’m sure he doesn’t mean that though.
I watch as he picks up my hand and places it gently on my thigh and does the same with the other. His fingers tilt my chin up so I have to look at him.
“No need to bow, kitten.” He pets my hair as he talks. It’s soothing and rhythmic. “I want your eyes on me always. You never have to look away.”
“Yes, Anthony.” I feel like I’m playing a role. It gives me a small thrill, but I have to remember this is an act. All of this is an act.
“Did you find everything you need?” he asks.
I look up at him through my lashes. He’s so fucking handsome. It still amazes me that he felt the need to take a woman when he could have anyone he wanted. That a man like him would stoop this low. I realize I haven't answered his question and bite my lip. I want to tell him I want more of my things, but I can’t. I’m too scared to do anything to upset him. Because of that, I merely nod my head in assent.
“So I packed everything that you need, then?” he asks with slight disbelief in his tone. The way he says it makes me feel like I’d be a liar now to tell him that I want more of my things. My skin heats and I feel nauseated. I feel trapped in a corner, like no matter what I do, it’ll be wrong.
“Kitten,” he says as he leans my body against his chest and runs soothing strokes along my back.
“You can tell me anything. I promise I won’t get mad,” he says.
“I want to go home.” The words fall out easily. As though they’ve been perched there, waiting for me to release them.
“I know you do, but you can’t.” He keeps petting my back and I hate him for it. I want to move out of his embrace, but at the same time I don’t. I need the comfort.
“What else did you want to ask?” he says. I’m quiet for a moment and he adds, “If you want certain things, you’ll need to ask for them.”
“I have other things I want,” I say softly into his chest. I wait with bated breath for his reaction.
“We’ll go together. Later tonight.” His answer surprises me so much I go completely still. I’m afraid if I move, or if I even breathe, he’ll change his mind.
“I want you to be happy here. You know that, don’t you?” he asks.
“Yes, Anthony.” I respond with the only answer that seems fit, but really, I don’t know that to be true. He wants me here to serve him. To play his fucked up game. He doesn’t want me here to be happy. He’s not doing me any god damned favors.
He finally releases me and I maintain my position.
He looks me over, assessing me before taking me by my hand.
“It’s time for breakfast, kitten.” He leads me off the bed and to the door. We’re leaving the room. Hope rises in my chest. I wait for the sash, but he doesn’t pull it out. Maybe he'll let his guard down today, and I'll have a chance to run.
He looks back at me as he enters in the code. I bite my bottom lip and look away. Damn it. He grunts a laugh and it pisses me off. At the click he opens the door and reaches out to prop it open with his foot. I consider grabbing the door, swinging it open and running. My heart beats fast and adrenaline rushes through my blood at the thought. But I don’t do it. I watch