Chapter Twelve
Natalia
“Get enough to eat?”
There it was again—a change in his voice. Why was he fucking with my head like this? If he was going to be a cruel bastard, then he could just go ahead and be one.
But that seemed to be his plan. To act like he cared, make me confused, and then drag my heart through the mud, wash, rinse, repeat, until... what? I was broken?
I set the half of a delicious croissant down. I’d already had three, plus some kind of egg business, and I’d eaten about half a huge bowl of fruit. I wanted more, but I wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction.
I said nothing.
He looked at me pointedly, almost like a father would, and stepped into the kitchen. “You haven’t eaten for almost thirty-six hours,” he said. “You don’t want anything else?”
I couldn’t tell if he was angry or being kind. He was acting like a schizo, kind of like Lucy on one of her good days.
“I’m fine,” I said.
There was an awkward silence.
“Okay. Well. Go and shower—there is a guest room down that corridor. We are leaving in twenty-two minutes. Be prompt.”
I shifted in my seat. My ass was sore from his spanking, and his cum was spilling into the thick red robe he’d given me to wear. My heart felt cold again. Not that I had any idea why, but the idea of leaving this place seemed like something I wanted to avoid. I mean, I didn’t even know where we were, at all, but this seemed to imply we were going even further away.
“Where?” I said quietly. I didn’t feel as defiant, as much as I hated myself for it. It almost sounded—ludicrously—like something I wanted to do. ‘Go somewhere’ with him taking me there, and nothing but the heat of his body at my back to worry about... forget it all...
He was looking at me with his stone face.
“Somewhere. Go get ready. Clothing is on the bed.”
The fantasy bubble burst. I couldn’t ‘go anywhere.’ I had Lucy to think of, and this guy was... was... what the hell was he?
My eyes were getting wet. I looked down in frustration. I was not going to let this guy see me cry. That was probably just what he wanted. All of this was obviously just some kind of game to him.
It was decision time.
If I told him I didn’t want to go with him, it didn’t seem like he’d listen. If I told him why, he’d probably find a way to exploit that and use it against me. If I went with him, though... if I appeared to be taken in by his game... then maybe I stood a chance of getting away.
Raw fear was gnawing at me, but it was less about him than it should have been. It was more about me. About the fact that as much as I could reason to myself that this guy was a psycho, manipulative fuck, I felt like giving in to him, letting myself fall for his act. Maybe I even was, a little.
“Natalia, don’t start,” he said impatiently. I looked up at him, and the tears, against my will, spilled out of my eyes and rolled, hot, down my cheeks.
