Craving Contact
Seven days.
Seven days of pink walls and perfect silence. Seven days of the AI's cheerful voice being my only companion. Seven days of meals through the slot and showers alone and sleeping curled around a stuffed rabbit because it was the only thing I could touch that didn't feel like punishment.
Seven days of nothing but my own mind eating itself alive.
I woke to restraints I didn't remember being put in. Soft leather around my wrists and ankles, spreadeagled on the bed like a specimen pinned for display. The familiar weight of a blindfold pressed against my eyes, though this one felt different. Silk maybe, or something equally expensive.
"Good morning, Bunny."
His voice hit me like a physical thing. I jerked against the restraints, a sound escaping that might have been his name ormight have been pure need. Seven days of silence, and now his voice poured over me like honey mixed with gasoline.
"Gabriel?" My own voice came out cracked, unused. "Where—why did you—"
"Shh." Something touched my hair, so gentle I might have imagined it. "I'm here now."
"Seven days." The words tumbled out, accusation and plea twisted together. "You left me for seven days. No sessions, no—no anything. Just me and these fucking walls and—"
"Language." But there was no real censure in it. His fingers traced down my cheek, and I turned into the touch like a flower seeking sun. "Did you miss me, little one?"
Pride said lie. Say no. Say the isolation was a vacation from his mind games and careful cruelty. But my body had already betrayed me, arching toward him as much as the restraints allowed.
"Yes." The admission burned. "I missed—I thought—"
"What did you think?" His weight settled on the bed beside me, close enough to feel his heat but not quite touching. "Tell me."
"I thought you were done with me. That I'd pushed too far. That you'd decided I wasn't worth—" I cut myself off, horrified by what I'd almost said.
"Wasn't worth what?"
"Your time." The lie tasted bitter. What I'd meant was: worth keeping. Worth studying. Worth anything at all.
"Oh, Bunny." His hand found my throat, not squeezing, just resting over the collar. "You're worth so much more than my time.You're worth my complete attention. My professional reputation. My carefully maintained control."
"Then why—"
"Because you needed to miss me." Simple, clinical, devastating. "You needed to understand what my absence felt like. To crave what you claim to hate."
"I don't crave—"
His hand moved lower, between my breasts, down my stomach. The nightgown was gone, I realized. I was bare except for the restraints and blindfold, exposed and vulnerable and already responding to his proximity.
"Your body says otherwise." His fingers traced patterns on my inner thigh, never quite touching where I needed. "Seven days of conditioning, and look how you react to just my voice. Just my presence."
"That's not—it's just—"
"Just what?" His weight shifted, and I felt him lean closer. His breath ghosted over my ear. "Just your body recognizing its owner? Just your mind finally admitting what it needs?"
"Fuck you."
"Such language from such a sweet girl." His fingers found my center, barely a touch, just enough to make me gasp. "Is that any way to greet Daddy after a week apart?"
The word hit different after seven days of nothing. Made something crack in my chest, something I'd been holding together through sheer spite.
"Please." I didn't know what I was begging for. His touch, his absence, his everything.
"Please what?" His fingers traced lazy circles, never quite enough. "Use your words, baby. Tell me what you need."
