She draws back for a moment at the sound of my laughter, and I can tell she’s about to close herself off from me. But I won’t allow it. I tug on her hair, angling her face backward, drinking in her violet eyes.
Then I trap her lower lip between my teeth so hard she gasps. “Why did you lean so far over the railing in the first place? I can tell you’re terrified of heights.”
I let go of her lip and she takes it between her own teeth, chewing on it quietly.
“Talk,” I press, and then, when she remains quiet, I add with a smirk, “tell me, or I’ll dangle you over the railing again.”
The threat doesn’t have much effect on her. I can’t tell if she’s defiant or if she has no answer for me. I’ve noticed she doesn’t speak unless she has something to say. People usually talk because it’s expected of them, or to hear the sound of their own voice. But she’s not most people. That much is clear.
She looks up at me mutely, her violet eyes cloudy, and there’s no reading them.
I grip her ass possessively. Her silence is provoking. She may not have anything to say, but when I order her to speak, I expect her to.
She shudders from my violent handling. That spanking must have really hurt her, and I find myself growing hard again at the thought. So I quickly let her bottom go and encircle her waist instead with one arm, while the other travels to her beautiful hair. I need to keep myself under control.
As I begin to stroke her hair again, she relaxes into me. As if the balcony episode never happened. As if I’m perfectly safe, when we both know I’m not.
“Speak, or I’ll punish you,” I hiss into her hair, but those words don’t have the weight they did before. Now, she only brings her head back to study me, her expression intrigued.
She’s studying me. When the hell didshestart to studyme?
“Speak, or I’ll stay away for two weeks this time.”
Well, that did it. The clouds over her violet eyes lift, and I cantell the defiance has melted. What an odd little thing she is. She should be terrified of me, and yet, the only thing she seems scared of is my absence.
“Are you trying to escape?” I prompt, taking advantage of her submission to resume the interrogation. “Is that why you’ve been leaning over?”
“No.”
She answers so quickly I know it’s true.
I laugh, and her face reddens with the quick surge of anger I’m beginning to get used to. But I don’t let it phase me.
“You know, most girls in captivity would welcome the chance to escape. Why don’t you?”
“I wouldn’t have anywhere to go,” she says bluntly, her anger evaporating as my fingers resume their stroking.
She nestles into the little nook that seems made for her, her body sagging in my arms. I breathe in her curls as my other hand travels down her back. I lift her dress, finding her bare, bruised ass, rubbing the sting away before coming to rest on the swell of her cheeks.
Meanwhile, my fingers pause in her hair, and she nudges them with her head, like a little kitten who’s not ready for the petting to stop. Distractedly, I go back to stroking her, lost in thought. I wonder again what kind of life my girl has had.
But instead of asking, I insist, “Then why did you lean out?”
Another pause follows my words, but there’s no mistaking this once for defiance. She’s thinking.
“I liked the feeling it gave me,” she answers at last, seriously.
“Fear?”
“I don’t think so. I think it’s more that I like… not feeling in control.”
A little smirk plays at the edge of my lips as I kiss her frecklednose. “You don’t have to worry about that, my little captive. I’ll make sure never to give you the slightest speck of control again.”
15
Seraphina
It takes me about an hour to reach the lake, but it’s worth it.
