It’s been one day. Get a grip.
“Well, I’ll leave you to it, then. Will you have dinner with me later?”
“Okay.”
Gabe nodded and left the room. Moments after he’d closed the door behind him, he heard the lock click in place. Well, served him right. He had barged in. What did he expect her to do?
He really should be going about his day, training the girls, having a little fun—anything to take the edge off, but instead he found himself glued to the screen in his room. He watched her finish her tea and disappear into the bathroom. She was in there a long time, and he worried she’d fallen asleep in the tub. He was ready to go get a master key and storm his way in there after her, when Julie emerged from the bathroom.
She was wrapped up in his too-large-for-her terrycloth bathrobe. She ran her fingers through her hair and pulled back the covers on the bed. She’d run the bath he’d asked. She’d drank her tea like he’d asked. And now she was lying down for a nap like he’d asked. He had to get a collar around this girl’s throat somehow. And he didn’t want to do it the evil way.
When she took off the robe, Gabe’s breath hitched in his throat. It hadn’t been that hard to imagine what she must look like nude, particularly with what she’d been wearing last night at Dmitri’s. But seeing it was another thing. He had no doubt Dmitri had many ways of abusing the girls he’d been prostituting, but whatever punishments he’d devised, he hadn’t allowed anything to mar their skin.
It made sense. After all, the clients of Dmitri’s house liked it vanilla and clean and elegant and well-oiled and dressed and perfumed. Those men wouldn’t be turned on by the deep red welt of a whip’s lash. They wanted the perfectly groomed, coiffed, and thrilled-to-please fantasy. They wanted girls that were nice and compliant.
Julie was thinner than Gabe would like these days, but she’d return to her former more healthy weight no doubt after a few weeks on Phyllis’s food. Her hip bones poked out a little, and Gabe could see the slight outline of her ribs. But this didn’t detract from the gentle curve of her waist or the pert breasts he wanted to run his tongue over.
Between her legs there was no hair. The skin was smooth and no doubt soft, like he liked it. Gabe tried not to think about the fact that she wasn’t waxed because she was into it, but because Dmitri’s clients had been. And yet… she might let the hair grow out for a time—briefly reclaim her freedom and privacy—but if she became his, it was getting waxed right back off again and staying that way forever.
It wasn’t that he had any problem with the way a woman naturally looked. It was that hair got in the way of his pleasure and hers. He wanted to lick smooth unobstructed skin. He wanted a clear view that kept nothing hidden from his gaze. At least she was used to waxing.
After a few minutes, Julie got into the bed and pulled the covers over her. She didn’t bother putting any clothes on like she had the night before. With her door locked, she must be feeling braver. Once she’d finally fallen asleep, Gabe got up and turned off the flat screen and went downstairs. He had a raging hard on and he needed to find someone who would be happy to play the way he liked.
Julie woke with a start and glanced at the clock on Gabe’s nightstand. She’d only been asleep an hour. She would like to say she felt rested, but all she could feel at the moment was her heart galloping through her chest like a wild horse. She’d dreamed she was back at Dmitri’s. It was just another day, just another gross client. Just another time when she had to close her eyes and pretend it was Gabe.
And now Gabe was here and she was afraid she might have to sleep with him. How screwed up was that? The fantasy of the one guy that had gotten her through the worst of it and now she was horrified she might actually get the fantasy? But imaginary Gabe had been tame with the same bland desires as Dmitri’s clientele. With fantasy Gabe, she had been the one in control. It was the one bit of pretend-control that had helped her stay sane in there.
Julie got up and put some clothes on—bright fuschia shorts and a white tee shirt—and splashed some water on her face in the bathroom. She’d forgotten to call Phyllis to take her tea things, so she pressed the number three on the intercom. She didn’t bother with shoes. It was the middle of the summer and the floor was a comfortable temperature beneath her feet. It wasn’t like she was going anywhere.
She unlocked the door and peered out into the hallway. She didn’t know what she’d expected. Gabe to be lurking like a hungry wolf ready to devour her? She checked next door, but he wasn’t in his room either. She went in. This really should be her room, but it felt forbidden to be in here. Sure, there was only one small window and it was a bit dark, but she’d feel much better if she was in this room and not taking Gabe’s much nicer, larger room from him.
The accommodations were simple—a large bed with some shackles on the wall. Don’t think about that part. There was a box at the foot of the bed. Julie opened it and then wished she hadn’t. All sorts of twisted, kinky toys and bondage equipment. She slammed the box shut quickly and then went to check out the small attached bathroom. On the wall back in the main room was a large flat screen TV. Odd, because she hadn’t noticed a TV in Gabe’s room. She couldn’t find a remote so she pushed the power button at the bottom of the screen.
It took her a moment to realize what she was seeing. She’d expected cable or satellite TV. A movie, or a TV show, or the news. Instead, what she saw was Gabe’s room… her room. He was spying on her? Her face flamed as she realized she’d walked around in the bedroom after her bath without clothes on. Had he been watching? Maybe not. Maybe he’d gone back downstairs.
Fear would have been normal. And a part of her wanted to run and hide. She wasn’t sure how much good it would do her, but it was an option she was at least considering. But then that friendly feeling of anger returned, pressing warmth up the back of her neck and into her cheeks. It was a surging, powerful energy. Underneath it was hurt and betrayal, but she wouldn’t let herself feel that. Just the anger. Anger felt safer.
Fuck Gabe. Fuck his pretend noble morals. Fuck his supposed kindness. He was spying on her, watching her undress. After everything that had happened with Dmitri he couldn’t give her an inch of space? He didn’t care about her any more than that? All men were monsters. All of them were liars. Hadn’t she learned that well enough by now?
She’d been kidding herself, trying to keep the fantasy version of Gabe once the real one had descended into her life again. If he’d had soft feelings for her, that had been before—when she was pure and innocent and sweet and probably still pushed all his creepy little buttons… just another virgin for him to deflower. But now? Now that she was all spoiled and used up and tainted. Oh, now he thought he could do whatever he wanted with her. Why give her the illusion of any of this? Why not take what the fuck he wanted? Like all the rest did?
It wasn’t like she wasn’t used to it. It wasn’t as if trauma hadn’t become the new normal. She’d probably be more likely to fall apart and turn into a wilting flower if he was nice to her. Nice threw her off balance. She didn’t know what to do with nice. Casual cruelty had become expected, routine. There was comfort in routine.