Page 9 of Cruel Master

Yet, I halfway wish that I couldn't sleep because the nightmares I have are so vividly real and horrifying that I keep gasping awake.

I dream of his piercing blue eyes all night—only in my dreams, I’m literally drowning in them. They loom closer and closer to me until they become like the waves of the ocean. I try my best to kick and swim, but I can't. When I finally bob up out of the water for air, I look down to discover I’m not even wearing a bathing suit. I’m completely naked and exposed to his turbulent storm.

Then the dream morphs into one where I’m laying spent on the shore, and his hands are suddenly all over me, stroking me from my shoulders all the way down to the tips of my toes, leaving fire in their trail. When I look across the beach, all I can see is blue fire everywhere.

It’s terrifying because instead of drowning, I’m suddenly burning, engulfed in blue flames that somehow burn hotter than even the brightest white flame.

When I finally wake up, gasping and shaking for the third time, my body is covered in a sheen of sweat, and my core throbs.

I kick the sheets completely off me and feel the cool air kiss my exposed skin. I’m wearing one of the silky nighties I pulled from the wardrobe. When he told me I'd find everything I needed in there, he was half right. Everything in the closet is my size, and at first glance, there’s everything a woman would need in it—undergarments and clothing. But a closer inspection shows that none of the clothes are the types of things I usually wear.

I usually sleep in a big T-shirt, but the closet contained nothing but frilly nighties and sexy lingerie to choose from. I chose the most conservative one I could find—a spaghetti strap baby doll-looking thing that’s a deep sapphire blue and flutters gently across the tops of my thighs. It barely covers my ass, but nothing else in the closet would have covered it at all.

As far as underwear goes, there’s nothing but thongs and lacy options to choose from. There’s no cotton to be found in the options at all, so I pulled on a pair of lacy cheekies, trying to cover as much of myself as I could.

I've never been a fan of thongs. I’m convinced a man must have manufactured them because what woman in her right mind would want a tiny string going up her ass all day? There’s no way anyone will ever convince me that a thong was invented for anything other than to show off the feminine form for male pleasure.

I frown when I contemplate what it means that my captor stocked my wardrobe with them. If he thinks I'm going to dress up like his pretty little doll, he's got another thing coming.

All of the day-to-day clothing is dresses and skirts. There are no jeans or leggings or shorts or anything that I'm used to wearing. It all looks like something out of a high-end fashion boutique, though. There's no telling how much any of the shit in that closet costs, and while I'd usually appreciate feeling pampered like this, the fact that all of these things fit me better than the clothing I have back at the apartment where I live with my sister has prickles running up and down my spine.

This was no random kidnapping. This was a well-thought-out and planned maneuver. Which brings me to my next thought.

How long has this man been watching me? How long has he been plotting this?

Why me? What is it aboutmethat he wants? What exactlydoeshe want?

It's obvious he wants my body physically, but is it more than that? Is he going to break me and torment me before he finally tires of me and kills me?

He told me he wouldn’t kill me, though, and for some reason, I believe him. He doesn’t seem like the kind of man to lie about his intentions, and what need would he have to lie to me anyway? I’m completely at his mercy.

I shiver as the coolness from the air-conditioned room hits my damp skin.

I stand up and pad over to the bathroom where I decide to run a warm bath. Maybe a soak will help ease the ache in my muscles. It looks like sleep is not going to be a respite for me anyway.

I peel the damp silk from my body and let out a sigh as I slip into the warm water. At least I'm able to get warm and be clean here.There are worse kidnapping situations, a little voice inside my head tells me.

I scowl at the thought. I amnotabout to start being thankful to my captor for the luxuries he's provided me. Kidnapping is still kidnapping, regardless of whether I'm in a gilded cage or not.

My thoughts drift back to him. Who is he and why did he feel the need to steal a girl?

I hate to admit it, but the man is devastatingly handsome. Surely, he could have any woman he wants—unless there's something seriously wrong with him, and come on, there has to be for him to kidnap me this way.

Maybe he's perfect physically, but he's fucked in the head. Why else would he be doing this?

When I finally get out of the bathtub feeling more refreshed, I head over to the closet and pick out the longest dress I can find.

I slip on a red number that falls just above my knees, but it plunges down into a sharp V-neck in the front. I frown when I see how much cleavage it exposes. My eyes flick back over to the other choices.

It looks like there's a trade-off with every outfit I pick out. I'm damned if I do and damned if I don't. If I cover more of my legs, I expose more of my breasts. If I cover my breasts, the dresses are so short they’ll show my ass if I so much as sneeze.

I consider just throwing on another nightie and climbing back into bed, but I don't have a clue what time it is. There's no clock anywhere in this room, and there's no window to give me any indication of what the hour is.

Is it morning yet? I don't want the man to come strolling in here and find me in a piece of sexy lingerie that might encourage him.

The man might be gorgeous, but he terrifies me, and that's the truth. I've tried not to think of what he has planned for me today, but once I'm dressed and I'm sitting there with nothing to do, my mind can't help but speculate.

Is he going to force himself on me today? Is he going to take me to a torture chamber and begin torturing me? As a redhead, I have a naturally higher tolerance to pain, but I still don’t savvy the thought of being tortured. I feel sick at the thought of some of the sexual torture devices I've seen on the internet.

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