Page 32 of His Captive

“Here’s the rest of your stuff.” Buddy places some more boxes on the bed and I open a few of them up, there are even more clothes, makeup, and some more toiletries. But strangely enough no shoes.

“Thanks,” I smile. Taking the box of makeup over to the vanity unit and assessing what I have to work with. I swipe the mascara wand over my lashes, turning them black and deceptively thicker, then find a red lipstick, applying it carefully to add a touch of drama to my look. I’m certain that the way it matches the tone of my dress perfectly isn’t a coincidence.

When I release my hair from the braid, definitive waves fall loosely onto my shoulders.

“You look a million dollars,” Buddy tells me, reminding me that he’s still in the room. “The boss will be satisfied.” He nods, and I check the clock.

“Almost seven,” I say, standing up. “We don’t want to keep his lordship waiting.” Pressing my wrists together, I hold them out to Buddy, who is beaming back at me.

“No chains tonight, Miss, boss says you are trusted to walk freely.”

“I’m flattered.” I press a hand to my chest and roll my eyes sarcastically, managing to get a laugh out of Buddy that sets off my own.

“Come on.” Buddy grabs my hand and pulls me forward. “That doesn’t mean I’m not gonna be keeping hold of you.”

We walk down to the dining room together, but our playful mood ends the instant we step inside. The first thing I notice is Ethan, sitting in his usual place, looking as big and mean as ever, then I notice that a place has been laid out beside him. I glance over the length of the table to where I’ve been seated previously and find the space empty. And by the time my eyes have traveled back to him, Ethan is up on his feet, coming toward me.

“Thank you, Buddy, I’ll take it from here.” His harsh voice courses through my body, and his eyes waste no time empowering mine.

Buddy’s hand release mine, and he backs away. Like he’s offering me as a sacrifice to the gods.

Ethan stands in front of me, unmoving until the sound of the door closing signals that we are alone.

He slowly stalks around me, circling me like a predator, his body tight enough to mine that I feel his breath warm the skin on my neck.

My stomach aches with nerves, my pussy pulses with desire and my head feels like it might burst from all the questions inside of it.

Ethan nods his head approvingly when he’s back in front of me, and my tummy somersaults with relief.

“Sit,” he tells me, holding out his arm and guiding me to the seat beside his. He even holds out my chair for me before he sits down himself. The perfect gentleman.

We are seated so close, my body is a wound up ball of tension. I can hardly breathe let alone eat.

“Eat, Lysetta.” His eyes fall on to the plate in front of me, like he’s read my mind. Something that resembles pate and crisp mini slices of bread stare back at me from the plate. I pick up my fork and force it past my lips, aware of his eyes watching me the whole time, and trying my best to avoid them. The food is delicious, but that doesn’t make it any easier to swallow.

The silence is disturbed when the door squeaks opened and Mrs. Pritchard’s heel’s clip sharply against the floor. She takes the empty plates from in front of us and quickly leaves, returning a few moments later with two steaming plates in her hands. She places mine in front of me first, and I look up at her to smile my appreciation, to which she responds with a curt nod of her head.

I wonder what she thinks of me being here, does she know I’m here against my will? Perhaps this is all normal to her, and she is used to Ethan’s ‘house guests.’

“This looks delicious.” I wait until she’s left before I speak.

Ethan ignores me, even though his blank expression stares back at me. So, I turn my focus back to my plate and start on the salmon.

By the time the lady comes in again to clear our plates, the tension in the room is almost unbearable. I fidget in my chair, trying to distract myself from how sexy I find his sultriness.

“Thank you Ethan...not just for dinner, for the clothes and for everything else.” I say, breaking the silence.

“You’re welcome,” he rasps, his words seeming forced.

Leaning back in his chair, he does that thing he always does when he’s thinking, his hand stroking across his rough stubble covered jaw.

“I’ll get Buddy to take you back to your room,” he says eventually, starting to stand.

“Wait. No.” I suddenly panic, this couldn’t be it. He’d summoned me down here, had me dress up and endure a completely silent dinner, and now he wants to send me away again.

“That’s it?” I ask. “You wanted me to dress up, and eat with you. Aren’t you going to speak to me?”

He moves quicker than I expect, his hand slamming over my wrist and his body imposing over mine. His lips are tight together, and a flame of anger flickers in his eyes as they bore down on me. It’s intimidating, but I’m not scared.

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