“All right,” he sighed. “I want to talk to her.”
That was not happening. “I don’t need your help, Micha.”
“I wasn’t asking your fucking permission, Preston.”
Normally I’d kill someone for talking to me like that, but I liked this change in attitude. For years I’d waited for Micha to step up to the plate and earn the throne he would inherit. And I was curious about what exactly he planned to say.
“Alight.” I shrugged. “I’ll go and get her.”
When screaming didn’t work, I figured I’d try something else. Not that I thought Micha Kessler would help me, but there was a chance he wasn’t alone. Riley wouldn’t turn a blind eye. All I had to do was get her attention. That was a task much easier said than done.
Either this room was soundproofed, or I was too far away to be heard. I assumed it wasn’t the latter. Preston was nothing if not prepared. It was disgusting how prepared he was. I wouldn’t be surprised if he had a contingency plan in case I did get out of this room.
Meaning I needed to pay more attention when he walked into the room for patterns in footsteps or movements. Before any of that came into play, I needed a way out of here. This was the first time I’d been alone without being surrounded by bars, and I planned on taking full advantage of that opportunity. I just had to be careful about how I did it.
My eyes narrowed in on Preston’s black T-shirt crumpled on the ground. Why would he leave that in here? It seemed too convenient. Then again, there was a high chance I was simply being paranoid. Still…
I slid to the edge of the bed and dipped my foot down to carefully toe the fabric. It felt like a normal shirt, but that didn’t mean anything. I’d learned not to trust my senses lately, like the push in my mind telling me to melt into Preston’s strong form. There was nothing enticing about being used by a monster. Not that my pussy would agree.
I was still wet, and there was this ache that kept clutching at my core as if my walls were trying to grab onto something that wasn’t there. It was annoying and starting to piss me off. Which in turn made the idea of clothing myself in any kind of fabric appealing.
Huffing out a sigh, I dropped my eyes to the floor. What damage could a T-shirt possibly do? It wasn’t like he could booby-trap it. Besides, it was better than nothing.
I snatched it up and pulled the cloth over my head before I could change my mind. It was big and warm, and I hated how much I liked the way it smelled, but it offered more protection than I had. So I sucked it up and moved on to the next task—the chain around my ankle.
Or should I say fur-lined, leather cuff? It was well made, hugging my ankle tightly and locked in place. At least it wasn’t digging into my skin. That was something, right? Bastard probably expected me to thank him for taking my comfort into account.
“I’ll get right on that.” I snorted while crawling across the bed toward the trunk on the left side.
Surprisingly that wasn’t locked. It was just latched shut, which didn’t help my paranoia any. I eyed the golden buckles and tipped my head. Why wouldn’t he lock that? It didn’t make sense. There was nothing in this room I could use. No blankets or heavy objects I could hit him with. Yet that I was free to look inside? Why? What was the catch?
That question was answered when I pushed my nerves down and flipped the lid open.
I couldn’t move. My eyes were stuck on the contents. Crops, whips, floggers, strange little clamps, and various other devices lay inside like a sexual torture treasure trove. I was scared to touch anything in there, let alone think about what he planned to do with it—especially that purple dildo. The thing was thicker than my fist.
A thought tugged at my brow.
That thing had to be heavy. It might make a good weapon. Sex toys were usually well crafted so they wouldn’t break like the lamp. But did I really want to lunge at him with a giant dick? There’s an idea I never thought I’d have. Imagine explaining that to theTime Lifepeople making a movie about your heroizing escape.
‘Would you say it was your faith that got you through.’
‘No, Jon, it was the giant purple dildo I found in his tickle trunk.’
Somehow I doubted that part of the story would make it into the movie. But hey, the best parts were usually left out. And beggars couldn’t be choosers.
I swear a strained ‘oof’ came out when I lifted that thing. It turned out it had a name. Scrawled across the handle was Bubba. Go figure, my first friend in this hell was a dick named Bubba.
“All right, Bubba,” I sighed and looked around. “Where the hell are we going to hide you?”
That was a good question. I couldn’t hide by the door and wait for Preston to come back. My chained ankle prevented that. There were pillows on the bed, though. Tucking it underneath one of those and waiting seemed the best option. So that was what I did.
I sat on the bed, gripping the silicone dildo, while my heart pounded in my chest.
Whether or not this was going to work, I had no idea. But I had to try.
The most disturbing thing wasn’t the silence or the way the hairs on the back of my neck rose—which, by the way, hurt like a son of a bitch. Every time I twisted my head, I was reminded of Preston’s teeth digging into my flesh. That I could handle. Pain was easy. It was the thoughts going through my head, comparing how a fake dick felt to a real one…Now, that was mortifying, mainly because the real one was winning.
The hardness and silky smooth heat were nothing like what I was currently touching. This thing felt…wrong somehow.
