He passes the dining room, and I hope he doesn't see my blatant defiance, I almost believe he hasn't, until he halts so quickly at the end of the hallway leading towards the stairs that I physically hit into his firm back.
I stumble backwards a few steps, stunned by his abrupt stop. Before I can comment on it, he's whipping around and his eyes are cold and unwavering upon me.
"You didn't eat," he says, his voice a coarse whisper that's filled with an anger that makes his hands clench into fists down at his side. I want to say something to rid him of this anger, to right my wrong, especially after his comment in the hallway previously about no longer going easy on me, but I don't know how.
"No," I reluctantly answer, because the proof is directly on the table. It'd make matters worse to lie. So why try?
My mouth has gone dry when he steps forward and I take a startled step back. His brow arches with amusement at my discomfort as he takes another step forward and I take another one back, as if I'll escape him in his own domain, but I should know better. Here, I am at a disadvantage.
"I was too busy making sure you ate," the words are out before I can control them, dangling tauntingly in the air, like bait trying to lure the animal that I've only had glimpses of, which lies within him.
His brow arches challengingly as he takes another step and I step backwards again.
"Was that sarcasm?" He questions, running a hand down his face as his expression turns dark, and guarded.
A knock on the door snaps his attention, and that expression on his face only grows more sinister. Another unwanted companion, perhaps?
He doesn't forget me though. He sighs, aggravation laced in the sound before he nods to the dining room.
"Eat. You're going to need all the strength you can get," he states, before he's moving out of the hallway toward the door. I stare ruefully at the dining room, my appetite having disappeared after everything that's happened - his mouth all over me - it's been horribly distracting. Now the fear of what tomorrow will bring lingers in my gut, making it hard to breathe.
But I obey, only because I don't want to anger him. I move back into the dining room, eye my plate before deciding to heat it up. I scoop it off the table, and make my way toward a door I believe is the kitchen. I'm thankful that it is, and I usher to the microwave that is just above the oven.
I wonder who's at the door; wonder how long he'll be distracted. Long enough for me to have some peace? As the numbers count down on the microwave, I find myself unable to resist mulling through his cabinets, where I stumble upon some chocolate chips that are just dying to be tasted.
Just one won't hurt.
I haven't had many sweets in the past month, and one little taste of some normalcy might do me justice, so I reach for them, stealing a few before popping them into my mouth and chewing with a grateful moan.
"Did I say you could have that?"
Of course he's behind me. Of course my luck is so bad he'd catch me disobeying in such a minuscule way. Of course.
I mean, what should I have expected? No girl, who's parents die three years ago, and sister dies two years after that, has good luck.
Maybe it's been me all along. The bad omen, because as I spin around, I inhale a startled, shaky breath when I realize he's right behind me. He grabs a hold of my jaw, and inhales deeply, like he marvels the taste of defiance.
He steps back, releasing my jaw, and at that moment the microwave beeps. His eyes move towards it, as do mine, and while I'm distracted, I don't realize he's pulled his belt free. He ties my wrists quickly. My eyes bug and I stare down at my tied hands before I look back up at him.
"Levi?" I question, his name breathlessly on my tongue. "What are you doing?"
He doesn't answer me, a silent fury in his gaze as he moves to throw me over his shoulder. His silence is even more nerve-wracking than his words. I try to pretend I'm not completely frightened by his swift change in mood but I shake in his arms as he moves with dexterity as if I weigh nothing.
We're outside of the house in the matter of seconds. I begin squirming in his arms. Is he finally getting rid of me? Fed up with my inability to be obedient? Panic surges inside of me as he moves to a vehicle.
"Levi? Please? Where are we going?" I plead with him to be forthcoming but he doesn't owe me anything, let alone an explanation and he knows it too.
He rips the backseat door open to the car, and tosses me inside, before he moves to the drivers side. I scramble to sit up, which is a little complicated with my arms bound. He doesn’t so much as glance at me in the rear view mirror, but I can’t peel my eyes from him.
Everything about him screams dangerous. His fingers are gripping the steering wheel so tightly they’re purple.
“I-I’m sorry,” I stammer, but he’s no longer listening. He only gazed ahead and jerks the car sideways until were in front of the club he purchased me from.
Oh no.
What’s the process to return a damaged item? What will happen to me if he demands his money back and deposits me on their doorstep? Who will I owe a debt to?
I think of the balding man who’d stroked my back the first day I came here before Gregory corrected him. A man like that, with a perverted look in his eye, and the creepy feeling that had washed over me, I don’t think I could handle.
With another desperate gasp of air, I start softly pleading with him.
“Please, Levi. I don’t know what you -“
When he parks, and Valet awaits, he stops and twists in his seat.
“Sometimes submission has to be taught.”
With that, he gets out of the car, Valet hands him a ticket he shoves into his pocket and he moves to the door to rip me out of the car.
I’m apprehensive to know what his form of teaching is?
Judas’s warning doesn’t seem so silly now. In fact, it’s all that keeps replaying in my mind as I stumble as he pulls me up the steps, and through the front doors. Despite it being daytime, the club is still pretty populated with people.
Their eyes move to us, recognition and respect in their eyes as Levi ignores the gazes with the stature of a man who knows he’s above those around him.
He pulls me past all the curious, and even jealous gazes down a hallway, that leads to a door. It’s heavily locked. There’s a keypad that he types a code into and the door opens, and we’re inside.
The lights turn on automatically, dimly illuminating the room, setting the intimidating ambience, as my gaze moves across the room.
It’s....
I don’t even know how to put it.
Here, it’s probably normal. Mundane even, but to someone who isn’t used to this kind of world, it’s terrifying.
Ropes, cuffs, ribbons, gags, whips, and an array of other things that look like they’re directly out of some sort of torture chamber. Some type of sex dungeon.
My eyes linger on the whips.
He’s going to beat me, isn’t he.
I shudder as he twists around. The door has closed behind us, and I know I’m locked in here with him.
“Are you going to hurt me?”
He snickers, mirthless humor in the sound as he roughly removes the belt from around my wrists. Wordlessly, he drops the belt, and rips off his shirt to reveal the rippling muscles of his upper body.
They’re unreal. Chiseled and perfect, but littered by scars of abuse. Scars that give me insight into his past, a past he chooses to hide with anger and control.
He moves to the rack with the whip, the one my eyes were clearly lingering on, before he pulls it off it’s hook, and begins to stalk back over towards me.
I’m quaking now with fear. My tongue is dry, my palms are slick with sweat. He eyes my fear and soaks it up with a gaze.
This is it.
I pushed him over the edge.
“I’ll show you exactly how obedience is learned,” he states hoarsely. “The lengths I had to go through just to gain some semblance of fucking control... which you seem to lack.”
He stops in front of me, whip gripped tightly in his hand, before he grabs my wrist and presses the whip into my hand.
I frown, confused.
“What is this?”
“Take it,” he replies. When I don’t move, he hisses frustratedly. “Take it!” He yells and I grasp the handle before I watch him move over toward a wall with chains that hang.
He grasps both chains, wrapping them around his wrists, before he casts me an intense gaze.
“Hurt me.”
“What?”
I stare incredulously at him before shifting to stare at the whip in my hands. Is this how he wants to teach me? Have me whip him? Have me cause him pain? Is it a warning?
“I can’t,” I rush quickly. “I can’t hurt you...”
It’s the truth. I can’t. It’s not in me. Regardless of our situation, I can’t. He’s never truly warranted a tortuous punishment.
“It’s... it’s barbaric,” I say and he just laughs.
“Hurt. Me. Now.”
He arches a challenging brow and I know in that moment, I have no choice. It’s hurt him, or hurt me. Hurt him or lose everything.
I step forward and raise the whip.