I lowered my head so I couldn’t see his expression, and then opened the frosted glass door to the shower and stepped inside.
Was he going to come in after me? Would he touch me? Hold me? Make love to me? What was I thinking? There would never be making love again, it would be f**king. The question was whether it would be willing or not.
I turned on the tap to straight cold wincing as the freezing water hit my skin. It jolted any desire I was foolishly feeling over Logan right down the drain.
I quickly washed my hair then picked up the washcloth to scrub the stench off my skin. I rubbed so hard that my skin turned bright red. I lightened the pressure on the back of my legs and avoided my back, where my skin was still raw. I needed to get the feeling of Alfonzo and Jacob and Raul off me. Logan? Why hadn’t I even thought of Logan? Why wasn’t I sick to my stomach at the thought of him holding me all night?
“Come out here.”
The washcloth dropped from my hands as I looked and saw the outline of Logan leaning up against the counter, arms crossed.
I turned off the taps and came out. He looked me up and down and frowned then reached over and grabbed the towel hanging on the hook. He came toward me, then began drying my skin. There was nothing methodical about it either. It was slow and sensual; he held the towel in his palm, so his thumb could brush over my skin with each stroke. His hand slid over my abdomen then lower until his hand rested on my mound. He stopped and looked at me. “Open.”
I swallowed. Then inched my legs apart closing my eyes. I had mixed emotions, because I felt embarrassed, and yet there was a flicker of desire. There was a fine line he was drawing here, and I just wasn’t sure which way it would go.
He stepped closer. His thumb skimmed between my legs with the towel trailing. I held my breath. He never took his eyes off me as he discovered the smooth silky moisture of my craving. I stopped breathing, hating that he knew I was turned on.
His eyes narrowed, and his jaw clenched.
Then like it never happened, he quickly dried my inner thighs then threw the towel on the floor. “Leave off the nightgown. Go kneel by the bed.”
I opened my mouth to ... What, tell him off? Tell him no? Refuse to do what he asked and risk being beaten or thrown in the basement with Jacob? Or worse sold?
I walked out of the bathroom and heard the water turn back on just as I knelt on the floor. I knew what this was about; I wasn’t stupid. I figured it out the second I saw the girls in the dining room. He was training me.
I was Logan’s sex slave, although sex had yet to come into play, but I had no doubt it would. He’d brought my birth control pills for Christ’s sake. I was to do what he wanted without question—never disobey, never speak unless asked to, and submit to all men. I belonged to him, and it was not by free will.
Logan came out of the bathroom naked. “Eyes down.”
I could hear him getting dressed, the cupboard door opening, rustling clothes, and then a click as the cupboard shut again. His footsteps drew close then stopped in front of me.
“Open your mouth.”
I did, and he put a slice of apple in my mouth.
“Today you will come with me to my training. You must learn what to do when in public, Emily.” His fingers held another slice of apple, and I opened my mouth, and he slid it inside. “Behave like this, and we won’t have any issues.”
My stomach churned at the thought of witnessing the last scene in the dining area. I was afraid I’d panic and run or fight. Logan tried to feed me another piece of apple, but I turned my head away.
“You have to eat.”
I shook my head.
“Open.”
“No. I can’t. Please. I feel sick to my stomach. Logan plea—” I stopped suddenly knowing instantly that I’d used his real name when I was told not to. I still had the red marks on my skin from the whip and never wanted to feel the cruel slice of it again. I lowered my head. “I’m sorry. I forgot.”
I started trembling.
When his hand came down on my shoulder I lost it and started crying. Was going to whip me? Or take me to Jacob? It was a mistake. I didn’t mean to call him by name.
“Emily.” I kept sobbing, my head in my hands rocking. “Look at me.”
I did. I had to or suffer something worse than what I anticipated.
He cupped my chin and rubbed his thumb over top of the crevice just below my lower lip. “You cannot use my name here. Ever. I think you know that.” I nodded. “If you need to call me something, it must be Master.”
My breath hitched.
“Say it.”
The word was trapped in my clogged throat; I was filled with denial of what I had to do. For some reason the idea of calling any man Master was ... It was humiliating, degrading. God, it made me feel like an object with no self-worth.
His hand tightened on my chin. “Emily.”
It was just a word. It was just a word. “Master.”
“Good girl.” He didn’t smile; actually he frowned, and then he got up abruptly and went into the bathroom and slammed the door.
I waited on my knees until he finally came back out a cold mask of determination on his face. I didn’t like that face, it wasn’t mad or calm or smiling; it was unreadable, and that was dangerous.
“A girl will bring you clothes. Wear them. I’ll be back to get you in a half hour.” He didn’t even bother looking at me as he walked past, unlocked the door, and left.
When he came back I was dressed in a black dress that dipped so low in the front that it barely covered my ni**les. It fit tight to my body, over my h*ps to my upper thigh. It wasn’t sexy; it was trashy, and I felt that way. I would have rather worn the white nightgown than this dress.