Ripples Page 8

  His scent reached her first, the aroma of his cologne. It brought back memories of his suit coat, the one he’d given her as a blanket in the car.

  Still facing the bed and the tray of untouched food and drink, Natalie couldn't see what was happening behind her, only hear it—the tap of footsteps and swish of wheels.

  Wheels? Did she hear wheels moving over the hard floor, like wheels on a cart?

  If only she could turn, but she refused to give him another reason to retaliate. Instead, her mind filled with possibilities. She pictured the carts used by the staff at the estate in Iowa that brought food to the dining room or to the suites. There were the carts used in hotels when room service was summoned. Each of her thoughts had a common denominator—food.

  Her stomach had surpassed grumbling, giving up as it had grown accustomed to emptiness. That was until the new sounds revived it: a pang and softer rumble murmured in the damp, musty air.

  She closed her eyes and tried to summon non-food alternatives. There were the carts the maids used at the estate as well as in hotels, ones with bedding and supplies. That possibility even excited her. A towel for the bath or a sheet for the bed. Such simple needs.

  Natalie pushed down her expectations. If she didn't hope, Dexter couldn't disappoint. She feared that would be worse than more punishment.

  As each second ticked by, marked by the tap of his shoes upon the concrete, she began to wonder if he planned to talk, to acknowledge her obedience—anything. The anticipation of what may occur brought her tired, aching body back to life, restoring the circulation and bringing needles to her veins. The new rush created a painful and prickling sensation.

  Natalie stifled a cry, biting her lower lip, careful to stay silent and vowing to keep secret her suffering. And then Dexter changed the rules by giving her what she feared most and what she had believed was only hers to find—hope.

  The door shut with a thud. Before she could fathom that he'd left her again, Natalie wobbled as an all-encompassing heat enveloped her.

  His lips came close to her neck as he wrapped the blanket around her shoulders. “I'm very proud of you, my bug.” He kissed her hair.

  It wasn't just a blanket. It was a warm blanket like the cloths on the airplane or a garment recently removed from a heated dryer. The plush heat tingled her cold skin. The circulation that had resumed, generated by anticipation, now sprinted to life. The temperature was heaven, but the consequences were hell. Pleasure and pain. Natalie didn't know which instigated her tears.

  Dexter crouched beside her, wrapped the blanket tighter. And then with his hands on her shoulders, he asked if she could stand.

  Natalie stared.

  There was something different in his gaze. His eyes were lighter, his expression serene.

  “Bug, answer me.”

  She tried to reach up, to lift even her hands. Her arms were dead weight, raising them only a few inches took all her strength. Her legs were nothing more than noodled pincushions. It was as if her bones had lost their rigidity. She shook her head. “I-I don't think so.”

  What would he say? Would he be upset?

  Dexter nodded and stood. Her heart sank. Would he leave her there?

  After removing the tray from the bed and placing it on the floor, in one swoop he reached down and lifted Natalie from the floor, pulling her into his arms as if she weighed nothing.

  Nat cried out as her toes and legs exploded in pain. It was worse than any cramp or charley horse she'd ever experienced. Gritting her teeth, she buried her face against his broad chest.

  She hadn't meant to find comfort in his attention, but she did. His shirt filled her senses with the memory of fresh air—clean and cool, so unlike her surroundings—while his cologne added just the right amount of musk and spice.

  With her cradled in his arms, Dexter sat upon the bed.

  She didn't know what to say or do. This wasn't the same man who'd made her kneel for hours on end. It was, but it wasn't. In her deprived state, her thoughts couldn't keep up.

  “Tell me,” Dexter said.

  Natalie looked up to his face, trying to decipher the riddle. Even his tone was different. Maybe it was hunger making Natalie delusional. She couldn't be sure, but for some reason her plan of being indifferent was forgotten. She wanted to answer. “My toes...” Her eyes closed, her lashes dampened with tears. “My legs...”

  “They hurt?”

  Natalie nodded.

  Balancing her on his lap and against his chest, Dexter reached for her foot and his large hand squeezed.

  Pain shot up her leg. Natalie screamed, louder than before.

  “No, bug,” he said soothingly. “It'll get better. Give it a minute.”

  Biting her lip, she watched as he massaged one foot and then the other. As he continued to caress and apply systematic pressure, she found that he was right: the prickling subsided and before she knew it, she started feeling better.

  “Remember my saying that the rush of blood to starved tissues can be more painful than the pressure?”

  She nodded.

  “That's what happened.” He kissed her forehead. “I didn't think you'd make it. I really didn't. You're so much stronger than I realized.”

  His words flowed through her, providing the same effect as the blanket. She didn't want to like pleasing this man, but she did. She enjoyed this tone, the way he held her and wiped her cheeks. And then he placed her upon the edge of the mattress and stood. All at once, she was hit with the startling realization that she didn't want him to leave. She didn't want to be left alone again, even with the blanket.

  “Dexter? Are you going?”

  When he turned, his lips parted. There was something new in his gaze: shock or surprise. She was too sore and hungry to understand.

  He dropped to one knee and placed his hand over her blanket-covered leg. “Say that again.” His command wasn't urgent, more of a request.

  “I-I'm sorry if I shouldn't...” This was all so new. She didn't know what she was supposed to say.

  Caressing her blanket-covered thigh, he explained, “No, just say what you said, exactly as you said it. I want to hear it again.”

  “Are you going?”

  His head shook. “My name. You said my name.”

  “Dexter?”

  “It's the first time you've said it.”

  She blinked. “It was?”

  Again, his knuckle ran the length of her jaw. “Yes, bug. And I like hearing it from your lips.”

  “Are you leaving again?”

  “No, not yet.”

  Unexpected relief came with his answer.

  He reached for her hands. “Now can you stand?”

  “I’ll try.”

  The circulation had returned the feeling back in her legs. Gingerly, she shifted her weight to her feet and rose. Her legs quivered and her feet were heavy, but his grasp of her hands gave her the extra-needed leverage. Like a newborn deer, she stood unsteadily.

  “How do you feel?” he asked.

  “Sore, but I can stand.”

  “And walk?”

  Natalie nodded.

  Dexter tilted his head toward the bathroom. “Go do whatever you need to do. I'll give you privacy. When you come back out, we'll have the talk we didn't have this morning.”

  She tugged the blanket around her, but after only one step, she stopped. “May I...” It felt strange to ask for such a mundane thing. Dexter said they'd discuss the rules, but they hadn't. She wanted to be sure she wouldn't upset him. She'd do whatever was necessary to avoid the cement floor. “...may I keep the blanket...around me?”

  He nodded. “I think for now...you earned it.”

  “Thank you.” Nat hurried toward the bathroom as too many diverse emotions fought for supremacy.

  Somehow, after everything, it was gratitude that prevailed.

  Her mind told her she was being ridiculous. Grateful for a blanket? Yet she was. She could cover herself in the bathroom. She could keep it wrapped around h
er while they talked. Yesterday, she would have told herself it was silly to be thankful for a blanket. That was before.

  Today, her life was different.

  Chapter 12

  The best way to find out if you can trust

  somebody is to trust them. ~ Ernest Hemingway

  Natalie came to a stop, standing unmoving in the bathroom's doorframe while contemplating the possibility that Dexter had been right threatening her with a psychiatric facility. Perhaps she was delusional. Hunger and stress can be triggering factors. Sleep deprivation is another. She'd slept, but more accurately, she'd been drugged. Wasn't that different?

  “Come and sit,” he said, turning and catching her stare.

  Tentatively, she moved forward, the blanket snug around her.

  In the brief time she'd been in the bathroom, he'd set up a small round folding table with two chairs. The cart she'd heard before was now in the room. Two covered dishes, a decanter, and a large glass bottle of water were upon it.

  Natalie eased into the chair he pulled out.

  “This is still,” he said, pointing to the water decanter. “I can bring sparkling next time, if you prefer.”

  She shook her head. “I like still, thank you.”

  Definitely delusional, having a surreal conversation discussing water as if she weren't wearing a blanket and at Dexter's mercy.

  He placed the dishes upon the table and removed the silver domes. The air filled with the most amazing aroma. The cake from earlier was gone. In its place were large grilled sandwiches, each with a side salad of leafy greens and vegetables.

  Natalie’s hunger came back with a vengeance, gnawing at her insides and making its presence known in audible growls.

  When she began to reach for the sandwich, he stopped her. “Not yet. Patience.”

  Dejectedly, she placed her hand on her lap. Would he again tease her with food and then not allow her to eat?

  Dexter placed a mug on the table and poured from the decanter. It wasn't the dark, rich coffee aroma she'd anticipated; instead, the liquid was lighter in color. The steam filled the air with a familiar scent. Before she could decipher the flavor, Dexter spoke.

  “Ginger tea. It should help your muscles.”

  “Thank you.” She’d been taught to be polite, but she couldn’t help but think that he was responsible for her sore muscles.

  Dexter took the other seat and scanned their meal. “Tell me, bug. What do you want?”

  Closing her eyes, she pressed her lips together and compiled. Her list was simple and yet comprehensive: her life back, freedom, outside, her family, sunlight, clothes, a shower...

  The movement of the other chair scraping over the concrete floor caused her eyes to open. Dexter was no longer across the table, he was directly in front of her, his face in hers. His jaw set. She gasped.

  “Don't hesitate.” His harsher tone was more commanding. “When I ask you a question, don't overthink. Answer immediately or lose the opportunity until I feel generous again.” His jaw clenched before he added, “From now on, everything in your life comes through me. Don’t forget.”

  She didn’t know how she could. Taking a deep breath, she answered his first question. “To eat, please. I want to eat.” It was the obtainable goal. There were bigger wishes she wanted granted, but at this second, as her hands shook with hunger, food was paramount. She scanned the table. She also wanted the ginger tea.

  It had never been her favorite flavor, yet she’d read that the Chinese believed it to have healing qualities. While her legs were better, the muscles were tight. “And drink, tea...please,” she added.

  Slowly, his chest expanded and contracted and nostrils flared. It was obvious that he was thinking, contemplating. She just didn't know what he'd decide.

  How does one predict the moves of a madman whose actions have already proven unpredictable?

  “No more warnings,” he said. “Keep rule number one in mind.”

  “You don't repeat yourself,” she said, remembering his rule.

  Her breathing stalled as he tugged the top of the blanket, lowering it from up around her neck, where she had the edge of the material tucked, to below her collarbone and lower still. Natalie's eyes closed. She wanted to stop him, to scream or reach up and scratch his hand, but she knew that none of that was within her power. She could do that, but it wouldn’t help and most likely would result in the loss of her meal.

  When she opened her eyes, in her current seated position with Dexter standing, she couldn't help but notice his arousal. As his hand lingered, her skin chilled.

  His gaze swept from her chest to her face and back again. The blanket was now as low as the swell of her breasts. His warm finger traced her skin, dipping between her round globes along the hem of the blanket. She was no more exposed than she would be in a scooped blouse, yet it felt as if she were once again naked.

  Dexter lifted her chin until their gazes met. His voice was raspy. “What will you do to earn your meal?”

  Everything within her froze. Her blood forgot to flow.

  “Please, Dexter.” She purposely used his name, hoping for the effect from before. “I know that isn't an answer to your question, but I don't know what I can do.” It was a truthful answer. She didn't want to offer more than he'd accept, nor did she want to offer less and lose her second chance at a meal.

  Again, he traced the scoop of the blanket. “Lower it,” he said. “Keep your breasts exposed for me, and then you may choose one thing from the table.”

  One?

  Her heart sank as she scanned the feast. Sandwiches and salad weren't by definition a feast, but to her—on this day...at this odd juncture in her life—they were. What difference would it make if she removed the blanket? He'd seen her totally nude. She took a breath. With trembling fingers, she reached for the edge of the blanket.

  Her eyes focused on the plate. She didn't want one thing. She wanted it all. “One?”

  “Rule number one.”

  Natalie nodded. He wouldn't repeat himself. He'd said one thing.

  She wondered if she removed the entire blanket, could she earn more than one item. With a ragged breath, she opened the blanket, leaving it draped over her shoulders with her chest exposed. The cool air hardened her nipples.

  A deep murmur resonated from Dexter's throat. Pushing the material over her shoulders, he left the rest bunched around her waist. “Now touch them.”

  Touch them?

  In his tone, she heard his meaning. Dexter didn't want her to just touch them; he wanted her to touch them as she would alone in her darkened bedroom.

  Again, she lifted her hands.

  His eyes stayed glued to her movement as she kneaded both breasts, pushing them up and twisting her hard nipples until her breasts grew heavy and engorged. As she caressed and teased, it was impossible not to notice that his erection grew, straining against the zipper of his jeans.

  How long did he expect this to go on?

  Her skin warmed under her own touch and lips parted as she startled herself with a small, unexpected whimper. Was her body's response from her own ministrations or from the lustful gleam in his blue-green eyes? While his erection scared her, there was more, something new and erotic in what they were doing. A strange tenseness formed between her legs, causing her inside muscles to clench.

  Surely, she wasn't turned on by this man.

  Finally, he spoke, his voice weighted with lust. “You've earned two things from the table.” He turned and went back to his chair.

  Natalie let out the breath she'd been holding.

  “What do you choose?” he asked

  “The tea and the sandwich.” She didn't hesitate, didn't overthink.

  Dexter poured water for himself and nodded.

  Taking that as his sign, Natalie hurriedly dove in.

  Never had anything tasted as delicious. Natalie had grown up with talented and capable cooks who could make anything. Her mother was a fine cook when she chose to be. She’d eaten
at some of the best restaurants with the world’s most renowned chefs, and yet the sandwich in her hands surpassed all of that. The bread was heavenly, grilled to the perfect crispness. Between the slices, the vegetables were sautéed and pasted together with rich white cheese. With each bite, the flavors exploded in her mouth. The blanket he'd moved off her shoulders, fully exposing her breasts, was forgotten. Chewing and swallowing monopolized her thoughts while the added warmth of the mug gave her hands needed heat.

  Dexter watched silently as she ate her sandwich and drank her ginger tea. He watched everything, not only her breasts, but also the way she sipped the tea, wiped her lips, even the way she chewed. His gaze was omnipresent. Once the sandwich was gone, he asked, “Wouldn't you like some water? It wouldn't be good for you to dehydrate. Besides, there was only one cup of tea.”

  Natalie did want water, but she was beginning to understand that everything came with a price. Instead of reaching for the decanter, she spoke.

  “May I have water?”

  He poured the clear liquid into her glass.

  When she didn't reach for it, he grinned. “Good girl, bug. I was right about you. You're a quick learner. Are you ready to learn what you must do to earn that water?”

  Though dread flooded her veins, the food she’d already earned gave her strength. “Yes.”

  “This time, your job is simple. It's not your body, although you'll soon offer me more than a view of your tits.”

  Offer? Did that mean he wouldn't take?

  Before she could give it much thought, he told her what he wanted. “Your mind.”

  Chapter 13

  It is hard to fight an enemy who has

  outposts in your head. ~ Sally Kempton

  “My mind?” Natalie asked.

  “Tell me what I want to know, and you’ll earn water. Tell me enough, and I'll even leave you the bottle. The water from the pipes isn't fit for consumption. Taking care of you is my job.”

  But you'll kidnap, freeze, and starve me to death? Instead of saying that, Natalie nodded.