Page 32 of Savage Desires

I'm so lost in my mind that I don't realize we're no longer in the bedroom until I hear running water. I look around and find we're in a very nice bathroom. It's got a large soaking tub and a separate shower. A long marble counter with a double sink is below a gilded mirror. I quickly look away because the brief look I get of myself is enough. My hair is a rat's nest of knots matted with dried blood and dirt. Even though they cleaned me up some, there's still blood on my skin… you can only do so much with a sponge bath.

"Can you stand on your own?" Kisten asks.

I honestly have no idea. My head is still spinning, and I feel as weak as a newborn fawn, but I want that shower. I want to be clean more than I care about the possibility of falling. The risk of a head injury from slipping in the shower isn't enough to deter me from getting clean.

"Yes," I say with far more confidence than I feel.

He puts me on my feet, holding me steady in a way that tells me he sees through my bullshit answer. The fact that he's willing to let me shower anyway makes me like him even more. He keeps showing me that he'll give me what I want no matter what it is, and that's dangerous. I shouldn't let myself get attached to him, but I fear it's already too late. In fact, I know it's already too late.

I was addicted from the moment I woke up in his lap at Mecca. He treated me like a person, not a thing, and that meant everything to me—so much so that my imagination created a whole world in which he did anything to keep me safe and loved me unconditionally. As idiotic as it is, I can't seem to separate the real Kisten from the fantasy. And his doing things like this is making it even harder to live in reality.

The reality is he would never want a woman like me. I'm broken. Damaged beyond repair. He probably can't wait to get away from me, and here I am, latching onto him like a desperate idiot. I should tell him I'm fine and that he can go, but I can't. He's the only thing holding me together right now.

I don't know why he's still here. Probably out of obligation since he bought me. I have a sick thought: I hope he keeps me. Technically, he owns me now. He bought me in that auction. I've not been a person for a long time. I'm a thing for men to use and abuse at their whim. What does it say about me that I want Kisten to make me his forever?

God, I'm so fucked up.

Now that the thought is in my head, I can't dislodge it. Instead, I'm considering how I can make him keep me. What if he doesn't want to keep me? He bought me to free me. He freed the others, too. He's not the kind of man that owns women. He's one of the good guys, even though he obviously does terrible things in the name of doing the right thing.

He's a vigilante. Doling out his own brand of justice. I don't know precisely what he does, but I can guess. He was at Mecca and interrupted my time with a client. That tells me he doesn't like seeing men hurt women to extremes. I can only assume if he was in a BDSM club, he's at least familiar with the lifestyle. He knew about aftercare, so that says he's probably a dominant—a good one.

He was at the auction, but not for the same reason as the other men. Yes, he bought me, but I don't think that was his goal. He didn't seem like he had a plan to help us escape. Something happened that changed his plans… was it me? Warmth fills me at the thought. I push it away because it's a stupid assumption.

I don't know what his actual plans were, but the end result is the same. He risked his life to rescue us. He didn't have to. He could've walked away and let those men rape, torture, and murder us, but he didn't. He put his neck on the line and got us out. Then he brought us here. I can only assume the other women are getting the same medical care that was provided to me. I can't say they are getting treated exactly the same. I highly doubt there are five other Kistens practically doting on them like he is me. Jealously roars through my veins at the mere suggestion of him doing these things for someone else.

I'm brought back to the here and now when Kisten starts pulling on the hem of my t-shirt. I should probably protest because even though I want him to keep me, I hate the thought of him seeing me naked. I'm too thin, making my breasts and hips look larger than they are. What Madame insists is an hourglass figure is actually a body half-starved and too weak to fight back.

Then there are the scars. Nothing terrible. They wouldn't want the merchandise ruined, but there are whip marks and thin scars where men paid extra to cut me. Those scars have never really bothered me. They speak of survival. Each one is a testament to the fires I've walked through and come out the other side from.

It's the small scar in my bellybutton that is the ugliest one. It's the one I don't want him to see. The one that took my fallopian tubes and made me unable to get pregnant. It's the scar that permanently altered me. They took something from me that day which can never be fixed or changed. After seeing Kisten's reaction to my telling them about the sterilization, I never want him to see it.

It's silly because the scar is hidden—it wouldn't do for a sex slave to have a big scar from surgery—and it's nearly impossible to see if you don't know what you're looking for. Still, it feels like a glaring neon arrow is pointing to it. A physical representation that I can never have children. It's funny how that thought upsets me since the last thing I want is to be a mother.

If I had a daughter, I would live every day of my life terrified that something would happen to her, like what happened to me. I would smother her with my protective instincts until she learned to hate me. A son? I would constantly worry that he would become a monster like the men that took me. Knowing that my clients were high-profile men wasn't a surprise. Politicians, judges, police chiefs… all people that evil men need in their pockets to continue doing bad things. It was the seemingly ordinary men that shook me to my core.

I had a client take a phone call while he had me tied down with his cock down my throat. It was his wife. He spoke softly, like a man in love. They talked about her day and their kids. He kept his dick lodged in my throat, tears running down my face as my lungs burned for oxygen while he talked about daycare and what she was making for dinner. He hung up, promising he would leave work soon and telling her how much he loved her.

The second the call ended, he finally let me breathe. I was still gasping for breath when he flipped me to my stomach and shoved his dick in my ass so hard and fast he tore me. He was gleeful as he fucked my ass using my own blood as lube. Something he was happy to tell me all about. The sick fuck made me clean his dick with my mouth before coming down my throat.

That's when I figured out that even the men who appeared to be good and kind were monsters underneath it all. What if the son I raised turned into that? I could do everything right and still end up with a monster for a son. The risk is something I won't have to worry about.

It makes my pain over having the choice taken from me confusing as hell. I should be glad about it, but I'm not. I have convinced myself over the years that it was for the best, and it was while I was a slave. Seeing Dr. Wolfe and Kisten's reactions to it reminded me of how utterly fucked up it was for someone to do that to a young woman.

"Are you okay?" Kisten asks, looking down at me with concern.

Not that I can blame him. I'm beaten to hell and keep slipping into my own mind. He probably thinks I'm crazy. Maybe I am…

"Just tired," I say, hoping that covers my weird behavior.

"Let's get you clean. Food will be here soon."

I nod. Kisten leads me to the shower. He helps me inside and seems to hesitate to release me. He's probably worried I'll collapse when he lets go, which is a fair concern and completely probable.

I step away from him and under the water, allowing him to back away. He watches me intently like he's ready to jump in the shower and save me if I start to fall. It makes me feel warm and squirmy inside—completely foreign feelings—ones that I don't want to study too hard at the moment.

The hot water feels like heaven. It beats down on my back, relaxing my muscles. I tip my head back into the spray and groan at how good it feels. I never want it to end, but I'm starting to sway on my feet, so it's time to wash up. It might be worth a head injury to enjoy an endless supply of hot water, but I don't want to risk it.

I struggle to wash my hair. It's not just that it's caked in blood and dirt, but I'm exhausted. My arms feel like lead weights. I'm ready to give up on cleaning it when a strong arm bands around my waist. I gasp, my hands landing on Kisten's broad shoulders. Naked shoulders. I gulp. Is he completely naked? I want to look down and see for myself, but I refrain. I don't know what I would do if he is… something embarrassing, I'm sure.