When he moves back to the bed and puts the opposite arm up from the one he slept with restrained, I pet his head. “You’re the perfect pet. My perfect pet.”
My collar on his neck is a sign that he’s mine, but I can’t help the sense of pride I feel when he echoes, “Yes. I’m yours, Sir.”
Chapter eleven
E
ThehoursafterMacputs his collar on me are spent thinking and drifting off. I sleep alright at night, despite the metal cuff chaffing when I move. The intense orgasm he let me have and the emotion I’m grappling with over his claiming me have me exhausted.
The thought that he might not restrain me after he left me uncuffed this morning did cross my mind. He is too methodical for it to be accidental. He went to the main house and got dressed, even did his hair and got his glasses on before returning to me with the fancy black box containing my collar. He knew it was possible I’d throw on a shirt from the chest of drawers in the room and make a run for it.
Maybe it’s a bit of Stockholm Syndrome, but I’m not sure I want to run.
Besides the fact that I have no money and only a crappy room waiting for me in San Francisco—and I haven’t seen anything about my disappearance on the news—he treats me well. Mac is a psychopathic serial killer, and he treats me better than any relationship I’ve ever had.
How messed up is that?
My college therapist, who I scandalized talking about how my billionaire father locked me in a room without food and wrote in her notes I was likely lying, would have a field day with this situation. No, I didn’t break in and look at her notes, my dad had them taken when he found out I was talking, which led to college transfer number two.
After nibbling on the plate of fruit Mac left for me, I see on the nightstand clock it’s almost time for him to come home. I was a bit scarred after Di’s visit the first day when I bared it all to her, but she hasn’t come over since. I got the impression Mac wasn’t happy about her going rogue, though I’m not sure if that is about protecting me or her.
Removing the sheet I’ve been lounging under, I spread my legs and turn the TV on to some background playlist. I want Mac to see me in his collar and nothing else, and maybe do more than we’ve done so far.
The collar isn’t as tight as I imagined before he put it on me, loose enough that a high collared T-shirt would cover the lower half. I finger the pendant and smile at the fact that he picked out an E for me before I told him about the preference. My dad rarely let me stay anywhere long enough to make friends. He told me I was an embarrassment and hid me from his friends. So few people ever get that nickname out of me.
The sound of the outer door opening barely reaches me before Mac pushes open the bedroom door and freezes. He swallows hard as his gaze rakes my body in unmistakable appreciation, stopping at the collar before flicking up to my eyes.
“Have you been waiting for me?”
“I have, Sir,” I purr in my most seductive voice. My mind has wandered, but my dick is quick to rally at the sight of the man I’m drooling over like Pavlov’s dog. “I’m yours, remember?”
“I’m not likely to forget. You drive me to distraction on the camera at work.” Mac chuckles and stalks closer. Like he normally does, he unlocks me and rubs at my wrist to relieve any pain. He also rubs lotion on them at night. “Need to go pee?”
“Yes, Sir,” I confirm and he helps me to my feet. We do our normal routine, and I wonder if I can pee alone anymore after having him hold my dick four or five times a day. “Thank you, Sir.”
“You’re welcome,” he replies and smiles as his phone goes off with an alarm. It’s odd, since his phone is always on silent. “Knees,” he commands, pulling his phone out to answer. “Di?”
Going to unbuckle his belt to suckle his dick like I normally do when he’s on a call, he stills my hands. I pout and start to protest until I see the look of rage on his face like I’ve never seen before. Mac’s usually charming, impassive, or occasionally amused face is a mask of fury as his grip becomes crushing.
“If you can hear me, I’m coming. Don’t worry about the hard drives. Fight like hell.”
Mac lets me go and stalks from the room. He returns and tosses me a shirt and sweats. “Put these on. Now.”
Pausing for only a second as he turns to leave, I rush to comply, hopping into the bottoms as I go. I trip but catch myself, and I’ve got the shirt on as I step outside for the first time in weeks. The bright afternoon sun blinds me and I shield my eyes. Running after Mac as he goes through the open back door, I catch up to him as he opensan entryway closet and tosses me leather slip-ons as he pushes into his own loafers.
He doesn’t say the word, opening the side door and leaving me to close it as we go into the garage I’ve never seen before. The garage door opens and Mac calls out, “Get in.”
Without stopping to ask where we’re going, I do as he says and slide into the passenger seat right when he has the engine going. I’m still closing my door when he starts to back up, and I don't get buckled until we’re already peeling out of the driveway onto the main road.
“Someone is at Di’s,” Mac finally tells me, pulling his phone out and opening an app with a map and a couple dots flashing not far away. He must track her like he has cameras on me.
The man likes control, and someone has intruded on his carefully constructed world. I can’t imagine they’ll be alive long.
We wind down the hill at more than twice the limit as I slip his too-big-for-me shoes on, cutting around slower vehicles and almost hitting a tour bus. I am betting they’re tourists looking for celebrity homes and hope they didn’t film this encounter. What am I saying? I should be hoping that the cops come and I can tell them he kidnapped me.
I can keep the murder part to myself. Mac kills bad people, after all.
But I don’t know if I’d actually say something. I’ve had access to a smart TV for days, logged into his accounts. Including YouTube, where I could easily have left public comments for help. I really am fucked up.