Because underneath it, there’s something else. Something worse—I feel better. My stomach tightens. That shouldn’t be the memory imprinting from this. And yet it is.
I shift slightly, my gaze drifting toward the far wall. Something catches my attention. A reflection. Small. Subtle. Wrong.
My eyes narrow slightly. There’s something on the shelf. A device. Or maybe it’s always been there. Maybe I just never noticed. A vague memory of seeing it before tickles the back of my mind.
Not sharp enough to act on, but still present. Like something might have seen—and might still be watching.
I close my eyes.
And try not to think about why that feels normal.
A while later—which could have been minutes, could have been an hour—he drifts back in, untying me. His touch is expert but gentle. “Are you okay, Ivy? I didn’t tie these too tight, did I? Is that what you wanted?”
And the truth is, I don’t know anymore.
He guides me to the bathroom and into a bubble bath that’s waiting for me. I step in gingerly, and he helps me to lower myself into the deep tub.
The hot water soothes where the ropes rubbed against my skin, as well as the throbbing ache in my pussy.
He soaps me up, cleansing me.
Once I’m totally clean, he takes my hand and helps me up and out of the tub, and then covers me in a fluffy towel, drying me off.
He rubs my body with a rich lotion scented with something familiar—hibiscus perhaps.
Then he throws me over his shoulder and carries me to the bedroom, where he carefully lowers me down on my side of the bed.
“You’re perfect for me, you know that, misfit? I can’t get enough.”
Misfit.
It’s like he has an entire web of names for me.
A voice echoes in my head.
Wanted. I belong.
As my eyes fight to stay open, I stretch and smile.
Warm and almost impossibly cozy now.
Everything from before fades out.
CHAPTER 54
IVY
It’s quiet. Not the peaceful, relaxing kind where your mind can think and settle. It’s oppressive, not even a distant hum. No passing cars. Just stillness.
I stand in the middle of the room, listening too hard, like something might break through if I wait long enough. Nothing does.
My phone sits on the counter. Dark. Silent. I don’t reach for it. I already know what I’ll see. Or what I won’t.
Still, I eventually pick it up. The screen lights. No messages. No missed calls. No notifications.
Just empty. Like no one’s tried. Like nothing happened.
My thumb hovers over the screen, then I scroll, out of habit more than expectation.