Little Lamb

16 ❦ good girl imprisonment

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The way he held that gun, pressed it to my face, shoved it into my mouth, I felt every inch of its cold, rough surface as it hit my lips, almost as if it belonged there. The sensation sent a jolt of adrenaline through me, awakening something twisted and raw. I was terrified for my life, yet strangely, I didn't care. Part of me craved the embrace of death.

Maybe it wasn't my time, or maybe he was toying with me, relishing in the power he held. What else could I expect from him, my cruel captor, the man I yearned for?

Time dragged on as I lay on the uncomfortable leather couch, with my hands bound in front of me. I closed my eyes, desperate for sleep, but my thoughts were a relentless echo of the nightmare I was trapped in.

I was waiting for Riggs, hoping he might change his mind and let me return to my room. His name lingered on my tongue. I had spoken it to him, and now it felt so much more intimate to use it, as if knowing his name drew us closer.

My eyes were closed, but I was alert, straining to hear any sound that might signal his return. When the door finally creaked open, my breath caught in my throat.

I didn't need to look to know it was him, the air seemed to shift with his presence.

He moved quietly, I felt the weight of his gaze on me before I heard the soft rustle of fabric as he crossed the room. My eyes slowly fluttered open, and there he was, Riggs, standing over me with that blood shot expression, eyes cold and detached, his lips in a fine line.

It wasn't until I saw the plate of food in his hands that I realized just how hungry I was, the gnawing emptiness in my stomach suddenly impossible to ignore.

I licked my lips, gazing to the plate.
He seemed to notice the flicker of desperation in my eyes, and it amused him.

"Hungry?" His voice was smooth, almost mocking. I didn't respond, but my body betrayed me, leaning slightly toward him, toward the food, as if I had any say in what happened next.

But when he picked up a piece of bread, something inside me resisted. I didn't want to take it, not from his hands. I turned my face away, defiance flickering in the pit of my stomach despite the fear.

He didn't speak at first, just watched me with that same cold, calculating look.

Then, with a sudden movement, his hand shot out and grabbed my chin, forcing me to face him. His grip was firm, not painful. I tried to pull back, but he held me fast, his thumb brushing over my plumpy lower lip in a way that sent a shiver down my body, to my legs and maybe in between.

"Come on Lola," he says. "Be a good girl and open up."

There was no room for refusal in his tone. My heart pounded in my chest, a mix of fear and something else I didn't want to acknowledge. I hesitated for a moment longer, my mind at war with itself, but his grip on my chin tightened slightly.

Fuck, I'm melting between his gaze.

Reluctantly, I parted my lips, and he slid the piece of bread into my mouth. The act felt intimate in the most unsettling way, a violation that I could taste as clearly as the food itself. I chewed slowly, my eyes locked on his, hating every second of this twisted submission.

"Good girl," Riggs whispered, almost to himself, as if savoring the small victory. He continued to feed me, each piece of food offered with that same dark tenderness, and each time, I found it harder to resist. The hunger gnawed at me, overriding my pride, until I was taking the food from his hand without hesitation, loathing myself for how easily I was broken down.