Chelsea nodded but waited for his cue. In her peripheral vision, she saw the cruel smile twist his mouth.
“You may speak.” His voice rang with satisfaction.
Mumbling through swollen lips, she repeated his rules.
“You learn quickly.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a protein bar. He held it out to her. She tried to grab it, but he raised it just out of reach at the last second.
With his free hand, he grabbed a handful of her hair. “Know this. I am not fucking around. If you ever try to escape again, I will beat every inch of you bloody, slit your throat, and bury you in the woods. Do you understand?”
Pain seared her scalp. Chelsea’s bones shook as she nodded, grateful he hadn’t asked her to speak because fear had paralyzed her vocal cords. Terror shook her body down to her bones.
He released her hair and dropped the protein bar in her lap. His hand lingered. His finger stroked her bruised, swollen cheek. “Everything will be all right. You’ll see that I know best. I’m going to bring your cot back in. If you continue to behave, I’ll bring you more food.”
Straightening, he turned and walked toward the door. He returned in a moment, dragging the cot back into the container and leaving Chelsea wondering what else tomorrow would bring and what she would need to do to survive.
Chapter Thirteen
He closed the door, peeled off his mask, and welcomed the cool night air. He could hardly believe how fast she was learning. Pleasure rushed through him like an excited child. Everything was working exactly as he’d planned.
Turning around, he secured the heavy-duty padlock and set the alarm on the door. He couldn’t be too careful with his prize. He was a winner, and he intended to keep his spoils. She truly was the ideal woman. He would never let her go.
Chelsea had made so much progress in such a short time. She’d exceeded his best expectations.
Responding to a direct greeting was automatic, yet Chelsea’s brain had shut down her normal reaction. He’d seen it happen before his eyes. Her mouth had opened as a reflex, but her brain had intervened and closed it. A protection mechanism no doubt. Defiance equaled pain. Obedience led to physical comfort.
Pavlov could suck it.
Teaching a few caged dogs to drool didn’t even compare to his accomplishment. He’d changed more than two decades of learned behavior in just a few days. His appropriate, well-timed, and severe punishment had been enough to rewire her instinct.
Amazing.
She was truly special. This experiment was everything he’d hoped for and more.
Maybe he could speed up his plan. He wanted things from her that she wasn’t yet ready to give. He knew men who enjoyed a woman who put up a good fight. For those men, the act of domination was erotic. But he was more refined. He wanted her to kneel before him, to offer herself to him with no reservations. She wouldn’t be attractive to him unless she submitted fully. Defiance and disagreement were ugly in a woman.
Surrender.
He reached for the zipper on his jeans. Surrender was hot. He couldn’t wait for the day Chelsea willingly yielded to him.
But how long would it take to achieve?
The anticipation was hard to suppress.
Literally.
He lifted his hand. If submission was the most noble and beautiful trait for his woman to achieve, then as her mentor, he should exercise self-control and patience. Discipline should be meted out with love not anger. So far, he’d done his job. The pain he’d given her was all temporary. He couldn’t hurt her.
He’d put too much work into her to lose her.
He walked toward his shed. He had big plans for tomorrow, a pivotal lesson for Chelsea and a true test of her progress.
Stick. Carrot.
Pain. Relief.
Especially pain.
He’d take Chelsea to rock bottom. Tomorrow, her soul would be stripped bare. After that, there would be nowhere to go but up. And when he was the one who rebuilt her physically and psychologically, she would be grateful.
She would adore him.
Inside the shed, he set his mask aside. How much longer would he need it? She wasn’t leaving him. He wasn’t worried about her knowing his identity. But the mask was intimidating. It dehumanized him and terrorized her. Fear generated obedience.
He’d been studying the psychology of torture for months. His arsenal of training techniques was psychological as well as physical, and he wasn’t afraid to use every single one. Fear and humiliation were powerful training aids.
Which was why nakedness was one of the consequences of bad behavior. Clothing represented respect, and respect must be earned.
He began gathering his tools. Anticipation hummed through his veins. He had to be patient. The time between sessions was just as important as the actual sessions. Chelsea needed adequate time to reflect, to recover, for her brain to let go of old associations and form new ones.