High Pointe

High Pointe - Episode 8

Victor

She glared up at me, the picture of defiance.

"Do. You. Understand?" I asked again, my grip tightening on those delicate wrists. The chain that was linked to her right wrist rattled against the hardwood floor, a taunting reminder of how we'd gotten into this position in the first place.

She had weighed almost nothing in my arms when I carried her from the car to my private studio. I'd let her sleep, knowing she would need her strength once she woke.

I hadn't expected her to use that strength to try and kill me.

It showed a level of resilience that I admired even as I used her own weaknesses against her to change the tides in our fight. She would need to draw in that resilience in the coming weeks. The things I had planned for her would be more challenging than anything she had ever faced before.

I knew that she could handle my punishing pace and extreme methods, though. Judging by the blisters I had discovered on her feet and the way her ribs showed so prominently even through her clothing, she was already prone to pushing herself to the limits as it was and I only planned to push her further.

After all, how else would coal become a diamond, if not for the pressure placed upon it? And Sophia Hawkins would become the finest jewel in my crown, my shining achievement.

My treasure.

My hand tightened on her wrists as I scowled down at her, waiting for her to answer. The heat and give of her flesh under my hands was intoxicating, the way my hands engulfed her satisfying to no end. She struggled again, but didn't have the strength or skill to escape me.

"I understand," She finally gasped out, and I let her go. With the chain still attached to her pretty wrist there was only so much distance she could put between us and she certainly wasn't about to escape.

She was entirely under my control, and someday she would thank me for it.

"Excellent," I said, stepping back a few paces to pick up the bag I'd left in the doorway. Sophia had moved as far away from me as she could get, crawling up on the bed and crouching like a frightened animal. Even feral cats can be tamed, given the right incentives, I thought to myself as I pulled several items from the bag.

The first was a bottle of water. This one wasn't drugged, of course. Now that I had her where I wanted she would need to remember every moment of it. There was no other way to learn.

The next item was a protein bar. I threw both the water and the bar to the bed, watching her eye them suspiciously.

"Eat," I instructed, crossing my arms and standing back to watch her eye the items with distrust. "You're going to need your strength."

"I can't dance if I'm drugged," she spat, taking hold of both the water and the food and tossing them back at me. They skittered across the polished wooden floor, rolling to a stop at my feet. I watched her watching me and knew she was waiting for an explosion of anger. She wanted to upset me, to push me to my limits as well.

I bent down, scooping up both items, and then stared her in the eye as I uncapped the water and took a large gulp. Then I put the cap back on and tossed it back to her.

"Satisfied?" I asked, and reveled in the dark fury that shown from her eyes. After a long moment of scowling at me, though, she opened the bottle and took a tentative sip.

Good. That would be enough for now. She would need to drink the entire bottle before we were through, but it was more important that she eat something. It wouldn't do for her to become lightheaded while practicing.

Going through the motions of proving the protein bar was not drugged either, I watched with a smirk as she devoured it in three bites and then washed it down with more water. Wiping droplets from her mouth with the back of her hand and breathless from chugging, she returned her glare to me once more.

"Why me?" She asked at last, her shoulders bunched up tight and her hair falling into her eyes.

"Why not you?" I replied, curious what she would say.

She looked down at her hands, picking at the nail polish on her thumbnail. The nail polish was a delicate rose color, just like the pink dress she wore.

Pink was a pretty color on her, I decided. It was like she was born to be draped in pink silks and tulle. It went with her black curls and pale skin perfectly. Not to mention those perfect lips, full and pouty and the color of roses. The memory of them wrapped around my cock had me growing hard again. They'd been slack the last time, Sophia too out of it to wrap them tight around me.

I wanted to know what it felt like to slide into her mouth when she was sober and conscious, to feel that heat tighten around me with intention.

When she finally spoke, she did not answer the question.

"How old are you?"

The question was unexpected and I wasn't sure why it mattered to her unless her mind was also on the things I'd done to her the night before. Things she couldn't remember and had no way of proving.

"Thirty-eight," I replied after a moment. "Why does it matter?"

"Because I'm only eighteen," She said. She was still picking at her nails, and the silence between us grew thick and tense as she stared me down. She looked like she expected this revelation to surprise me or make me change my mind. Like her youth wasn't part of the attraction. Heaving a sigh when she realized I how little I cared about our age difference, she waved a hand to encompass the studio that was to be her new home. "How long are you going to keep me here before you kill me?"

"Is that what you think is going to happen?" I laughed a little, shaking my head at her naivety. As if I would go through all this trouble, spend the time to train her, and not bother to show her off to the rest of the world when my work was done.

"Yes," she replied, crossing her arms over her chest and refusing to meet my eye. "I've seen your face now. There's no way to let me go without getting caught. You'll have to kill me to keep anyone finding out what you've done."

"You don't seem very afraid," I observed. "Are you so ready to die? Do you have nothing left to live for?"

"Of course I do," She said, looking up at me with her bright eyes, the anger still there, but something else there, too. Sadness, maybe. Like there wasn't much to go back to if she did escape. I remembered her words then, about how expensive food was and how she couldn't afford to pay for private lessons. How she would give anything and everything to train under me.

Ballet was clearly the only thing she lived for, and I could easily give that to her here.

She wasn't wrong, though, I had no intention of letting her go. She was mine now, and the world would see just how well I could shape her, how my training would turn her into something exceptional. Death wasn't an option for her, and I intended to make that clear.

"If I were going to kill you," I told her, moving to stand in front of her bed, watching as she pressed her back tight against the iron bars of the bed frame. "I would have done it already. You would be nothing but a body buried beneath the floorboards and a memory fading with the years."

"Then why am I still here?" She asked, her blue eyes wide and shining as she watched me with barely concealed fear.

"Because," I told her, placing my hands on the bed frame behind her, caging her in on either side. She shivered, the fear turning to hatred, the fire returning to her eyes. I smiled, pleased. That kind of fire would fill her up and keep her fighting. I suspected I would enjoy a good fight. "I intend to make you something unforgettable, Sophia. Do exactly what I say, and someday you'll thank me for this."

I kissed her forehead and she shuddered. I didn't miss the way her tongue darted out to wet her lips.

"Never," She swore, her voice a harsh whisper. I smiled at her.

"We'll see," I said. Stepping away from her, I retrieved the final item from my bag. Turning to face her with a wide smile, I watched with relish as her eyes widened at the sight of the object in my hands. "Now, shall we begin?"