Owned by Him (Editing)

Reward

As promised, Jordan took me into the cell with the shower but left me to wash my own hair and body for which I was more than thankful. He did not rush me, he did not make any choicest remarks. I was free to lather the shampoo thoroughly through the greasy strands of my hair for as long as I wished.

I was allowed to actually wash beneath my arms which had become quite the novelty since being held captive. The men who had washed me with a flannel from time to time never thought to clean under my arms and it always left me feeling filthy. As that particular thought passed through my mind, I couldn’t withhold my tears. I felt an overwhelming sense of happiness for being granted one of the most basic privileges we have as people, a basic privilege I had been stripped of. Thankfully, the steady flow of the warm water washed any evidence of my self-pity away. 

Jordan allowed me to use a small hand towel to dry myself. I turned around once I was done to find Jordan shirtless with his arm extended out to me. It took my brain a second to compute what he was saying without him actually saying it. He was giving me the shirt he had been wearing as I had no clothes to change into. I took the shirt from him but found my attention drawn to a large bruise sprawled across Jordan’s chiselled abdomen. It was a sickly green and yellow which suggested to me it was more than a week old. I couldn’t help but wonder who had given him a thrashing. 

“Sorry. I forgot to wait for Silas to come back with my other shirt. That will have to do until we are upstairs, okay?” 

For a six-foot-five, sadist that was built like a tank, it was quite funny to see him blushing in embarrassment. What, exactly, he was embarrassed about, I didn’t know. I pulled the shirt over my head and considering how small I was compared to Jordan before all the malnourishment and abuse, I was now even smaller which made the shirt drown my entire frame. 

Brushing my hair out of my face, I found myself startled to find Jordan glaring at me in a predatory manner. 

“You’re so fucking beautiful, my sweet girl.” He murmured, his voice low and gravelly. I didn’t know how to respond or even if I were allowed to so I simply replied with a “Thank you, Sir.”

Fortunately, Jordan cleared his throat before lifting me back into his arms and carrying me out of the room. 

To my surprise, Jordan did not return me to the cell I had been kept in for the last four weeks. He walked me upstairs into the kitchen and through the lower level of the house. We passed by Wesley, Rex and James who had all been standing outside a set of double doors jesting and razzing with one another about the football season. James eyed Jordan cautiously. I could only presume that he was concerned that my captor would be irritated that he had struck me. I, of course, knew Jordan would have more likely praised him for the assault. 

After five or so minutes of walking, Jordan set me down inside a small, windowless room. Other than he and I, the room contained only a rusty looking chair and a wall mounted mirror. The lightbulb was bare and the entire room was tiled from ceiling to ground. 

“Sit here and don’t move. I will be back in a minute.” Jordan commanded as he set me down onto the chair. 

“Yes, Sir.”

He closed the door and locked it behind him and it was the moment after the lock was slotted into place that I let out a large and shaky breath. A breath of relief and composure. Since Jordan had returned, I had not been given much time to acclimatise being back in his presence nor time to seize control of my fear. So, in that small moment of separation, one that I was very much relished in, I managed to settle my emotions. 

It wasn’t long before Jordan returned and when he did, I noticed instantly the items he had left to obtain. A hairbrush, one black hair tie, a tube of red liquid lipstick and a set of handcuffs. Without a word he handed me the hairbrush and ordered me to braid my hair the way he liked. I did as I was commanded. It was a rather seraphic sensation to feel the teeth of the brush rid each strand of my hair of knots. It had been a long time since I had been permitted to style my hair and I was eager to have it swept out of my face. Whenever my face bled after being assaulted, my hair being down proved to be an irritating nuisance.