Page 41 of Silver

He carefully brushes out my messy mane without tugging any of the ratty places. Then he divides it into three sections and braids it efficiently down my back, securing the bottom with the band.

“There.” He gives the long braid a tug. “How’s that? Is it too tight? Pulling anywhere?”

“No, Sir,” I whisper, emotional. How the hell is he able to be so kind and considerate one moment and such a tyrant the next? On top of that, it’s not lost on me that, in a sense, both are always happening at once. It’s just that one overshadows the other, depending on the hour. Yes, he’s being soft and sweet right now, but I can’t overlook the fact that I’m wearing skimpy clothes he put on me, and I’m shackled to the fucking corner of the room.

He sets his hands on my shoulders and kisses the top of my head. “Back to work. I’ve got a lot to take care of myself.” Silver turns and leaves me to settle in at his own desk, which is located on the adjacent wall, next to the bed.

He pushes up to the group of monitors and wakes everything up.

I turn back to my book and resume reading. So far this school year, I’ve done nearly all my studying in the library or other quiet areas on campus. A few times, I’ve had no choice but to finish an assignment in my car at night, but this desk is a luxury.

It’s not lost on me that Silver is trying to make it so I don’t want to leave. Food, a bed, shelter, now a desk, computer, and a quiet study space. It’s much easier to focus without my stomach grumbling.

I munch on the snacks while I read and then write the two-page essay I need to turn in, summarizing this week’s chapter. Feeling victorious, I lean back and finish off the water.

I’m not sure how long I’ve been focused on my work, but it was enough time that I wince when I move my ankle too far and remember the fucking shackle.

Silver’s chair squeaks slightly as he pushes it back, making me turn toward him. He’s smiling. “You’ve been so focused. Did you get your assignment done?”

“Yes, Sir.” Even I manage to grin. I feel accomplished and ready for this class on Tuesday.

He comes to me and looms over me, gripping my chin, forcing me to hold his intense gaze. “Do you want to read over your paper before I take a look at it?”

I swallow. “Uh, no, Sir. It’s good.” Is it up to his standards? This is uncharted territory. He’s made it clear I must do well in my classes, but what the fuck are his expectations exactly?

He lifts a brow. “You’re sure?”

“Yes, Sir.” But I feel less certain by the second.

“I set up a shared folder for us. You’ll drop your assignments in it after you do them, so I can look them over. I’ve already put a quiz in there for you to use as a practice. Are you certain you’re ready to take it?”

Now I’m not certain of any fucking thing at all. I’m flushed. “Yes, Sir.”

“Okay.” He leans over me again, crowding me with his warmth and scent, making me want to lean into him. I can almost pretend he’s my boyfriend when we have moments like this. Except boyfriends do not chain their girlfriends to the fucking wall.

He grabs my mouse and moves it around, showing me where the shared folder is. “Drop your assignment in here. I’ll read it while you take the quiz, which is right here.” He opens it for me.

“Okay,” I murmur. After dragging my paper into the shared folder, I take a deep breath and prepare to take his pop quiz. It’s long. Thirty questions. I’m sure the teacher will only have ten, but he said he’s combined questions from past years. He’s being thorough. I should be grateful for the help.

It takes me a while to work through it. Longer than I would have liked. In addition, there were a few questions I was uncertain about.

“Are you done?” he asks from behind me.

I flinch as I realize how close he’s been standing. “Yes, Sir.”

“It took you too long. You’ll need to get faster. We’ll work on that.” He points at the monitor. “Put the quiz in our folder and reopen your essay. There were four grammar mistakes. Find them and fix them.”

Silver turns around and strides back to his own desk.

I stare at his back, stunned. “You’re not going to tell me what they are?”

He sits in his chair and spins to face me. “No. But if you speak to me like that again, I will spank your naughty, insubordinate ass and make you sit on sandpaper while you start the essay over from scratch.”

I gasp and spin back around. Fuck. Fucking fuck. Shaking, I open the essay. Tears well in my eyes, but I won’t cry. I won’t give him the satisfaction. I’ll prove to him that I’m a straight-A student if it kills me.

Holding my breath over and over, I slowly read through my essay, looking for the errors. It takes me half an hour to find three of them. I don’t see the fourth even on the tenth readthrough.

How does Silver know grammar so well, and why the fuck does he care? I’m pretty sure my history teacher isn’t interested in my correct use of the Oxford comma or the fact that I got a homophone mixed up. It’s not an English class.