What the hell just happened? I huddle on the couch, curled over myself, arms wrapped around my naked torso. My clothes are in a puddle across the room, but I can’t bring myself to stand up, cross over there and put them back on. I’m not sure my legs would support my weight at this point. And besides, my heart is still racing too fast to let me think about anything except what Farrow just did to me.

My whole body feels electric. On fire with desire. I want nothing more than him to finish what he started, right here on this couch. I am naked and alone, and the couch is damp beneath my ass, wet from my own shameful desire.

How could I want him? How could I give in to this man who has taken everything from me? And why am I tempted, even now, to run my hand down my stomach and touch my pussy. Finger myself until I finally crash into the orgasm that I can’t help wanting.

I clench my hands into fists, trying to distract myself. You don’t want him. You’re just scared and alone and naked in a strange place, and he feels warm and somewhat familiar.

I’m remembering the alley all those years ago. The summer afterward, which I spent fantasizing about him, dreaming about a moment exactly like this. A moment when my savior—my dark, dangerous savior—returned to finish what he started. To take me and make me his.

That’s what he’s threatening to do, after all these years. Take what he could have taken in that alley. Fuck me senseless.

But he insists he won’t, not until I beg him to. It sounded absurd when he first said it. I thought that would be impossible… Until now. Until I realized what he could do to me. How he can make me feel.

The door opens again and I gasp, flinging myself down along the couch.

But it’s only Farrow. Only? I ask myself, wondering when I got so accustomed to him seeing me naked. He tosses something at me. A robe.

I stay huddled against the couch, glaring at him, but he just watches me brazenly, his gaze roaming across my body until I realize I have no other choice.

Fuck him.

I unfold myself and stand up, drawing myself to my full height, naked in front of him. I feel hot all over, in every place where I can feel his gaze on me. I ignore it as best I can and stoop to scoop up the robe. I wrap it around myself, cinch it tight, and then join him by the door, jaw clenched.

“Follow me,” he says and leaves without a backwards glance.

I trail after him through the second story of the house. It’s as well decorated as the first floor, with the cozy air of a family home. It’s not where I’d expect a single bachelor to live, much less someone like Farrow. He opens a room at the end of the hall for me, and I tense, almost expecting to find something terrifying—some dungeon or horrible dank room he wants to lock me in to punish me.

Instead, the door opens to reveal a beautiful suite, one that reminds me of my bedroom at home. A huge bed and a side door leading into a private bathroom lined in marble. I linger in the doorway, studying it. I notice the broad window beside the bed, open to the night air. Not locked.

I’m still staring when Farrow brushes my shoulder lightly, almost hesitantly. “You have free range here,” he says, following my gaze. “I know you won’t try to escape. Your little sister makes a much better ball and chain than any locks would.”

I close my eyes. By the time I open them again, he’s gone, and I feel like I can finally breathe freely.

There are some clothes in the closet. He guessed my size in everything, from the silky nightgowns to the sexy lingerie. I find a drawer full of thongs and lace panties and skimpy bras. I close that and head for the shower. I need a cold shower—maybe that will help me regain control.

Because I can’t stop thinking about his hands all over me. His tongue on my skin. The red-hot fire between my legs that refuses to be quenched.

The shower is enormous, situated above a clawfoot bathtub. I turn the water on and stick my face under it, hoping this will help. But even with the cold water rushing over me, all I can picture is him. His face. His breath against my neck. The way he took possession of me so easily.

I hate him. I want to leave.

And yet… I slide one hand between my legs and find myself still wet from his caresses.

I scrub my skin with the soap I find beside the tub. I wash myself roughly, as if I can exorcise the yearning from my body. I rinse off and dry, padding back into the bedroom. The only clothing available is what he picked out for me. I pick through the nightgowns, and choose the one with the most coverage—which isn’t much. I slide on a thong and add the silk nightie overtop. It barely covers my breasts and ass at once, low-cut and short as hell.

I’m about to climb into bed when I find something else, underneath the covers. I pause, feel around for the hard object. When I slide it out, my face flushes.

It’s small, egg-shaped. I’ve never used one, but I recognize it anyway. A vibrator.

There’s a switch on the side. I press it, and my blush deepens as the egg begins to vibrate in my palm. Quickly, I switch it off and stuff it in the nightstand before I climb into bed and settle under the covers.

But sleep turns out to be as impossible as distracting myself with a shower. I toss and turn under the sheets, unable to get him out of my mind. I hate him for putting me in this position. I hate him for using me just to get back at my father.

Even more, I hate him for lingering in my head.

The steady pulse between my thighs continues to build, undeniable, impossible to ignore. Finally, I can’t take it anymore. I slide my hand down my thigh… Then pause, remembering what I found under the covers. I’m sure he left it here. A taunt. He knew he’d be leaving me wanting—now he wants me to prove it.

Screw him.

Exactly, thinks a dry, sarcastic part of my mind, as I open the side drawer and pull out the vibrator. I may not have used one before, but it’s not exactly hard to figure out. I switch it on and slide my panties down my thighs. I run the vibrator up my inner thigh, toward my aching clit. I’m already so worked up that I can’t stand to draw this out—I just need to get off, and then I can stop thinking about Farrow.

The vibrator touches my clit, and my whole body stiffens against the sheets, my lips parting in a gasp as the intense pressure rockets through me. I arch my hips, barely able to keep myself from moaning, especially when the mental image of Farrow rears up again. His muscular body pressed against mine, those cold, dangerous eyes boring through me.

When I open my eyes, for a moment I think I’m dreaming. But then I gasp and drop the vibrator because he’s there. Standing beside my bed, a smirk on his face.

“You’re naughty for a virgin,” he comments, leaning against the wall, lazily taking in my private moment.

“You said I had free range here,” I snap. “I didn’t realize that meant you’d be stopping by whenever you wanted as well.” I pick up the vibrator, pretending nonchalance, and switch it off.

His hand closes over mine, strong as ever. He traps my finger against the off switch. Presses down until the egg switches back on, buzzing in my palm. “I told you when I brought you here, Pamona. You are here to serve me. To please me.”

He guides the vibrator back toward my pussy. I try to pull my hand away, but he pins it there, making me hold onto the vibrator as he directs its motions.

“It pleases me to watch you,” he adds in a low, throaty whisper, his lips right beside my cheek.

I turn away from him, eyes shut, mouth clenched in a hard line. I won’t give him the satisfaction of seeing how turned on I am right now. How much I want this.

He runs the vibrator across my mound, sending jolts through my spine, all the way down to my toes. He lowers it, tracing my pussy lips, and I tense, expecting him to push it inside me. He parts my lips with his fingers, runs the egg along my slit. I’m already soaking wet, and he smirks as the egg slides easily along my slit, back and forth, both of our hands moving with it.

“You want to come for me, don’t you, my sweet little virgin?”

I grit my teeth and shake my head.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t hear you.” He slides the egg higher. The very edge of it skims my clit, and I can’t help gasping, my hips bucking against the bed. “Did you say you don’t want to come?”

“I…” I scowl and clamp my mouth shut.

“You’re going to need to tell me if you want me to stop.” He circles my clit with the vibrator, and just that motion, so close to my swollen, aching clit, makes me shake with desire. I can’t control my body, can’t keep my hand from clutching his or my lips from parting as I start to pant. “From my view, it looks like this naughty little virgin wants me to make her come harder than she ever has before. What do you think?”

“N…” But I can’t make myself do it. I can’t say no, not when I’m this fucking turned on. Not when I want the release more than anything. “I… Fuck.” I open my eyes and find him laughing, eyes glittering with triumph.

But he doesn’t wait for any more response than that. He presses the vibrator directly onto my clit, and I cry out at the intensity. He applies more pressure than I would, pins me down against the bed, and my clit was already so sensitive, the pleasure now is so sharp it almost crosses over into pain. It only takes a few seconds for me to start writhing beneath his hand, the ecstasy building rapidly. Within a minute, I’m screaming out loud as I fall over the edge into an orgasm, colors sparking behind my closed eyes as my whole body shakes with the force of it.

But when I sink back against the bed, he keeps the vibrator in place, circling it against my clit.

“Wait,” I gasp, trying to move, to wriggle out from beneath him.

But his eyes have that cold, hard look in them again, and he pins me to the bed with his other hand, keeping the vibrator pushed against my clit. It hurts this time, it’s so intense, but there’s pleasure in the pain, a building pressure all over again.

“Fuck,” I hiss, teeth clenched. I’m already rising toward another orgasm, and he is relentless, twisting the vibrator against my clit until the pressure becomes too much. I cry out again, a long wordless shout, as I come for a second time.

He makes me come twice more before he finally relents and lifts the vibrator off of me. I’m covered in sweat, my body limp from the orgasms, my pussy numb from the intensity of them.

I turn my head to find him watching me still. Now that I’ve recovered enough to pay attention, I glance toward him, and through his jeans, and in the dim light of this room, I can see the bulge in his pants, his cock straining against the zipper.

Does he want me as much as I want him? I wonder.

When I glance up again, he’s followed my gaze, and a smirk appears on his mouth. “Enjoying the view?”

“Not much of a view,” I reply with a sniff.

His smile widens. “We can make it one.” He reaches for his zipper. “It’s okay, Pamona. You can admit that you want to see my cock.”

I swallow hard. Lick my lips. Part them, in order to deny it, to tell him to leave. But the words die on my lips.

Because frankly, he’s seen me exposed. Explored my body. It seems only fair I should get to see his, too.

I don’t give him the satisfaction of actually answering, but he can see the curiosity on my face anyway. He undoes his zipper, pulls his jeans open. When he draws his cock out, I can’t help it—my eyes widen, and I lean a little closer, curiosity overwhelming my urge to seem unimpressed.

Because that’s a lie.

I didn’t think seeing his cock would turn me on so much, but it does. My belly clenches as I study his length, the long, thick shaft, the veins that run along the sides, the thick head that’s swollen with desire right now. I swallow sharply, imagining the way he would feel inside me, the way I would stretch and ache to fit him.

Would he even fit?

I shake my head. Stop thinking about it, Pamona. It’s never going to happen. Not with him.

But still. I can’t help enjoying the view.

“I told you, Pamona,” he says, drawing my attention back to his face. He’s studying mine, as if trying to read me. I wonder what he sees in my eyes. If mine are as cold as his icy blue ones seem now. “I’m not going to make you do anything. I won’t take you until you beg me to.”

It might be easier if you just took me, I think, before I bite my lip and force that thought away. At least if I was forced, I wouldn’t have any say in it. I could just dismiss these confusing feelings, the conflicting desires I’m feeling. But since it’s my choice…

I can’t help wondering if I might give in eventually. It’s only been one night and he already makes me hot as hell. How can I possibly take a whole month of this torture?

I swallow again because Farrow has wrapped his fist around his cock, and after making sure I’m still watching, he starts to stroke himself, slowly. I blink, confused and conflicted by how much it turns me on. Watching him jerk off, and knowing that I’m the reason he’s rock hard, the reason he needs to get off. He’s turned on by me and that is hot.

Then I shake myself back to my senses. I can’t let him see that I’m enjoying this. I roll away, turning my head toward the wall. But Farrow grabs my shoulders and rolls me back over. Grips the back of my hair, pinning my head in place.

“Watch me,” he says. “Watch how I come thinking about your sexy little virgin body.”

I grimace and tug at his grip, but he holds me still, his hand gripping so hard it hurts. “This feels like forcing me,” I point out, scowling up at him.

He laughs, low and dark. “I’m just holding you here. Letting you look. You could close your eyes, Pamona. Or…” He starts to speed up, his fist pumping harder and stronger along his cock. “You could touch my cock, if you want.” He shrugs, like it doesn’t make a difference, but I can see the way he tenses, his breath hitching at the thought of me touching him. “It’s your choice to resist,” he adds, his voice going even deeper as he jerks off faster, faster. “Or are you scared that just touching my cock will turn you into a slut?”

I thought I’d already come more than I could possibly come in one night, but I feel my belly tighten and my legs clench all over again, watching him pleasure himself. He starts to tense, his teeth clenched, his breathing hard, and I can’t help it. I lean closer, watching the way the tendons in his arms are taut and his hand clenches hard around his long, stiff cock.

I’m still leaning in when he lets out a loud, guttural growl, and comes, his hand still pumping. I startle, jumping back, but some of his cum lands on my cheek. I wipe it off, startled, and stare at the smooth white liquid on my finger, surprised by the warmth, not to mention the scent that’s filling the room, wafting off him in waves. So different from the way I smell. It’s a mix of sex and pure him, his heady, dark scent. It makes me want to lift my finger to my mouth and taste him. Find out if he tastes as good as he smells.

When I look up again, expecting him to urge me to lick his cock or something else I won’t want to do, he’s already zipping his jeans closed. His eyes are faraway, focused somewhere else, and he leaves the room quickly, without a backwards glance, shoulders drawn tight. Almost like he regrets what happened.

I stare after him, confused. Then, alone with no one to witness, I lift my finger to my lips and flick my tongue across his cum lightly.

I shiver.

Because it doesn’t taste like I expected. He tastes better. Addictive.