I should be ashamed. But, I'm not. Any silly fantasy I’ve ever had as a kid about Xavier was outdone by the real deal. Hell, any sexual experience I’ve ever had in my life has been outdone.

It deserves a shrine. He deserves a shrine. Or a church for people to come and worship him daily. I would attend, every damn day.

Clearly, I need an exorcism. My feelings for Xavier swirl in confusion. If everyone is going to use me, then why can't I get something from it? But that's a lie I tell myself to make me feel better, because today when he treated me like I had the plague, it hurt. I almost made him a card that said, ‘Thanks for the screw,’ but instead I’ve moped.

Feeling defeated, I drop down in the oversized armchair that's become my very own chestnut tree to sit and think instead of clawing my way through these walls. I mean, what do I think the outcome is going to be here? My magical hooha is going to erase years of hatred, and he's suddenly going to realize he's the real prisoner here, shutting himself off from anything but revenge.

No, the chances of that happening are as slim as snow in Florida. This situation is so bizarre; one minute he’s doing nice things, and the next I’m trying to escape.

Which, I still plan on. Even though Xavier thinks he’s devised some brilliant plan, I’m not sure he really knows who he’s dealing with. And not just my father—Ian. Saint Ian, that’s what I like to call him. He sure has the wool pulled over everyone’s eyes. He gives to charity, acts like the nicest man around, praising and sharing himself, but behind closed doors he’s sabotaging those very people he acts like he helps.

It’s disgusting.

Although, if Ian’s a saint, then my father’s the pope. Everyone bowing down to kiss his gaudy pinky ring.

A knock sounds at the door, and I sink back further in my chair, wanting to disappear into the soft fabric.

“I’m here to help make you even more beautiful,” Krista’s sweet voice sounds through the room. “Xavier says to wear the blue gown tonight.”

“I guess he forgot to mention he had another event he needed to use me at.” I prop my head in my hand, not wanting to leave this chair, and tuck my legs under me, sighing heavily.

She stops in front of me and takes a seat on the ottoman.

“Listen,” her voice drops to a whisper, “I’m not going to make excuses for him or pretend I know what's going on, but you can't give up.” She leans in a little closer. “I see the way he looks at you. You are more to him than you realize. Do what you need to do.”

I want to believe her. I don’t want to be this droopy-owled naive girl who lusts after her captor.

The escape attempts aren’t working, so maybe it’s time for a new tactic. A new challenge. Maybe, and it's a big maybe, I can seduce the truth out of him.

Or use my body as a tool to help me get the information to Xavier’s ‘plan’ for myself.

And maybe, if I have any input or think it’s a bad idea, he’ll listen to me. I just need to remind myself getting close to him is about information, and not because I can’t stand not being around him.

* * *

It's so hard to have been fucked within an inch of your sheltered life, and then stand before that person, wondering if you're supposed to pretend it didn't happen. Dressed in the sparkly blue evening gown and heels he lusted after, that's exactly what I do.

He looks like a tall sex god in his black Armani tuxedo with his dark hair perfectly rumpled. All of this makes it even harder because I now know he is a sex god.

“Where are we going?” I ask, casually, as he leads me through the front door to a waiting black Benz.

“Do you like the opera?”

My head whips to him. “You kidnapped me to take me to the opera?”

He cracks a smile. “No, but, I do have an associate I need to meet with there.” Then, his face grows serious. “So, no funny business tonight.”

I smile, wondering if he’s talking about attempted escapes and not bedroom funny business instead. “Scouts honor, I won’t run,” I say, sliding into the back of the car.

He quirks a brow before folding his tall body in beside me. “You’re still not a scout.”

I laugh a little to cover the nerves roiling in my belly when he sits close enough for his broad shoulder to graze against mine. “Promise, no running,” I tell him.

He studies my face for a moment, determining if I am in fact telling the truth. “Good.”

“I feel very Pretty Womanish tonight,” I admit, changing the subject.

“You look like her a little, with the wild auburn hair and brown eyes.” His blue eyes undress me. “But, you’re way prettier, like hot-as-fuck woman.”

I laugh. “Did you just make a joke?”

“Not joking at all,” he smirks.

The driver pulls away, maneuvering through the traffic congested streets, toward, I guess, the opera.

This all feels very much like a date. My first date, actually, now that I think about it. Losing my virginity at MECA wasn't to a boyfriend. No, it was to a hipster guy from my class, at a clambake party, just to get rid of it. The second time, same guy, was just to say the cherry popping wasn't my only experience. So, no wooing or dating ever took place.

We pull up in front of the LA Opera, and

Xavier clutches my hand, leading me through a mob of people trying to get inside before the curtain lifts. We’re seated upstairs in our own private box, complete with our very own bottle of Cristal. I let out a deep breath of air. It’s exciting.

“Having a good time?” His thumb strokes lazy circles on my hand.

“Yes,” I say, truthfully.

“During the second act, someone will join us in here, and I’ll have a brief meeting with him.” He releases my hand. “Just enjoy the show and don’t pay attention to us.”

My mind spins with this information. Has he met me? That's like asking me not to breathe, but I smile. “No problem. You won't even know I'm here.”

He grins a little sexy, mischievous grin. “And don’t worry, I’ll make sure you have a very good first act.”

The luxurious box shrinks to the size of a die. I blush. I'm not used to the overt sexuality. Actually, what I'm not used to is how much I like it.

And then before I know it, his hand wraps around my neck, and his lips are on mine. And he’s kissing me. And, my god, what a kiss. Every kiss is like the first time. I fear for a few seconds someone will see, but then the lights go down and a sweet melody wafts through the building.

Before the damsel in distress can even belt out her first chorus, Xavier pulls me closer and his hand lands on my thigh. Lust charges through me, and everything that could ever be right in this moment is.

Heaven and hell could crash into one another, and I wouldn’t notice.

Xavier’s hand traces the outside of my dress, over my legs, and then swoops underneath to travel his way up to the promised land. His diligent fingers trace the lining of my already soaked panties, and I am more than happy to give him a direct one-way ticket there. All signs point north. No passing go.

His kisses keep coming. Hungry, out-of-breath, torturing kisses all meant for me.

He growls against the base of my ear.

“You drive me insane, Rhi. Do you know how bad I want to rip your clothes off and have you ride my face until you’re screaming louder than the singers on stage?”

My nipples pebble at his words, straining for attention, crying to be free. A scorching, hot-heat travels through my bones, incinerating all common sense, and all I can think about is Xavier making me come. And oh, how bad I want him to. So very bad.

“Do you think you can make me scream that loud?” I ask as the woman hits a high note full of longing. More than anything, I want to hit my very own high note right along with her.

“Oh, I know I can.” Xavier slides a finger through my wetness, stroking back and forth before pushing it inside me. “And for the finale, I’d make sure to have you on all fours—panting, breathless, and begging for more of my thick cock inside you.”

And it is thick; he's not exaggerating. I moan. I don’t want him to stop, but we’re at the opera for God’s sake.

Xavier doesn’t care, he keeps thrumming me like his very own orchestra. Playing all the instruments in harmony. And I’m the star. The star who’s just about ready to come all over this beautiful man’s hand.

“Are you going to come for me, Rhi?”

“Yes, please, don’t stop.”

The sensations build and build, and I bear down on his hand, grinding and rocking.

“I want to watch your face when you come. Fuck, you’re so beautiful.”

I no longer care the place is packed with hundreds of people. All I care about is this moment, with this man I’ve been missing for far too long. He didn't have to take me; he owns every part of me. My body. My heart. My soul. All his.

His thumb circles my tender clit, racing in time with the music, with his expert finger so deep inside me. Working me over. And under. Every direction known to man. It’s insane how much I feel right now.

Everything I’ve bottled away for so long, breaks free with his possessive touch.

“Xavier,” I moan, unable to say anything else, overwhelmed with feelings as the voice on the stage sings about heartache.

He doesn’t relent, keeps finger fucking me as if he’s never enjoyed anything more.

“Are you going to come on my hand? Or do you need me to kneel down and suck your sweet pussy into my mouth and get you off with my tongue?”

The power of words. My brain is completely useless now.

My heart races to the tempo of what's happening on stage.

“You’re so hot when you come. Let me see you. Open your eyes.”

I raise my lids, engulfed by the heated haze settling over his irises. He’s so turned on.

My hands brace his cheeks, letting his fire burn me. The intimacy I feel right now is out of this world. It’s like its own planet. Solar system. No, universe.

Three dangerous words pop into my head, but I swallow them down as my world spirals so close to that pivotal moment when I’ll lose myself completely.

I'm not going to last long, but I try to hold out, not wanting this to end just yet.

Unable to handle the intensity of his stare, I tilt him closer and our hungry lips meet. He moans into my mouth. And I catch every word he silently speaks to me as the voice on stage laments a lost love.

And then I lose control. I buck against his hand, as his tongue plunges deeper into my mouth. Cries of pure ecstasy fly out of my mouth and he catches them with ease with his. Every nerve ending stands at attention, and then crashes back again as the theatre thunders with applause. Xavier smiles when he releases the kiss, and then, he does the most unexpected—he brings his lips to place a gentle kiss on both my eyelids, my forehead, and one on each cheek.

Almost as if he worships my face. I’m too stunned to move. To stunned to breath as my body fights for control.

He removes his hand from under my very expensive dress, a dress bought to enjoy a show I haven’t even watched one minute of and brings his fingers to his lips. And he sucks. He sucks my release from his fingers.

My eyes watch him closely.

“Later, I want this dripping down my tongue.”

“Maybe if you use those bargaining skills.”

His leans close to my ear. “Oh, I’ll bargain, lie, cheat, steal, beg. I have no shame for what I’m willing to do to taste you tonight.”

“That can most definitely be arranged.”

My insides do this weird flutter thing as I try to focus my attention to the man now on stage. He sings a sad song in Italian. The emotions overcome me, and I close my eyes, reliving the last few minutes of pure bliss.

The second act starts, and right on cue, the door behind us opens. Xavier turns slightly in his chair to speak in hushed tones with an older man with graying hair. I try my hardest to hear what they are saying. The man in the fancy suit, and glasses too large for his tiny face, nods and leaves just as quickly as he entered.

Now what? Do we go back to our dysfunction?

As if he can read my every thought, his hand ends up on my upper thigh.

And I get that mushy feeling again. Like my heart is expanding and about to burst from just having his hand on me. It’s just a hand. But the swarm of eagles Xavier always seems to produce, takes flight in my stomach when his thumb lazily makes small circles along the diaphanous material of my dress.

I need to get control of myself, or the next act, I’ll be riding him and his impressive dick all the way into the ending of the show. And I kind of think that’s what I’d rather be doing.

Clearly, I’m losing my mind, and honestly, I want to go out of my mind in peace. Without him here touching me.

The things I almost said to him. The promises that were on the tip of my tongue when he brought my body to climax makes my eyes well with tears. The lights go up.

Intermission.

I stand and rush from my seat, telling Xavier I’ll be right back.

Like a flood, people begin to seep out into the marble foyer, and I sweep past them and find the nearest...anything.

Xavier is hot on my heels, but I’m not running to escape him this time, just these feelings.

I find a bathroom and step inside a stall, brace my hands on the wall, and take a deep, cleansing breath.

I almost told him I love him.

And I probably do.