I last two days being caged outside.

It’s the late afternoon rainstorm that does me in. It starts raining so hard that I have to climb inside the cramped dog house that stinks of wet dog, pee, and oh yeah, can’t forget the dog shit.

And why does he even have a dog kennel? I haven’t seen any dogs around, so what the hell?

I myself am fairly ripe by this point, too. I’ve continued drinking whatever ‘treat’ Xavier gives me in the dog bowl—sometimes fruit juice, sometimes broth, but nothing ever very substantive. I’m getting weaker and weaker without any real food.

After the rainstorm passes, I crawl out of the doghouse. The sprinkling of hay all over the ground of the enclosure is all sloppy with dark brown mud.

And I have to pee. As I squat, yet again, behind the dog house to relieve myself, I look around, then down at myself.

What was it that I was so hot and bothered about that led to all this?

I think I was worried about losing my dignity if I let Xavier feed me by hand?

I look down at the dark smears of questionable origin that are all over my once sky-blue dress after climbing out of the dog house.

Oh yeah, I’m doing awesome in the dignity department at the moment.

Not to mention, God, I thought the hours passed slowly when I could wander the house and read book after book?

Ha.

Hahahahahaha.

Try sitting in a 10x10 square cage for forty-eight hours straight.

There’s nothing to do but strain to listen for any little sound.

I heard horses, I think? That makes sense since Xavier keeps using horse metaphors. Maybe he trains them? Or boards them?

Mainly there’s just the unending drone of crickets that kept me awake all night last night. During the day, there’s nothing to look at but the back of the lodge and the same stupid-ass landscape. Then there’s the bug and mosquito swatting to look forward to when the sun goes down.

Have I mentioned how much I hate nature?

There are only so many times you can think out elaborate revenge murder fantasies in exquisite detail before even they start to lose their luster.

Thankfully, the lack of food makes me sleepy so I nap a lot.

Which worked well enough when the sun was out, but now that I’m soaked through and stinking so much I can barely stand to be in my own presence? Yeah, not so much.

Staring out at the rain-drenched landscape, it hits me what an absolute fucking idiot I’ve been. It’s Hostage Basics 101.

I just have to pretend to go along with what the lunatic wants. I only need to make it look like I’m submitting. He doesn’t have to know that in my head I’m secretly whispering fuck you fuck you fuck you every time I eat the food he’s hand-feeding me.

Then bam, I can be comfortable while I get through this whole thing. Get pregnant. Pop out a kid. Get back to my old life.

Maybe that sounds harsh. But you have to understand, I’m not the maternal type. I never was. Blame it on my mom who always referred to me as her 18-year shackle. She couldn’t tell the story enough times about what a difficult baby I was and how by the time I was two months old, she’d already made the appointment to get her tubes tied.

She realized what a mistake she made, she’d say, but by that point it was too late to give me back! She said it laughingly to friends like it was all a huge joke. My existence, the great bumble of her life.

But that was fine. I had Dad and we were as close as two peas in a pod. He said Mom just wasn’t ready for kids. She had a hard life growing up in Mexico taking care of her seven brothers and sisters. She hated anything that reminded her of that. Aka any sort of responsibility whatsoever. Aka, me.

Dad loved her so much, though, he never saw her for the user that she was. It was somewhat taboo, marrying outside his wealthy WASP circles. Maybe it was love between them at first, I don’t know. He met her when she was waitressing at a bar near Harvard. My grandparents never accepted her—some intruder in their lives from south of the border—but Dad loved her beyond all reason. To him, she would always just be the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen in his life, who for a time had chosen him. Even after she left him and went on to become a richer man’s trophy wife. Then she died in a car wreck and became forever enshrined in his memory.

She had that way about her, though. A way of making people love her. The only other person who saw her for the narcissistic, spoiled woman that she was was her older sister Mariana. Not as pretty as my mother, Mariana is still an attractive woman living in Mexico. I was able to visit her a couple of years ago. It was such a relief to finally be able to talk about the real woman I’d known my mother to be. Like I could finally be sure I wasn’t just making it all up in my head. But no, that was how Mariana remembered her, too. She was a kind, calm woman with a passel of children who all seemed to adore her.

It was already too late for me, though. I was the spitting image of my mother, if a shade lighter in skin tone and with a short bob instead of her long hair that she always paid such meticulous care to. And I’d also inherited her aversion to children.

My college friends had babies and I’d visit them from time to time. I felt nothing. No biological ticking clock. No yearning to hold the babies. They screamed a lot and it always got on my nerves.

So, while I might be my mother’s daughter, I always swore I wouldn’t make her mistake. I’d never have kids. Not something I thought too much about because, well, at least until several days ago—virgin.

But now I have to have this stranger’s baby.

Well, fine. Women are surrogates for people all the time. That’s all this is. I have no motherly instincts, obviously. I can barely handle thinking the word baby much less saying it out loud. So yes, I’m just the surrogate for Xavier’s baby. It doesn’t make a difference that the egg making up half the baby happens to be mine. Women also donate their eggs all the time. So what if I’m doing both parts, the donating and the surrogating?

It’s no big deal. At the end of this year, Dad will be safe forever. He’s already starting his new life in whatever island paradise Xavier’s settled him. Yes, he’s upset right now because he doesn’t know what’s happening to me but Xavier said he’d send pictures letting him know I’m okay… I look around me. Well, God, so at this particular moment, I’m not awesome but I’m going to fix all of it.

Just a year of pretending and then I’ll find a way to start over, too.

I can legally change my name.

Move out of New York and go somewhere no one knows me. Maybe Chicago. There are some great ad firms there. I’ll have to start from scratch and yeah, it’ll take a lot of work. But I’m stubborn and—

My stomach cramps with hunger.

Right. I’ve got more immediate problems.

If Xavier keeps to the same schedule he did the other days, he shouldn’t have gone in for dinner yet. Whether he’ll hear me is another matter. I open my mouth and yell at the top of my lungs. “Master? Master! May I please have dinner?” Maybe he has a camera on me out here, too?

The sun is dropping near the horizon even though it’s probably another hour before sunset. But I suddenly can’t wait another second.

And lucky me, Xavier comes ambling around the house toward me just a few minutes later. He’s in his work gear, giant hat and all, like I caught him mid-cowboying. What the hell does a cowboy do all day anyway, other than, I don’t know, feed animals?

Internally I roll my eyes. Right now, the only animal I care about him feeding is me.

He doesn’t seem surprised that I’m finally giving in. His expression is the same calm, placid one he usually has. Like this is all business as usual.

God, has he done this sort of thing before? The thought makes my stomach sour. But no, he obviously hasn’t done exactly this thing before, because there aren’t any kids running around the place. Then heat flushes my neck—what, am I weirdly excited to be special in this fucked-up dude’s world? I shake my head at myself.

The chain-link door swings open and he steps in, gaze zeroed in on my soggy form.

I want to snap out something snarky like, enjoying the view? But instead, I bite my tongue and lower my lashes. “May I have dinner, Master?” Ugh, the words feel like acid on my tongue, but I manage not to gag on them. Barely.

I keep my gaze averted, but it’s difficult, especially when Xavier doesn’t say anything in return. After what feels like an endless silence I finally hear his heavy steps coming toward me over the soggy hay.

His large hand drops underneath my chin and he lifts my face up toward his. He searches my eyes. “You’ll accept food from my hand like a good pet?”

Don’t react, don’t react, don’t react.

I nod and apparently do a good enough job of not showing that what I really feel like doing is punching him in the balls. The hand underneath my chin pushes a lock of hair behind my ear. He continues to caress around the back of my neck where he squeezes in a gentle massage. Then he pulls me in against his chest, continuing to rub my back in soothing circles.

“Good girl,” he murmurs. “Shh, that’s my good girl.”

And absurdly, the gentle touch after the uncomfortable, stressful, and occasionally terrifying days outside makes me want to cry and cling to him.

The fact that his warm body feels like safety is super screwed up. I know that, logically.

My body on the other hand? God, all I want to do is curl up against him.

This is how Stolkholm syndrome starts screams some rational part of my brain.

It’s just that in spite of the sun coming out after the rain, I’m so cold. Cold and wet and miserable and tired. Most of all tired. I swear I might collapse at Xavier’s feet I’m so tired.

And wouldn’t that show him, the cruel jackass. He’s no more the good-hearted hero than I am Cinderella. This is no fairytale. It’s real and ugly and fucked up.

And you just have to play along and see it through to the conclusion while trying to keep your sanity intact.

No biggie.

I’ll just ignore the swell of emotions that rushes when he picks me up into his arms. Not in a fireman’s carry this time. No, he swings my legs up and puts one of his huge arms underneath my knees, the other securely under my back. My arms shoot around his neck for lack of anywhere else to hold onto. He heads straight for the house. I’m weak from the days without food and I clutch onto him with the little bit of strength I’ve got remaining.

Once we’re inside, he doesn’t head upstairs to get cleaned up like I think he will. No, instead he heads toward the kitchen.

He sits me down on the single dining room chair, then swiftly walks out again. Almost immediately I lay my head down on the table, staring after him in the direction he left.

Okay, so food will come first. That’s good. Very good.

He returns a couple minutes later, carrying one of the large arm chairs from the den. The chair is piled with towels and blankets. It barely fits through the door to the kitchen, but he sets it down and shimmies it through sideways. Then he hauls it so that it’s right beside the stove.

Without a word, he comes back to me, picks me up, and carries me over to the plush chair. When he deposits me on it, he wraps me in the blankets, tucking them around me like a parent might a child.

I can only blink up blankly at him during all of this. I don’t really know how to handle this side of him. The man who tosses me into an outdoor dog kennel for three days is easy to hate.

This incarnation who caresses my hair and whispers, “Shh, you’re doing so good, everything’s going to be easier now, just rest while I make us some food.”

Him, I don’t know what to do with.

He curls up one of the blankets like a pillow against the wingback chair. “There, rest your head,” he urges, helping me settle my head against it.

I don’t even flinch at his touch this time. I feel strange and almost numb. From hunger? I’m not sure. I just know I don’t feel like myself.

I pull my knees up and curl into the chair, watching Xavier as he pulls a small kitchen towel out of one of the drawers and runs warm water over it from the tap. Then, without a word, he comes back to me and washes my face. The rag is warm as he scrubs in long strokes from my cheeks down over my neck to my throat. His motions are slow and unhurried. Soothing even.

He finishes quickly. Then he silently fires up the gas stove and pulls eggs and bacon out of the fridge. He fries the bacon first and it smells so good that it makes my empty stomach cramp. I briefly wonder why he’s making breakfast food even though it’s almost nighttime.

Xavier still seems perfectly at ease, though, pulling the bacon out of the pan with a fork and then cracking eggs into the sizzling grease without looking over at me once. He washes his hands while the eggs cook then flips them with the fork at the end to scramble them. He piles them onto two plates and peels a couple of tangerines before setting the plates at the head of the table. Guess it’s breakfast for dinner tonight. Apart from the tangerines substituted for pancakes, it’s the same meal I refused that first morning.

Only once he’s set the plates down does he look my way again.

Maybe he’ll let it slide tonight because I’m so tired and I can just eat my food like a normal person? We can start up the whole charade tomorrow and—

Then I see him retrieve a large square pillow from inside the bottom cupboard and lay it on the ground beside his chair.

Or not.

He comes over to me and reaches both hands out. I’m not sure if it’s better or worse when he doesn’t just manhandle me. Holding his hands out to me like this, it’s a request to do what he wants. Like I can choose to obey or not.

But no, my foggy food-deprived brain tries to remind me—appearing to comply on the outside doesn’t mean that I’m actually giving in. I’m just being smart and getting some goddamned sustenance.

There’s no point in starving.

Or spending another night out in the kennel.

I drop my feet to the ground, lift my weary arms, and grasp his big hands. He hefts me to my feet and wraps a sturdy arm around my waist as he leads me over to the pillow beside his chair, where he helps me lower to my knees.

Again, everything in me rebels. Except my stomach. My empty stomach is very on board with whatever will get it food the fastest.

I crouch down on the little pillow, jaw tight.

I’ll do this but it doesn’t have to mean I like it.

I arrange myself on my knees and Xavier’s hands immediately press on my shoulders so that I’m sitting even further down, folded ass to calves. Then he arranges my hands the way he wants them. Last but not least, he pushes my head down to the appropriate angle so I can see only his bare feet and the bottom of his jeans.

“This is the submissive position. It’s one I want you to become familiar with.”

My back stiffens. Is he freaking kidding? It’s bad enough that I’m sitting here at his feet, but he thinks—

“I can tell how much you like that idea, Pet,” he laughs, stroking my short hair and then scratching down to my scalp.

Then he settles a blindfold over my eyes. Wait, where did that come from? Did he already have it on the table and I was just too out of it to notice it?

“Eventually it will become second nature to you.”

At what no doubt is my stunned expression, he continues, “I am your Master and you are my pet and you will learn your true place starting now.”

He snaps his fingers. “Open,” he commands.

His hand drops from my hair and one of his fingers settles with the barest pressure on my bottom lip.

I’d love to tell him to go to hell for snapping at me like a dog, but the next second, the smell of eggs hits my nostrils and my mouth falls immediately open.

His fingers return, placing a small bit of eggs into my mouth. I bite into the warm, soft, slightly moist food, having to suck it from his fingers at the end to make sure I don’t waste any of it.

For a second with the blindfold, I was afraid he’d try to trick me and put something gross in my mouth as additional punishment for not giving into him right away—but no, it’s just eggs. Perfectly cooked, salted, delicious eggs. 

My mouth is open and waiting when his fingers next descend. He pops the second bite of eggs in my mouth. His other hand lingers on my head, stroking my hair while I eat.

Petting me.

The realization should be humiliating, but screw it. It’s just the two of us here, and besides, I’ve already decided I’m the one playing him in all of this, so none of it really matters.

I open my mouth again, but this time, nothing meets my lips.

“I’ve got some bacon right here. Would you like some of that?”

I nod my head up and down.

Xavier tuts his tongue at me. “What do you say, Pet?”

Oh my God, I’m definitely crushing his balls when all is said and done. “Yes, Master,” I manage to get out through my thick throat. “Sir, may I please have the rest of my breakfast?”

“That’s right,” he says soothingly, his hand returning to my head. “That’s a good girl.” The next thing I know my taste buds are exploding with the flavor of maple-smoked bacon.

Next comes more eggs, then bacon again.

“Suck my fingers,” he orders. “Suck every last piece of juice off.”

He shoves his thick fingers in my mouth and obediently, I suck.

He pumps them slowly in and out, eventually pulling them out with a pop and shoving his thumb in instead.

It’s just a show, I tell myself as I suck greedily at his thumb. I just need to make it look convincing or he might decide the meal is over before I’m ready.

“Now for something a little sticky and sweet.”

Why does every word out of his mouth suddenly sound like the dirtiest thing in the English language?

He sticks several slices of tangerine in my mouth.

“Bite down,” he instructs.

The slices are a mouthful and when I comply, juice spurts out and down my lips. I duck my face and lift a hand to wipe at the juice, but Xavier’s swats me lightly. He grabs my hair and exposes my throat in that way he’s so fond of doing. I chew and swallow some of the tangerine pulp, but juice continues dripping down over my chin.

I startle when I feel Xavier’s tongue on my neck, licking upward to catch the trail of juice. He must be down on the floor with me. Up and up his tongue traces, all the way to my bottom lip.

My breath hitches as he licks the last of the juice from the corner of my mouth. Then he nuzzles his cheek against mine. “That’s right. Shhh, you’re doing so, so well.”

When he sticks another piece of egg in my mouth and his finger lingers after I finish the bite, I suck without him even asking.

By the end of breakfast when my formerly empty stomach feels full to bursting, I’m near to crying with the confusion of needs he’s stirring up in me.

He hauls me up from the floor. I stumble unsteadily on my feet, unused to sitting in a position like that for half an hour. His strong arms set me aright. I think that he’ll take off my blindfold and let me go up to bed.

Of course nothing ever goes like I expect with this man. The blindfold stays on and when he hefts me into his arms again and takes me upstairs, we don’t stop at my bedroom on the second floor. My head falls against his shoulder as I feel him carry me up to the third floor.

Oh God, what now? I’m finally full but no less tired. If I could just sleep for a week, that’d be awesome right about now.

He pushes open the door to his large suite and I brace to be dropped unceremoniously onto his giant bed again. I squeeze my eyes shut underneath the mask.

It only makes sense, though. I’m here for a reason and we haven’t been up to any baby-making activities for almost three days now.

But he keeps walking once we’re inside the room. Then I hear his boots on tile. His room is carpeted. We must be in the bathroom.

He sets me down on my feet and I stumble a little, disoriented.

“Lean against the wall for balance,” he says, and then I hear the sound of a faucet being turned on and the echo of rushing water.

A bath. He’s running me a bath.

My body sinks against the wall he indicated beside me. Oh God, a bath does sound divine. I don’t even want to think about the layer of dirt and grime and God knows what else that’s coating me. Ugh, I shudder just thinking about it.

Even when Xavier was stroking my hair earlier, his fingers kept getting caught in tangles. My hair is barely four or five inches long—there’s not that much to get snarled. Still, personal hygiene hasn’t been at the top of my list of priorities the past couple of days.

The bathwater turns off a few minutes later and Xavier’s hands return. From behind, he starts low at my knees and his fingers skate up my outer thighs, higher and higher until he lifts my dress up over my head. Without him asking, I lift my arms to help him get it off. He murmurs approving noises—not even words, just positive vocalizations.

My bra comes off next. Then his warm hands are on my body again, starting on my hips and caressing down as he slides my panties off.

He leads me with an arm around my waist like he did earlier.

“Step,” he says. “Careful.” He holds my hand as I step blindly over the rim of what I’m guessing is a bathtub. My foot sinks into warm water. It’s deeper than I expect and I have to clutch Xavier for balance. God, is that the point of the blindfold? So I have to depend on him for absolutely everything? My food? Every single step I take? I mean, is that some sort of deeper lesson I’m supposed to be getting from all this?

Or am I making too much of it and he just gets off on having chicks blindfolded?

“Steady,” he says, holding me up.

More splashes. He’s getting in with me. Just how big is this bath? And when did he take off his clothes? I guess he could have taken them off when the bathwater was running and I might not have heard him.

With slight pressure on my shoulder, he urges me to sit down, keeping me stable while I go down on a knee, then settle into the warm water.

He drops with me, sitting as well. Which is when I realize it must be a specialty bath or jacuzzi because both of us fit easily with room to spare. A second later, jets turn on, confirming my thought. Churning water immediately starts to relax my aching muscles.

Xavier settles himself behind me, legs spread on either side of my body. In the second it takes me to wonder if us being naked in such a confined space is affecting him, I feel his hard length pressing against the small of my back. Yep, he’s affected all right.

He must feel me tense because his hands immediately come to my shoulders. He begins massaging, up to my neck and all down my arms. “Shh, relax,” he murmurs.

Said the spider to the fly.

He slips the blindfold off my eyes in the next moment and I blink, expecting a rush of brightness. But the sun has gone down, so even though there is a large open window and a skylight, the room is dark except for a single flickering candle on the counter near the doorway.

Xavier prefers the dark. Because he doesn’t like people seeing his face, or for some other reason?

Either way, I don’t turn back to look at him. For a while I strain to make out details of the bathroom as my eyes adjust. The bathroom is large, like his room. I can make out a shower in addition to the jacuzzi bath. There’s a high, wide window that’s actually uncurtained and open to the moon and a scattering of what seems like a million stars.

The bubbling jets drown out all other noises but I smell the sweet scent of my body wash in the moments before Xavier lifts my left arm and starts rubbing the soap up and down into my skin. My arm feels small in his large hands as he soaps my forearm and then down to my wrist, then to my hand.

He pays particular attention to each individual finger. Momentarily our fingers lace together as he works the soap and my breath hitches stupidly at the intimacy.

Then his other hand joins the first and he begins the most relaxing and amazing hand massage I’ve ever received. I have to fight against groaning and going limp against him. The struggle is real. Especially when he gives my right hand the same treatment as the first.

Between his gentle, expert ministrations, my full tummy, and the warm, soothing jets, I feel like I might just drift away on a pampered bubble.

I might even actually drowse for a few minutes while he continues washing me. He uses a washcloth to wash my face and neck again, then down to my chest where he cups and washes each breast with particular care.

In the back of my mind, I know I’m supposed to be actively mentally fighting against him. But I’ll get back to that tomorrow. Just… need to close… eyes… for a second…

I wake briefly when I feel him rubbing frothy shampoo into my hair. He massages my scalp as I lean all my weight back against his chest. When he rinses, he holds my neck easily with one broad palm to tip my head backward while he pours water from a cup he fills from the bathtub faucet.

Then his hands move with the washcloth down my body, around my hips to my inner thighs.

He drains and refills the tub to get fresh water after his initial scrub down, keeping me against the heat of his body so I’m warm the whole while. Then he continues where he left off. He grabs the flesh of my inner thigh and kneads it with more strength instead of the gentle massage he did on my upper body.

I can’t stop the groan at how good it feels. I spent the past two days crouched in awkward positions. The first day I stood a lot, not wanting to sit on the dirt. The last day I gave in and sat on the ground. My body, however, is used to nice ergonomic furniture and I could never seem to get comfortable. Not to mention the awkward as hell position I squeezed myself into in the doghouse for what felt like an hour-long rain storm.

Even thinking about that should have me mad as hell again. But when Xavier flips my body around in the bath so he has better access to massage up and down each thigh with both of his strong hands, again I let myself put off other concerns for a later date.

Like tomorrow.

Or the day after.

You know… soonish… after my body recovers from the blissful pile of goo he’s currently turning me into.

He continues working down to my calves and all the way to my toes where he proceeds to give a foot massage that—and I can’t even believe I’m saying this—rivals his hand massage.

My head drops against the curved side of the tub with one of the jets at my back, further working any and all tension out of my body. I watch Xavier through half-lidded eyes. My eyes have fully adjusted to the dim light. His face looks almost fierce with concentration as he lifts my other foot into his lap, soaps it, and starts rubbing his thumb deep into my arches.

At my contented moan, his eyes flash up to mine. One edge of his mouth quirks upward but then his focus goes back to my foot. If he’s self-conscious about his face, he doesn’t show it. Maybe a little that first day when I initially reacted to it, but never since then. He always seems so assured of his mastery over me. Master. Pet. Ugh. I really will get back to being upset about that soon.

He squeezes the pad of my foot between his palms and my eyes drop shut again. I’ve all but drifted back off to sleep again when his hands shift me in the water.

“Hmm?” I ask drowsily.

“Wake up, little kitten.” He sounds amused. I blink and look around. The jets are off and the water laps lazily around us.

“Lean your forearms on the lip of the tub, flank in the air.” He indicates the wide surface at the edge of the tub opposite the faucet where a folded towel has been laid. Then he lifts me so that my elbows are braced on the soft towel. My knees on the bottom of the tub, ass just out of the water. Aimed right toward him.

My mouth drops open as soon as he’s got me positioned just the way he wants. But then I close it.

All right. Here we go again. I really can’t even fault him—okay yes, I can sure as hell fault him for the whole locking me up like a dog thing. But apart from that, from all I hear from my girlfriends, this whole bath time seduction scenario is far more than they usually get in the way of foreplay.

He rubs up and down my ass, or flank as he referred to it. The action feels like it’s one he’s performed a million times. I’m slippery from the water and he splashes more water up with every pass he takes, squeezing both my ass cheeks. He separates and kneads them in his large hands like he has every right to manhandle me so intimately without even knowing me a full week.

All the sleepiness flees under his touch. While before his caresses felt clearly meant to clean away the grime and relax me, now there’s an intent to the way his fingers flex and stretch my flesh.

Still, I’m shocked when his palm lands on my ass. I yelp and swing my head around to look at him. His gaze is locked on my ass, which he’s gone back to rubbing and kneading.

“Count,” he says calmly, his thumbs circling closer toward… toward… that place, “and ask Please, Sir, may I have another?”

A rush of air expels from my lungs, all the relaxation from minutes ago officially gone. My stomach clenching in rebellion. I can’t believe he’s back to this BS. I gave into the food thing, can’t he give it a break for a while?

He smacks my other ass cheek. “Count,” he orders.

He spanks me again.

Then he massages the sting away. His thumbs have abandoned circling around my back passage, thank God, but his fingers now tease at my pussy amid the spanking. He lands another smack.

“One!” I finally shout, enraged. The single word echoes off the bathroom walls.

He spanks me yet again. “What else?” he immediately demands, sounding completely calm.

My whole body clenches up. Damn him. Goddamn him.

“You know what I want. Start over and do it like Master requires.”

He smacks my already sore ass mercilessly. My body jerks with the blow and then his hand reaches between my spread legs. He teases my clit while inserting a long finger inside me.

My hands shake where I’m leaning over the edge of the tub.

Because I’m tired.

And angry.

Not because I’m turned on.

And certainly not because I’m thinking about giving into this bastard.

I’ve already given him too much today. I can’t let him have more of me.

But wait, no. I blink and swallow against the liquid fire he’s stoking low in my stomach. I can make all of this stop. Remember—you’re just letting him think you’re going along with this. What are a few little words? Nothing. Not in the long run.

I just have to do what I need to in order to get through today, and then tomorrow, and then this month and this year until I can get back to my real life.

I let out a huge blast of air right as another blow lands square in the middle of my ass cheek.

“One,” I say through gritted teeth. “Please, Sir, may I have another?”

My toes curl in furious disgust at myself even as the words trip over my tongue.

But even though I’m not looking at him, I swear I can feel the surge of masculine energy take over the man behind me. His hand comes down even more stridently and I can’t help the small yip that escapes my throat before managing, “Two,” and then, “Please, Sir, may I have another.”

If I thought he was teasing me before, it’s nothing to what he starts now. Two fingers slip inside, and they stretch and flex like God created them specifically to drive a woman crazy. Not to mention his other hand that he curves over the top of my hip to rub at my clitoris. He pulls away only long enough to deliver another occasional thwack on alternating ass cheeks.

And goddamn him, but it feels… amazing. Sublime.

The forty-five-minute bath beforehand, all that time he spent acclimating my body to his touch, it was like a sneak attack. He’s learned me somehow. He can read my body. It’s not fair.

The spanking continues.

It’s not fair… but oh God, I swear if he stops now, I will kill him, I don’t care how much bigger than me he is.

“Eight! Please, Sir,” I gasp for breath as he starts finger-fucking me even harder, “may I have another?” I lean back against his hands, back and forth, sloshing water all around. I don’t care, oh God, as long as he just. Never. Stops.

He yanks me backward so I can feel his rock-hard length against my ass.

My body clenches hard around the fingers he has inside me.

Yes. Yes. Fuck me.

I ignore how traitorous the thought is as I rub my butt back and forth against him and buck on his fingers.

He lands another solid wallop on my ass before grabbing my hip for leverage and jamming his length up and down along the crack of my ass.

Nine and ten land in such quick succession I barely have time to count them before Xavier is lifting me up and turning me so that I’m sitting on the towel where my elbows were just braced, on the small flat surface between the tub and the wall. My bottom barely fits on the small ledge and I brace my feet in the water.

Xavier immediately pushes my legs open wider and then, holy shit, his head drops down and his mouth locks on my swollen bud. He sucks and licks and teases me until I’m insane with it.

I’m so primed it only takes half a minute before I’m screaming out my orgasm, hands gripping the edge of the tub because if I touch him, he might stop.

Ahhhhhh— oh God, oh God!

The high is so high it feels like the top of my head is going to pop off.

He just keeps sucking me through the whole thing.

It’s— Oh, oh… So long, so bright, oh—

Until my legs quake with aftershocks.

Only then does he lift me by my waist back into the water.

I blink up at him as his huge body looms over me in the dimly lit bathroom, feeling absolutely dazed. I— That was—

I try to sort out what I’m feeling but it’s like I can’t connect one rational thought to another. He’s literally fucked me stupid.

He leans me against the side of the tub but then gets a grip on the back of my hair like he likes to sometimes. He’s on his knees in the tub and fists his nine-inch cock right in front of my face. With the hand on the back of my hair, he brings my face close to it and even in my brain-dead state, I get the picture. He wants me to suck it.

But he only brings me close enough so I get a full view of every inch of him. The hard, veiny length. The fat, bulbous head. The way it strains in his hand toward my lips. He jerks roughly down the shaft, then brings his hand back to the head, where he rolls and squeezes before tugging hard on the length again.

My eyes flicker up to see his face. His jaw is taut with what looks like a mix of pleasure and pain and satisfaction as his gaze moves between my face and what he’s doing with his hand. Each time he jerks himself he brings me a tiny bit closer to the head of his cock, but never quite makes contact. My sex clenches and saliva rushes my mouth. I have the most ludicrous urge to stick my tongue out. To close that tiny distance between us and—

I squeeze my eyes shut against the ridiculous impulse.

“Watch,” comes his quick rebuke.

My eyes snap open.

There he is again. All of him. There. Pleasuring himself right before my eyes.

Then he shifts forward suddenly so that the tip of him makes contact with my cheek. I gasp in surprise at the hot warmth of him. With his hand on the back of my head, he guides the front and then side of his cock all along my cheek and up into my hair. It’s my first feel of him apart from when he was… inside me. The skin of it is so surprisingly soft. Like velvet.

He yanks my head back and slowly drags his cock across my nose and the top of my upper lip.

Like he wants me to get the smell of him. Right now since we’ve just bathed he mostly smells like soap, but there’s just a hint of manly musk underneath.

My sex clenches again as he draws his cock over to my other cheek where he repeats pumping himself like he did on the first cheek, letting me feel all of his soft, smooth length. But so rock hard underneath the smooth.

He pulls back, but now when he jacks himself, every time his hand rolls across the tip, he rubs it against my face. Maybe on my cheek, maybe teasing my upper or lower lip. Maybe just underneath my chin. He never lingers or demands anything of me.

All I can hear is the increasing volume of his heaving breath and the slap of his skin on skin. He never lets up on his controlled grip on the back of my hair. With the way he has hold of me, I can’t look up to see his face anymore.

Only his cock. It’s too easy for the rest of the world to drop away and everything to narrow down to this—the water lapping around us, the steamy darkness, and his cock.

Where will he land it next? Will he finally push inside my mouth instead of just teasing at my lips? What would he taste like? These seem to be the only thoughts I’m capable of at the moment.

And then his forefinger taps at my lip. “Open.”

Finally.

I open my mouth. He jerks himself twice as hard as he has the whole time. But still, he only lets the angry red tip barely make contact with my wet bottom lip.

“Good girl,” he breathes out, sounding winded as he continues jacking off furiously. “Such a good fucking girl.”

And then he ejaculates, white ropes of liquid spurting toward my mouth, down my chin and onto my breasts.

I gasp and my mouth closes as I swallow, getting my first taste of… it.

Salty and bitter but not altogether unpleasant.

“Open,” he says again and I do. He rubs the tip of his cock over my lips, painting his seed on like lipstick. He squeezes himself and jerks his hand lazily up and down his length, continuing to rub just the tip of his head back and forth over me messily, up over to my cheek then back to my mouth again.

Finally he withdraws, but only to stick his thumb in my mouth.

“Suck,” he commands.

I do, sucking his finger as well as all the… cum. My stomach flips at even thinking the word. I swallow down all the cum he got in my mouth.

“Good girl.” The hand clenching the back of my head softens and he strokes his fingers through my hair instead. “That’s my good girl.”

And the praise makes my chest warm. I’m both horrified and fascinated by the feeling before I go sort of cotton-headed about it all and just enjoy the fuzzy, sleepy feeling.

After another few minutes, he takes the washcloth and cleans me up again. Then he pulls the plug on the tub and helps me step out. With several large fluffy towels, he dries me off like I’m a child.

I just stand there and allow him to do it. The whole blank-headed thing is still in full effect. It’s far easier to just follow where he leads than try to sort any of this confusing shit out.

When he leads me to his bed and pulls me in beside him, then curls his warm body around mine, I don’t so much as blink.

***

It’s only the next morning when I wake up to an empty bed and sunlight pouring in the window that I wonder what in the hell I let myself become last night.

I shoot to a sitting position and pull my knees to my chest, looking around like I’m just waking from a trance. Which is when I realize I’m still naked.

My hands go to my head. I rub my eyes, then my temple.

What the fuck was that last night?

I had a freaking plan. I was just supposed to let him think I was going along with his shit.

Did he drug my food or something? Maybe he sprinkled some kind of compliance-inducing chemical on the eggs? Do those kinds of things exist outside of CIA laboratories?

I swing my legs over the side of the bed and stand up, trying to gauge if I feel drowsy or out of it in any way. I lift my arms and hop up and down. Which reminds me that I’m naked. I grab a pillow from the bed to cover myself.

But, all right. Everything feels ok. At least it does now. Maybe it was a drug that’s quickly metabolized and wears off within twelve hours? Or however long I’ve been sleeping.

What time is it anyway?

I turn around and look over at Xavier’s desk to try to find a clock. And see the two giant monitors.

He left me in here with all the electronics. Ignoring my nakedness, I run over to the computer and move the mouse. The monitor comes to life, but of course, duh, I’m met with a screen asking for a password.

“Damn it.” I look around the desk for anything else that might be useful for communication. Doesn’t the guy even have a landline somewhere? Does he actually get cell service out here in the boonies? But there’s no phone to be found, and while there are three enticing drawers to the desk, they’re all locked.

I jerk uselessly on one of the drawers yet again, frustration building, when I hear heavy footsteps on the stairs.

“Shit,” I yip, then run back the few steps to the bed and jump in it, yanking the covers back up over myself right before Xavier pushes open the door.

I open my eyes and stretch like I’m just waking up but the amused look on his face tells me I’m not fooling anyone.

“Good morning, Pet.”

I look up at him warily. His dark curls are matted down by the shape of his hat even though he doesn’t have it on. He’s carrying some clothes and… are those cowboy boots?

“Time to get dressed for the day.”

He heads toward the bed and I can’t help pulling the covers tighter to my body. He pauses at my action, a small frown creasing his brow.

“Gonna have to retread some ground,” he murmurs under his breath, more to himself than me.

What? That doesn’t sound like it bodes well for me.

He pulls the covers down as soon as he gets to the bed. There’s a small tug of war before he pries my fingers off the cloth. Which makes me feel about five years old. But still, having no barriers between me and him, God, it just makes me feel far too… well, naked.

I squeeze my eyes shut. What now?

But all Xavier does is urge me to a sitting position where he puts on my bra, then lifts my arm, slides on one sleeve of a denim shirt, then the other. Then he crouches in front of me and buttons each button, slowly and methodically, not saying a single word the whole time.

Next he pulls me to a standing position, then taps one leg for me to lift and step into a pair of cotton panties, then jeans. They fit me comfortably. Everything does.

But still. Does he have to dress me like this? He even rolls on my socks. He pauses to rub my arches in deep massaging circles in a way reminiscent of last night before he finally urges each foot into one of the tall black cowboy boots.

The way he handles my body… I can’t help gulping hard when he has his hands on my second foot, briefly massaging up to the calf before reaching for the boot. For a second, just a brief flash, I remember how I felt last night. And it’s not just a memory—for that brief moment, I feel exactly the same way—like I could melt into his touch and willingly want to do whatever he asks. Not like I was drugged and doing things against my will.

“I got it.” I pull the boot away from him and tug it on myself. It slides on with ease and when I stand up and walk around, purposefully not looking his direction, I’m surprised at how comfortable they are. You always see cowboy boots in the movies, or I mean, some of my friends have fashion label versions, but these are definitely the authentic thing. When did he get them? And how the hell did he know my size?

Not useful to think about right now, Mel. Just be glad it’s not another goddamned dress.

Not that denim is any more my style. But at least there’s sturdy cloth between me and Xavier now. Let’s just take not naked as a win.

It doesn’t stop Xavier from assuming he has full rights to my body, though. He closes the space between us and clamps his hand to the back of my neck with a firm but gentle pressure. Then he slides it slowly down the back of my shoulder, dips in toward my waist, and finishes with a light pat to my ass.

“Breakfast.”

He heads out of the room with the confidence of a man who knows I’ll follow.

And damn him, I do.

I’m hungry. Last night’s meal was only enough to quench my initial hunger.

There are vegetable omelets waiting for us on covered plates when we get downstairs. I guess he cooked them before he came up to get me.

And there’s the damned pillow by his chair.

At least he doesn’t snap his fingers at me today. He just exerts a light pressure on my shoulder, urging me down when we reach the head of the table.

Path of least resistance. It’s still my strategy even if there were disturbing results last night.

I go to my knees and he feeds me the omelet from his fingers. I can’t help but be wary with every bite, waiting for whatever new bit of fuckery is coming next.

But breakfast goes off without a hitch. Normal as normal can be while, you know, crouched like a dog at my Master’s feet.

“Up,” he says after withdrawing the cup of orange juice from my lips. He rises and puts our dishes in the kitchen sink. “Full day of work ahead.”

Okaaaaaaay. I get to my feet. I guess I’ll finally see what he does outside all day. I’m not sure I like this new development. I was just A-Okay hanging out inside where there’s air-conditioning, reading books all day.

If I’m going to be stuck here, at least let me be a properly kept woman. Especially if I have access to that awesome bathtub with the jets now.

But the way he’s standing, eyes flicking expectantly between me and the back door tells me there’s probably not going to be much lounging in my future. At least not today.

I don’t suppose explaining that I was never much of an outside girl would help at this point? I spent my summers at debate camp and doing even the most menial internships I could find at small businesses in New York. Anything I thought might look good on a college application. The outside was a place you had to endure to get to and from the subway station when traffic was too bad to bother with an Uber or a taxi.

Xavier jerks his head toward the door as he picks up his wide-brimmed hat from a side table and I get the unspoken verbal cue—he’s big on those—time to get moving.

I head out the door. From the clock in the kitchen I saw that it’s eight in the morning. By the look of Xavier, he’s already been up several hours. I think that the times I’ve seen him leaving in the mornings are actually when he’s come back to the house after having been out already several hours, like today. As in, he gets up around four-thirty or something crazy like that, then comes back in for breakfast at seven or eight.

I’ve always been something of a night owl and while I worked my ass off and was never late, you never saw me at the office a minute before 8:55.

Morning people freak me out.

Shocker that Xavier loves waking up before the crack of dawn.

When I step outside, it smells like fresh grass and… is that cow manure? Awesome. Loving this already.

Not to mention the first sight that greets me is the dog enclosure that was my home for two and a half days. For a second, my feet freeze. Is this all a ruse and he’s just trying to get me out here so he can lock me back up in there again?

But no, his hand comes to the small of my back and he directs us away from the chain-link cage and around the far side of the house, toward the part of the property I haven’t been able to see before. My room faces the front of the house and this area is what could be called the ‘side yard,’ even though it opens up to endless land.

Then we turn the corner and—holy shit!

There’s one large barn or stable and then several smaller out buildings.

And horses.

A lot of horses.

Okay, so maybe only nine or ten, but to a person who’s never seen a horse up close and in person, that’s a ton of horses!

There are several large paddocks and pastures, some with several horses together, others with just a single horse. A couple are running with manes flying out gloriously in the morning sunlight.

I turn around to look at Xavier in surprise.

Right in time to see him twirling a lasso in the air.

“What are—?”

Which is when he lets it fly.

It lands over my head, right over my shoulders. He cinches it tight.

You heard me right.

The bastard just lassoed me like I’m a damn stock animal.