I wake to the heavenly smell of frying bacon. I’m famished, I suddenly realize as I sit up in bed and clutch the covers to my chest. I barely ate a thing yesterday and God, that smells good.

In spite of my hunger, I linger in bed a moment. All the memories of yesterday run on an unforgiving reel in my brain. My body’s absolute lack of self-control.

I can’t believe I... that I was like that.

My hand drops down between my legs and I wince slightly at the soreness there. I squeeze my eyes shut and force all my confused thoughts away.

Thinking about all of it won’t help anything. There’s just today to face. One foot in front of another, one day at a time.

I take a fortifying breath and then get out of bed and head for the dresser. I know from my exploration on the previous days that all I’ll find inside are lacy underthings that are nothing like the no-nonsense supportive undergarments I usually don.

I hold up a see-through red lace demi-bra with dismay. But then my nose catches the scent of bacon again and I shake my head and put the damn thing on. It’s better than nothing. I slip on the matching underwear and head to the closet.

Here is another crime against Melanie Van Bauer’s personal aesthetic: Dresses line the rack from one end to the other. And not just any sort of dresses—flowy, pastel, floral print dresses. Did you hear me? I said floral print.

I’m a woman who wears power suits. Black is the only color in my palette, I’ve often joked. It makes up most of my wardrobe, interspersed with the occasional gray.

When you’re a woman striving to be taken seriously in a man’s world, you have to go to certain lengths to make them forget about the fact that you’re actually female. Not that it ever actually works. It still always felt like a boy’s club. But I was used to chopping my brown locks short and maybe it felt good to continue being the opposite of everything my mother had been. I abandoned any color even remotely feminine—aka, all color.

This closet, though? It positively drips with color. And the dresses are the most ridiculous little frilly things. My first day here, I slammed the closet shut with a gasp after one glimpse.

Now that my Gucci suit is shredded, though, there’s no choice but to don one of these—I pull out the least offensive dress—things.

It’s a dark-blue A-line dress that reminds me a bit of every dress Maria ever wore in the Sound of Music. A lot of the dresses in the closet have a similar shape. So maybe Xavier has a thing for the 50s?

Awesome. ‘Cause that was notoriously a great time for women’s lib.

Well, Mel, he did spank you.

I stare at the dress for another second, debating with myself. The only other option is to go out with no clothes on at all. And what message would showing up for breakfast in nothing but red lacy lingerie send? Or I could just skip breakfast altogether and stay up here in my room under the covers?

My stomach rumbles with hunger.

I swear the bacon is calling my name. Mellllllll, it calls. I’m deliciousssssss.

I slip the dress over my head. I catch the briefest glimpse of myself in the mirror but turn away before I can see my girly reflection full on. There’s just no need to see the complete effect.

Let’s go get stuffed with some over-salted, fatty meat.

Bacon makes everything better.

I exit my room and hurry down the stairs.

The kitchen is large and must have once served the whole resort. It’s dim with light only filtering in through the heavy drapes. I briefly explored it during my initial wanderings. It feels much more intimate than some of the industrial kitchens I’ve glimpsed when my friends waitressed throughout college.

The floor is a warm, brown, Spanish-type glazed tile, and the grill, stove, and oven take up one wall. Xavier’s set up a small six-person wooden dining room table off to the side that, like his bed, looks handcrafted.

At the moment, however, my attention is stalled out by the man himself. The dim light is still plenty to see Xavier standing in front of the counter, flipping golden pancakes from a griddle onto two plates already loaded with eggs and bacon.

He’s shirtless, wearing nothing except some loose-slung jeans while he does this—not even any socks. It brings back vivid memories of all the things he did to my body yesterday and heat burns my cheeks. I cross my arms over my chest as I enter the kitchen.

The good side of his face is turned to me as he flips the last pancakes on the griddle, and with a shock, I realize that Xavier is actually extremely good looking.

When I first met him, all I could focus on was the ruined half of his face. But from this angle I can see him as he once must have been.

Ruggedly handsome. He has strong, angular features.

“Do you like syrup on your pancakes?” he asks and I immediately look to the floor, hoping he didn’t catch me staring. He transfers the pancakes to the plate.

“Sure,” I say, toeing at the floor nervously before glancing back up at him.

He’s younger than I first thought, too. Maybe in his early thirties, if that. He wears his hair a little too long. Is he self-conscious about the bad part of his face? The one mostly missing ear? What happened to him anyway?

He pours a light dribble of syrup back and forth over the stack of pancakes and then holds out my plate. I’m not sure when I last had pancakes. It’s not a very New York meal.

I take my plate and turn to the table.

And then I realize there’s only one chair.

Xavier doesn’t seem to notice that anything’s amiss, however, as he brushes right past me and sets his plate down in front of the single chair. Then he pulls his phone out of his pocket, clicks a few times and hands it to me. I hold my plate to my waist so I can grab the phone.

There’s Dad, standing by the railing of what looks like a resort right on the water, which is so blue it’s almost turquoise. My breath hitches. “It looks like paradise.”

“Not a bad place to retire,” Xavier agrees.

Dad looks anything but happy, though, as he holds up yet another paper. Daddy.

“Does he know I’m okay?” I look up at Xavier anxiously. “Can I talk to him?”

Xavier’s mouth tightens into a line. “That’s not part of the deal. No contact while you’re here.” He takes the phone back, leaving me holding my plate awkwardly.

I sigh, my stomach churning as I think of Dad going crazy worrying about me. With the way we were taken… which God, was so freaking unnecessary. I grit my teeth, though. Exploding at Xavier isn’t going to get me what I want. “Well can you at least get him pictures of me, too? Showing that I’m okay?”

He studies me for a brief moment, then nods once. I barely have a second to breathe out in relief and utter a quick, “thank you,” before he’s gesturing beside his plate. “You can set yours down here.”

I look around as he sits and, without ceremony or preamble, begins to eat.

“Um, is there another chair or step stool I could use…?”

I mean seriously, I get that these aren’t normal circumstances, but it’s not like he didn’t know I was coming. A modicum of hospitality might be nice. He certainly didn’t forget to stock up on all the other items in his bedside drawer. Remembering to make sure there was an extra chair in the dining room might have gone a long way toward showing me I’m not just an expensive sex toy/baby incubator.

Ugh. Baby. Shudder.

No, not thinking about that right now. Not thinking about that ever.

Turns out that’s easier than I would have thought, because Xavier levels me with a cold stare and snaps his fingers at me, pointing downward. “On your knees at Master’s feet. That’s the only way you’ll get any food.”

“What?” I half laugh.

I mean, of course he’s got to be joking.

That was a joke.

Right?

Right???

But Xavier just keeps up his icy demeanor, both the good and ruined half of his face immovable as he watches the confusion that’s no doubt playing out on my face. His intense focus makes it twice as hard to think straight.

He’s apparently not joking. And I note that while he’s got a fork and knife, he hasn’t provided me any.

Fine. Screw him.

I’m a grown woman perfectly capable of finding my own cutlery. My stomach rumbles and I look down at the bacon that has been continuing to sing its siren song ever since I stepped into the kitchen.

I reach down and grab the most delectable looking piece on my plate. But before I can lift it to my mouth, Xavier’s hand clamps down around my wrist like a shackle.

“No food goes in that mouth except what I place there. And no pleasure is allowed except what I give you. You will learn to submit to me in all things. Including trusting me for every bite of nourishment.”

I glare down at him, sitting so casually in his carved wooden chair with an inlaid leather cushion. I don’t know if it’s having been so intimate with him yesterday or even just seeing him today as more of a man and not a monster, but I don’t feel afraid of him so much anymore. At least, not afraid that he’ll hurt me.

Through my teeth, I manage to grit out, “Let go of me.”

With his other hand, he plucks the bacon out of my fingers, and then he lets my hand go. My mouth drops open in outrage and I try to reach for another piece. His large arm blocks me from the plate.

“Stop being ridiculous,” I say, and try for another grab. Again I’m blocked and absurdly, I feel like I’m back in kindergarten fighting over who gets the last piece of birthday cake. I refuse to be humiliated like this and I fold my arms over my chest, infuriated.

Xavier, on the other hand, picks up the morning paper beside him on the table and starts reading as though nothing’s wrong, completely unruffled.

“You can have everything on this plate,” he says calmly and conversationally, eyes still on the paper. “As long as you take it from my hands.”

“With you feeding me like I’m a dog?” I bite back.

His cool eyes lift to mine and for just a second, they flare when our gazes connect. “Exactly like that, Pet.”

I let out an infuriated huff and turn my back on him. I start to stalk out of the room, but not before I hear his warning. “You’ll go hungry until you accept food from me. I’ll have you licking my fingers, you’ll want it so bad.”

I ignore the fact that his words send an absurd flare of lust through my lady bits and stomp back up the stairs to my room.

Later when the house is silent and I see out my window that he’s walking out toward… wherever the hell it is he goes to spend so much of his day, I hurry down stairs and make a beeline for the kitchen.

Only to find it locked. Solid oak pocket doors I hadn’t even realized were there have been pulled out and locked securely on both entrances to the kitchen.

“Son of a bitch!” I mutter, rattling at the doors uselessly, knowing they won’t budge.

I’m hungry all day, wandering the house and fuming. Xavier stays out until dark. The only interesting room on the third floor is locked, so there’s no exploring up there. And no matter how long I fidget at the kitchen door locks with my bobby pins, none of them magically unlock like they do in the movies. If I just had access to my iPhone so I could google how you break into locked doors. There’s obviously some trick I’m missing.

It’s a little before sundown when I hear the front door jangling and know he’s coming back in. I hide behind the library door, peeking through the crack to watch him go by. He’s drenched in sweat and as he passes by, he pulls his white t-shirt off over his head.

And holy muscles.

Everywhere—huge, glistening, bulging muscles. I don’t know, I thought maybe I’d been overexaggerating how big they were in my imagination.

Nope. They’re just as inhumanely large as I remember.

Suddenly the door I’m hiding behind is swung open and I’m exposed. Then that huge chest is right in front of me, wide as an ox and probably just as strong.

The scent I was so eager to wash off me assaults me all over again—body wash and animal and sweat and hay and man and sun. That’s not the reason I’m holding my breath when he backs me into the wall I was just hiding against, though.

“Watching out for the Big Bad Wolf, little pet?” He presses his sweaty, glistening chest against my breasts and almost immediately I can feel his thickening erection through his work pants.

I close my eyes against the hundred sensations his touch immediately evokes. The mint of his breath that’s combining with his scent and the pressure of his body—all of it drives my senses wild for some stupid reason.

And he can tell. Goddamn him, he knows.

“If I reach between those pretty little thighs, I’d find you drenched for me, wouldn’t I?” he rasps, rubbing his stubbled chin over my trembling lips.

And then, him being him, he drops his hand beneath the skirt of my peach, floral print dress. He easily pushes past my tiny excuse for panties and plunges his thick finger inside me.

He hisses low when he feels exactly how wet for him I am, and I drop my head back to the wall in shame.

“Come join me in the shower,” he demands, pulling his finger out and withdrawing from me. I blink my eyes open at him and set my jaw.

The nerve of this bastard. “Unlock the kitchen.”

He grins at me and it’s a dazzling sight. I’m so shocked by it, I forget to breathe for a moment. It’s then that I realize that even though it’s been just four days, I’m already becoming accustomed to the ruined upper half of his face. After getting over the shock of it, it’s not actually that gruesome. The skin is just kind of flat and smooth. Yes, his eye droops and while the top half of his ear is missing, his hair mostly covers it.

After realizing how good looking he actually is earlier and with the brilliant smile he just flashed me, my brain almost automatically maps out the corresponding structures on the other side of his face underneath the burned part. Though, is it a burn? Is that what happened? What about those streaky bits that extend down his cheek where his stubbly beard won’t grow. Maybe some kind of explosion or shrapnel?

“I’ll unlock the kitchen later for dinner when you show me you can be a good pet who submits and takes food from my hand. In the meantime, I suggest you come with me now to take a shower and be fucked like you’ve never been fucked before.”

Oh right. It doesn’t matter what he looks like. He’s still an asshole.

My mouth, probably perpetually half-open in a state of shock around this man, drops open even wider.

Eventually, I find my voice again. “You can’t just starve me.”

He shrugs and as he pulls back, his face goes neutral like he’s indifferent on the subject one way or the other.

Outrage wins again. “You brought me here to pop out a baby for you. I didn’t agree to the rest of this bullshit. We’ve already had sex. I could be pregnant right now.” God, even the thought makes me want to run screaming out the door, but dammit, I have a point to make here. “And what—you’re going to starve the mother of your child? You’re really willing to risk harming—”

In a millisecond, he’s got me pinned up against the wall again, his body flush against mine. “Don’t you ever dare accuse me of risking the health of the baby.” His voice is dangerous.

“I’m doing all of this for the baby. You will be walking around with my son or daughter in your belly for nine months but you’re unruly, undisciplined, and untrained. I won’t stand for it. A few days without food won’t hurt you as long as you have liquids and vitamins. There’s something far more important at stake. The woman bearing my child will obey and submit to me in all things.”

“Obey you!?” My head is literally going to explode.

“Yes.” He nods decisively. “Obey.”

“Let me tell you something, buddy,” I pound his rock-hard chest with my pointer finger. “I am a woman in the twenty-first century. We don’t have to meekly submit and obey anymore.”

“Oh really? Haven’t you figured out by now how pleasurable obedience can be?” His good eyebrow arches imperiously and the next thing I know, I’m on my back on the library floor carpet. My lace panties are yanked to my ankles and Xavier’s head is buried between my legs.

I want to stomp my foot and scream, “no fair!” But at the same time, I don’t dare do anything that might make him stop.

Because in a few days, he’s apparently turned me into a sex maniac.

It’s just that, when his mouth latches onto the bud at the top of my sex, I can’t even— It feels so…

Everything else is crazy, but then there’s this. I close my eyes and my body takes over. I don’t have to think— It’s just— So… Oh…

He sucks and sucks so hard I see stars. I reach down to bury my hands in his curling locks but at the last second he catches my wrists and pins them to my side near my hip.

I buck against his mouth.

Oh God, he’s barely been at it two minutes, but I’m already almost there.

So close.

Muffled cries of ecstasy groan from my throat as he takes me higher and higher.

It’s almost there.

I’m frantic with it. I need it so bad.

Everything’s been crazy and insane, but this need is so pure and clear and—

My stomach bottoms out even as I jerk my pelvis up into Xavier’s face, ready to ride out my climax when he suddenly pulls away.

“Wha—?” I blink in confusion as he stands up, leaving me in a useless puddle on the floor.

He wipes his mouth with his forearm, face placid. “Follow me into my shower and we can continue. Then at dinner I’ll feed you like a good little pet.” He holds a hand down to me to help me up.

So I can be his pet.

Goddamned-mother-fucking piece of—

“Fuck you!” I shout again.

“Language,” he says with a frown, turning on his heel, “But I will be seeing you at dinner.” He tilts his head sideways, eyes focused on my still exposed pussy where he flung up my skirt. “I want to eat you out again for dessert after the filet mignon.”

He ignores my scoff of outrage and leaves to shower.

When I try to beg off dinner an hour and a half later, Xavier lifts me over his shoulder—so goddammed annoying he can toss me around like that!—and deposits me on my feet by the dining room table. Where again there are no chairs other than his own.

He proceeds to eat the most juicy-looking filet in front of me. Both the cut of beef and Xavier himself look mouthwatering. Xavier’s freshly showered and changed into a blue Henley and a worn pair of jeans.

Every so often he’ll hold out a bite of meat on his fingers to me. Not even on a fork. Each time I turn away in disgust even though the rumbling of my stomach echoes loudly in the mostly empty common room.

Xavier finishes the last bite of his steak with a satisfied burp and I glare at him. I have no idea how I can both be so attracted to him and repulsed by him at the same time. He’s starving me and for what—just to prove some dumb point?

And you’re refusing to eat for the same reason, an annoying inner voice argues.

Shut up, I snap back. He started it.

Glad to know I’ve got the mature high ground here. Sigh.

Especially since I don’t know where the hell I’m standing when, after Xavier finishes his meal and downs half a glass of red wine, he declares it’s time for dessert. He stalks toward me where I’ve hovered at the opposite end of the table.

I thought he was joking about that.

Nope, apparently not. He grabs me and hikes me up on the edge of the table, then rips my panties off before going to town on my pussy as voraciously as he attacked his meal.

Which is to say, in minutes, he has me straddling the same edge he had me on earlier in the day. I grab the tablecloth with my hands, knowing if I reach for him at all, he’ll just pin my hands down. I bite my lip and try to muffle my cries.

Oh God, I’m so close.

The waves are shattering. Higher and higher.

So close. Almost there.

If I don’t make a noise, maybe he won’t realize and I can climax before he pulls away.

I try to stay still. So achingly still when all I want to do is shove my pussy against his face until he’s sucking down all my honey. So hard, never stopping and—

Oh, oh, God, yes—

The bastard pulls away right before the sweetness hits.

“Wait—no, please don’t—!”

He pauses, wiping his mouth with his forearm, eyes glittering. “Did you have something to say? Are you hungry for Master to give you your dinner?”

He reaches lazily up with his thumb and gives my pulsing clitoris a caress.

I bite down on my lip because, oh God, just say yes. Let him give you what you need. It would be so easy. Stop fighting it. Bliss is right there. I try to press into his thumb but he retracts it, leaving me whining and panting for him.

“Just say the word, Pet.”

Pet.

Fucking pet.

The word stings and cuts through the haze of lust. God, would I so quickly give up my self-respect for one little orgasm?

I don’t need this asshole for those anyway. I can take care of it all by myself, thank you very much. He said no pleasure is allowed except what he gives me. But he leaves all day to take care of his farm or ranch or whatever the hell it is he does all day.

While the master’s away, the mice will play.

I am not his pet. I am my own master. Always have been and always will be.

I turn my face away from him stubbornly, shove my dress down, and scamper off the table. I ignore his dark laugh behind me as I run up the steps toward my room.

***

He knocks on my door and invites me to breakfast the next morning, but knowing it will just be more of him taunting me with food I can’t have, I ignore him and stay under my covers. For once he doesn’t drag me down to torture me with the smells and sights of food I can’t eat.

I stay in bed until I hear the boom of the front door closing that signals he’s left for the day. Then I throw off the covers and run to the window just to make sure. And yep, just as I thought, he’s headed out, a wide brimmed hat on his head and tight-fitting Levi’s hugging one truly fine ass—

I jerk my eyes away from my captor’s backside and go back to bed.

Time to remind myself that no man has control over me or my body. I’ve never been a super sexual person—or at least, before now, I’ve never allowed sex to consume so much of my thoughts. And I’ve certainly never let it influence my actions.

I just need to regain perspective and take back my power. Remind myself there’s nothing Xavier has to give me that I can’t take care of all on my own.

I dip my hand underneath the covers. I touch myself and try to let my mind wander. Okay, time to pull out all my best fantasizing material.

Except all the fantasies I used to use to get myself off seem pale and vapid compared to what real sex is actually like.

And my only experience with the real thing is with Xavier.

Who is the last person on earth I want to be thinking about right now.

But when I close my eyes, it’s his firm fingers I imagine roaming up my thigh and teasing my pussy lips. When I slide my own fingers inside myself, I can’t help imagining they’re his. With my other hand, I pluck at my nipples the same way he did.

I arch and cry out under my ministrations.

I think of the way his eyes glitter with dark lust and how it felt when he shoved that huge cock so deep inside me, again and again and again—

I come with a piercing cry, my whole body spasming with pleasure.

The orgasm is quick and sharp, and all too soon over.

It was okay, but nothing like the full body fire that erupts when he touches me. When his cock penetrates me.

I shudder even thinking the phrases and I start touching myself all over again.

And then again.

And again

It’s one day-long masturbation session.

I masturbate in the shower. And afterward when I’m drying off, laying on my bed. I masturbate while I’m trying again with the bobby pins at the kitchen lock, pausing to drop to the floor and shove my fingers roughly in and out of myself while I rub my raw clit hard and deep until I scrape yet another orgasm from my exhausted body.

It’s barely pleasurable anymore, but if this is what it takes to break free from Xavier’s strange hold over my body, I’ll do it every day while he’s out.

Still, I’m done for now. I’m so tired. Something they don’t warn you about when you try fasting—it’s so tiring.

It makes sense if you think about it. Without any calories going in, you’ve got nothing but your own stores of fat to burn for energy. I’m no dainty little flower—there’s plenty of extra to burn, but I’m still plenty tired just drinking only water for two days straight.

I drag my worn-out ass back up the stairs for a long afternoon nap after the orgasm-a-thon. I only wake up when my door bangs open.

I blink sleepy eyes, confused when I notice dim light shining through my windows. Is it already evening?

But I jolt upright when I see the tall, hulking silhouette standing in my doorway.

“I hope you enjoyed yourself this afternoon.” Xavier does not sound happy. In fact, he sounds pissed the hell off.

I scramble back on my bed when he stalks toward me, his boots thundering against the wooden floor with each step.

How did he even know? Deny, deny, deny.

“Xavier, I don’t know what—”

“It’s Master to you,” he bites out. “I tried to do this the nice way. To let you freely roam the house. But I should know that to break a mare, you can never give them any head.”

Like he has before, he picks me up and swings me over his shoulder. He’s just come in from outside and his intoxicating scent is stronger than ever.

Damn him. I smack against his muscled back as he heads for the stairs. “Let me down! You fucking bastard, put me down this second!”

“Language.” He gives my ass a sharp smack.

I make an outraged noise and kick out. He wraps one of his huge arms like a band across my thighs, holding me in place.

“Let me down!” I scream again.

Down the stairs we go and damn him, it’s so scary I have to grab hold of his hips. Once we get to the bottom floor, though, I go back to smacking at him. “Let me go!”

When we go through the kitchen and he kicks open the back door, my breath catches—it’s the first time I’ve been outside since I got here. But then I go back to hitting and kicking out considering what limited space I have with him holding my legs down. “Let me go, you crazy bastard! Put me down!”

He ignores it all and keeps going forward.

“You want down? Fine.” The next second, I’m flying through the air and landing with an oof on a bale of hay. I roll sideways and topple to the ground, then scramble to my knees and finally to my feet, looking around to get my bearings.

I’m in a 10x10 fenced in area—no, not just a fence—the chain-link goes over the top as well.

It’s a giant cage.

With a doghouse in the corner.

My mouth drops open. Xavier is standing at the door. He’s smiling.

Son of a mother-fucking— If he thinks for one second that he’s going to—

I rush toward him but he slips out the swinging door and shuts it in my face. Then he clicks a heavy-duty padlock in place.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” I scream at him. I clutch the chain-link of the door and shake it furiously. “Let me out of here!”

He glares at me. “Language.”

“Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuck!” I shout at the top of my lungs, wrenching the chain-link back and forth so hard it cuts into my fingers. I kick at it and then spin on my heel, unable to even look at him for another second. I clutch my head in my hands. He’s just locked me in what’s essentially a dog kennel.

In a fucking cage.

I’ve been living in some sort of fantasyland the past few days. This is what this was all really leading to. A dude who locks women in cages like animals.

“No more lies,” he says, sounding firm but calm from behind me. “No more hiding.”

I squeeze my eyes shut against the low rasp of his voice.

“Order and discipline are all I ask.”

I’m determined not to give him the satisfaction of looking his way. That is, until I hear his footsteps walking away.

“Wait, you can’t just leave me like this!” I turn and call after him. I’m wearing just a light summer dress. Night is coming. Is he really just going to—?

All I see is his back as he turns the corner of the house.

“Son of a bitch!” I yell after him.

No reaction.

And then he’s gone.

I scream another long stream of expletives. Nothing but the noises of the wilderness answer back.