“What?” I cry.

I try to pull away, but he holds fast, a silent warning creeping into his eyes.

“We’re getting married,” he repeats.

“Now?”

“Here, now, today.”

If he punched me in the stomach, he couldn’t take my wind out harder. “Why?”

He gives me an even look. “You’re pregnant with my baby.”

I’m feeling more hysterical by the moment. “That doesn’t mean you have to marry me.”

He lets go, opens his door, and comes around the car to open mine.

When I don’t move, he puts his head in. “Get out of the car, Valentina. Now.”

Kicking and screaming won’t do me good. He’ll carry me into the building if he has to. My only chance at getting out of this is to reason with him.

I step out on shaky legs, holding onto the door for stability. “You don’t have to marry me just because I’m pregnant.”

He narrows his eyes. “Do you think I won’t man up to my responsibility?”

“I told you, I don’t expect anything from you.”

He puts his nose a hairbreadth from mine. “Has the thought that I’m doing this to protect you crossed your mind?”

The sucker punch he dealt me earlier is nothing compared to this knockout.

“Do you know how many enemies I have?” he continues, grabbing my arms. “Do you know what they’ll do to you to get to me? The only thing that makes anyone in the business untouchable is being family.”

Everything he says is true. I know how the business works. My child hasn’t been born, yet, and there’s already a sword hanging over his head. The fact that he’s Gabriel’s child is enough to put both our lives in danger. I understand what he says, but marriage isn’t what I want. It’s not what Gabriel wants. Not like this. Marriage is for love.

“There must be another way.”

“This is the only way. You can do it the easy way or fighting. The judge has been bought. He doesn’t care if you say yes or no. We will be married.”

His fingers dig into my arm as he pulls me up the stairs and through the door. Some of his men have followed by car and are guarding the entrance. He doesn’t give me time to protest or speak until we stop in front of a door with a metal plaque that reads Judge EL Viljoen.

I hang back when he moves forward. He turns with an irritated look.

“Gabriel.”

“What?”

I run my sweaty hands over the fitted trench coat that won’t fasten over my bump, any longer, to dry my palms. “I think I’m going to be sick.” Bile pushes up in my throat.

He cups my face. For the first time since I’ve met Gabriel his eyes fill with something keen to dearness. “Take a deep breath.” He gives me a hard, possessive kiss and ushers me inside.

Barely five minutes later, we’re married.

Husband and wife.

The nausea I’ve managed to hold down boils over. We’re scarcely outside before I empty my stomach in a flowerbed. Gabriel is next to me, his arm around my shoulders. He holds my hair out of my face and rubs my back as dry heaves wrack my body. Tears mix with my anguish, shaking my shoulders.

“It’s all right, beautiful. Breathe in and out.”

I take a steadying breath and scrape some dignity from the bottom of the barrel of my control, enough to straighten my back and suppress more tears.

Gabriel takes me back to the car and fastens my seatbelt. Shell-shocked, I stare at the platinum band with the floating diamond on my ring finger that matches the one on his, except that his has a black diamond. Mine fits perfectly. There’s no way he got the rings this morning. He already had them before we left the house. The hasty marriage isn’t something he cooked up last night.

He gets in and traces his thumb over my jaw. “Feeling better?”

I hold up my left hand, fingers splayed. “How long have you been planning this?”

His expression becomes guarded. He starts the engine and puts the car into gear. “Since I found the pregnancy test.”

“Why are you doing this? Why give up your bachelorhood to protect me?” Seriously, why does he care? “My debt can’t be worth that much to you.”

Instead of answering, he pulls off, his guards following. We drive in silence until we hit the road heading toward Lanseria.

“Where are we going?”

He cups my knee. “We need someplace tranquil to talk.”

“Charlie––”

“Will be fine. Rhett and Quincy are taking care of him. Today is about us.”

My worry is not completely eased, but I don’t have a choice. I have to trust Gabriel. Now that we’re back, I have to let Kris know. I hate that I made her worry.

“Do you mind if I call Kris?”

He takes his phone from the console holder and hands it to me.

“Thank you.”

Gabriel has her number saved in his contacts. Why doesn’t that surprise me? She picks up with a rushed greeting.

“Kris, it’s Valentina.”

“Val! Where are you?”

“Johannesburg.”

“Are you all right?”

“I’m fine. We’re fine.”

“What happened? Did Gabriel find you?”

I glance at him, knowing he can hear her, but his face is a stoic mask.

“Yes,” I say.

“Tell me what’s going on. I’m going out of my mind.”

“I promise to explain everything, but not on the phone.”

“When can I see you?”

I look at Gabriel.

“Tomorrow,” he says.

“Tomorrow,” I repeat.

“Today. You owe me a fucking explanation.”

“You’re right.” I rub my eyes. “But I can’t do it now. It’ll have to wait.”

“Val––”

“Kris, please.”

She must hear the desperation in my voice, because after a sigh, she says, “Okay. Tomorrow and not a day later. I’ll be waiting.”

“I’m sorry for making you worry.”

“I’m just glad you’re safe. We’ll talk tomorrow.”

I don’t know how I’m going to explain. I both fear Kris’ judgment and crave her support.

I hand Gabriel back his phone and look through the window. We’re heading toward Magaliesburg, passing the airport.

“How do you feel?” he asks.

“Nauseous.”

I swear there’s a hint of a smirk on his face.

“What’s so funny?” I snap.

There’s a definite twitch to his lips this time. “It’s cute.”

“It’s cute that I feel like puking?”

“It’s cute that you’re having pregnancy symptoms.”

He places his palm on my stomach, but pulls it away immediately, as if he’s worried his touch is unwelcome. The sad and sick thing is I go cold when his touch is gone. Only pride prevents me from asking him to hold me.

After thirty minutes, the road starts twisting up the mountain. I don’t usually get carsick, but the winding road doesn’t help. I have to focus on my breathing not to empty my stomach again.

He pats my knee. “Almost there.”

I close my eyes and lean my head against the headrest. When I open them again, we pull through the gates of Mount Grace. I sit up straighter. I’ve always wanted to come here. I heard it’s beautiful.

It’s that and much more. The mountain resort is hidden in the lush hills, surrounded by a forest. The main building has stone walls and a thatch roof. Everything shouts luxury and extortionate rates. When we enter the lobby where several well-dressed guests are conversing, I feel self-conscious about my clothes, but Gabriel’s arm is around my body, sheltering me against his side. A concierge rushes forward and greets Gabriel by name.

“Your room is ready, sir. Would you like me to escort you?”

“We’ll have breakfast, first. My wife is pregnant, and she needs to eat.”

“Of course. What may I get you?”

“Everything,” Gabriel says, “and my men will order from the menu.”

“Yes, sir.”

Gabriel’s guards follow, but they keep enough of a distance to give us privacy. We’re escorted to an indoor garden where a table is set with silverware and paper-thin bone china. Evergreen creepers ornate the glass walls that give a view of the mountains and the valley.

“Not too cold?” Gabriel asks as he takes my coat.

There’s a bite in the autumn air, and the day is overcast. “It’s warm enough inside here, thank you.”

He seats me before taking the opposite chair. A waiter arrives with coffee and an assortment of herbal teas. I opt for a mint infusion, as coffee doesn’t agree with my stomach, of late. More waiters deposit silver-covered platters on the tables lining the sidewall. They lift the lids to reveal every kind of breakfast food imaginable. There are sausages, bacon, fried potatoes, eggs, porridge, pancakes, cereal, fruit, nuts, croissants, sweet pastries, cheese, and a variety of cold meat cuts. Gabriel’s men are not seated with us, but there’s enough food to feed ten times the small army.

“This is too much,” I protest.

“I didn’t know what you could stomach. Besides, I didn’t want to waste time pouring over a menu. It was easier to simply order everything.”

“The guards can eat with us. At least not all the food will be wasted.”

“The guards are fine.” He turns to the headwaiter. “Pack up whatever we don’t eat and deliver it to the homeless shelter.”

“Certainly, sir.”

Gabriel turns to me. “There. Happy?”

“Shall we serve, sir?”

“We’ll manage, thank you.”

The staff exits discreetly, leaving us alone.

“We need to get some food into your body,” he says. “What do you fancy?”

“Just some fruit.” I look at the spread. “I’m sorry, but the smell of everything else makes me queasy.”

“Don’t ever apologize for how you feel.” He gets up and places a selection of fruit on a plate, which he carries to the table. “Orange?” He spears a piece on a fork and brings it to my mouth. Piece by piece, he feeds me until half of the plate is gone and I assure him I can’t eat another morsel.

“You didn’t eat enough in Durban.” His expression turns somber. “Your stomach probably shrunk. We’ll have to fix that.”

“It’s just the pregnancy. Aren’t you hungry?”

The way his gaze trails over me detonates sparks on my skin. He still wants me, and my body hasn’t stopped wanting him. Not for one second. Not even after he bullied me into marriage. The conditioning of old kicks in. My panties turn damp as he takes my hand and rubs a thumb over my wrist.

As quickly as he took my hand, he lets it go. An uncomfortable silence follows as he serves himself a full English breakfast and eats while I sip my tea.

He only speaks again when he pushes his empty plate aside. “We need to talk. I know you don’t want this, Valentina, but there’s no turning back. You asked me why I gave up my bachelorhood to protect you. You’re going to be the mother of my child. You and our child are my responsibility, and I’ve never been scared of my responsibilities. You’re family, now. Your debt has been wiped clean. You never have to fear for your or Charlie’s life again. We’re going to be a family, and I know it won’t be easy. All I ask is that you try. I won’t deny you anything within my means to give. Ask and you’ll have whatever your heart desires.”

I swallow at the end of his speech. “Charlie and I, we owe you nothing?”

“You have no more debt.”

What he offers is noble, but I have to understand if we’re equals. “Are you saying I’m free?”

A stony expression replaces his earlier tenderness. “No.”

“Then nothing has changed in terms of what I owe you.”

He leans back in his chair, putting distance between us. “Oh, but it has. Everything has changed.” He holds my eyes. “Before, it was nine years. Now, it’s forever.”

The statement startles me. I bite my lip to stop it from trembling. How clever. He changed the game, the rules, and the implications. What did I think a ring on my finger meant? I’m still a toy. The only difference is this time it’s for life.

Leaning over the table, he grips my chin, but there’s nothing tender in the gesture. It’s dominant and brusque. “It’ll be easier for both of us if you don’t let your disappointment show so easily.”

With a jerk of my head, I free myself. “Why must it be forever?”

“You’re mine, Valentina. I’ll never let you go.”

“Why?” I whisper again, needing to understand so badly it eats a hole in my soul.

“I don’t need a reason. When I first saw you back at Napoli’s, I wanted you, so I took you. Now, I’ve decided to keep you.”

The teacup is shaking so much in my hand I have to put it down. “What about what I want?”

“I said I’d do everything in my power to make you happy. Our time together doesn’t have to be miserable. It can be good. Just accept the way it is, and things will be easier for you.”

The part of me that needs to be loved rebels. “I’m still your property.”

“As my wife, you’ll be respected and protected.”

“As long as I stay.”

His expression darkens. “You ran from me once, but I won’t let you run twice. The next time it happens, the person who’ll suffer is Kris. I’ll ruin her, break everything she’s built in her life, and kill her. Do you understand?”

The food pushes back up in my throat. It feels like a knife is twisting in my stomach.

“I asked you a question, Valentina.”

Tears blur my vision. I don’t want to cry in front of him. I don’t want him to know he has an effect on me. Blinking away the moistness, I give him the answer he wants in a voice hoarse from suppressed tears. “Yes.”

“Good.” Pushing back his chair, he comes around to my side of the table and wraps his arms around me. “In time, you’ll get used to it.”

I don’t say anything. A deep-sated knowledge presses down on me. Gabriel is a man of his word. He did what he said he would. He found a new kitten, and this time, he’s not letting it go. All I can do is pull up a protective barrier around my heart. If I’m to survive this new arrangement, I need to be strong, but the first cracks are already showing. He’ll break me, after all.

* * *

After our wedding breakfast, Gabriel takes me for a walk in the garden. True to his word, he tries to make this good for me. He has his arm around my shoulders, ensuring I don’t slip on the stepping stones that are wet from dew, and points out bird species.

At the edge of a pond, we stop to admire the view.

“I was thinking,” he says, “that maybe you’d like to do charity work.”

I look at him quickly.

“Now that you’re not studying or working,” he continues, “you’ll have time on your hands. I know you had your heart set on being a vet,” he rubs a finger over the knuckle of my missing thumb, “but how about starting a dog rescue program? I’ll sponsor all the money you need.”

It’s too much, too fast. I haven’t made peace with my new future, yet. I need time for everything to sink in and to adjust to my new circumstances.

“Thank you. I’ll think about it.”

He touches my cheek. “You’re pale. Still nauseous?”

“A little.”

“Come on. Let’s get you to the room.”

I don’t ask for how long we’re staying or why, assuming this is our pretense of a honeymoon.

The room is spacious and comfy with decorations in neutral colors. We have no luggage, but the bathroom is stocked with everything I need, including a toothbrush, comb, fluffy robe, and slippers. The tub stands against a ceiling to floor glass window that reveals more stunning views of the valley.

“Do you mind if I have a bath?” I ask. “I’ve been washing in a basin for three months.”

A shadow crosses over his face when I mention the basin, but he doesn’t comment on it. “Sit over there.” He points at the wicker chair in the corner. “I’ll run you a bath.”

Emotionally, I feel depleted. I flop down in the chair, watching Gabriel prepare a bath with oil that smells of lavender. My life is no longer my own, but I’m too tired to fight it. Sometimes, swimming upstream becomes too exhausting. Will it be terrible if I, just for a while, go with the flow? Maybe, when I get my strength back I’ll fight again, but now isn’t that moment.

“Come here,” Gabriel says when the bath is filled with steaming water, holding out his hand.

Disobedience comes with a price. Pushing to my feet, I cross the floor and stop in front of him. A moment of silence follows as he looks at me, his thoughts impossible to read. When he finally acts, it’s with determined, strong movements. There’s nothing insecure or hesitant in the way he grips the hem of the T-shirt and drags it over my head. Burying his fingers under the elastic of my underwear, he pushes both the panties and sweatpants to the floor. As his fingertips skim over my legs up to my hips, my body heats, coming alive under the light caress. The power of his touch is familiar. I’m both devastated and ecstatic to discover his magic still works on me. I crave his body, but feel guilty about wanting the man who tied me to him with the invisible chains of marriage, and worse, Kris’ fate. As always, he leaves me no choice. I’m powerless to prevent his touch or my arousal. I’m powerless to do anything but feel.

A flutter of nervous anticipation races through my belly, burning my core as his hands fasten on my waist. Instead of lifting me into the bath, he walks me backward to the window until my back presses against the glass. The crisp chill of the autumn air penetrates my skin, but heat runs down my spine. He arranges me like a butterfly pinned for framing and takes a step back. For several seconds, he only looks at me, his gaze trailing from the top of my head to the tip of my toes. There’s fire in his eyes, but it’s his hands I want. I crave them on me with a desperation that makes my breath shallow and my breasts heavy. When he finally comes closer again, his clothes brush against my skin. It takes all of my self-control not to rub up against him in search of the contact I need.

Holding my eyes, he reaches between my legs. My body trembles when he lightly outlines my folds.

“I’ll understand if you don’t want this,” he says. “I know how it is with a pregnant woman.”

The fact that he’s giving me a choice comes as a big surprise. It’s the last thing I expected from him. But I do. I want him there and deeper. Cupping his hand, I guide his middle finger inside.

He lets out a groan and rests his forehead against mine. “You’re wet. I trained your body too well.”

There’s no arguing that fact. Every long and frightening night of my freedom I yearned for him, for the way he now gathers my moisture and spreads it to my clit. I gasp when he presses the pad of his finger on the nub and holds the pressure without giving me the stimulation I need. Forcing my hips to be still, I wait for permission to have my release. His breath chases over my face as he keeps the stance, his hard-on a thick rod against my hip.

His jaw flexes as he grinds his teeth. I don’t know why, but he fights wanting me. Me? I’ve given up a long time ago. I’m a realistic girl. I know I’m an object, something to satisfy his sexual cravings for dominance and manipulating my pleasure, but I’ve come to accept his control over my body as I’m coming to terms with my new captivity. I’ll never be free or loved, and I’m not going to deny myself the only thing I have––unequalled physical passion. If this is what my life has been reduced to, I’ll take what I can get. I’m not masochistic enough to refuse the breadcrumbs when I’m starving. There will be other things that can fill the hole in my heart and the hankering for love in my soul. A career, a child, finding joy and gratitude in each moment. In this moment, I can have a piece of Gabriel by giving him what he wants most. My pleasure. My submission.

Cupping his beautiful, masculine, scarred face, I guide his lips to my breast, showing him what I’m prepared to take and give.

“Valentina.” My name is a broken sound on his lips. He brushes his mouth over my nipple. “Are you sure about this?”

I drag my hand through his hair, tugging on the strands. “Isn’t this what husbands and wives do on honeymoon?”

He looks up at me with the kind of intention that’s fierce enough to scare. “No.” The word is loaded. It slips out on a huff of strained control. “This is not how husbands and wives behave.”

I know what he means. Husbands and wives make love. They don’t devour each other with a hunger that borders on obsession, on something so perversely pleasurable it feels wrong.

The air leaves his lips on a gush, a moment of sublime surrender. The fight to keep his distance melts into the kiss he plants on my breast. He groans when his tongue touches the tip. With a catch of his breath, he draws me deeper.

My knees buckle at the scorching hotness of his mouth as he licks and bites. Gone is the cotton wool in which he wrapped me earlier, and back is the man I’m addicted to. He lets go of my sex to squeeze my other breast between his fingers. His mouth moves to that peak, sucking with a force that pulls blood to the engorged tip. When I moan, he lets go with a pop.

He rubs a palm over the curve. “Jesus, I gave you a hickey on your tit.”

I don’t care. My body has worn his marks before, marks harsher than the red spot on my breast. His name falls needy and breathlessly from my lips.

Contained desire replaces the predator look of a moment ago. Once again, Gabriel is in control. He kneels in front of me and hooks my leg over his shoulder. Folding his hands around my waist, he helps me keep my balance while his mouth goes to the juncture of my thighs. He watches me as he teases my folds with his tongue, running the tip over my heated flesh. When he bites lightly into my labia, I jerk and try to move away, but his big hands keep me in place. It’s the grueling way in which he sucks on my clit and runs his teeth over the aching nub that has my toes curl with unbearable pleasure. He pulls back, all the while holding my eyes, and parts my pussy lips. His gaze leaves mine to study the flesh in the V of his fingers.

“You are so fucking beautiful,” he whispers. “You have the prettiest cunt I’ve ever seen.”

I flush at his vulgar compliment, but he doesn’t give me time to process how I feel about the crass words, because he sinks the thumb of his free hand into my channel. My thighs tremble when he pulls out and pushes back in a few times.

“That’s it, beautiful. I want to make your whole body shake with pleasure.”

That’s exactly what happens when he uses two fingers pressed together to spank my clit.

“Gabriel!”

My nails dig into his shoulders for support as my body prepares for release.

“I know you like this.”

Yes, he does. He knows this from the first time he spanked my pussy with his belt.

“Come for me,” he growls, looking up at me with dark possession.

Two more taps, and I do as he demands, coming with a violent spasm that locks my muscles and arches my back. He covers my clit with his lips and sucks me through the orgasm until I’m trembling with aftershocks. My head is tilted back, and my eyes are closed, but I feel him straighten and work open his fly.

He kisses the shell of my ear. “I’m going to fuck you right here against this window.”

No one can see us––our bathroom is practically overhanging an abyss––but the thought of being seen in such a compromising position makes me tense. The slick head of his cock touches my stomach. I open my eyes to look at him. His face is close to mine, not turned away to shelter me from the scars as before.

He brushes our lips together. “What a gorgeous sight you must be with your ass cheeks pushed up against this window.”

He grabs my ass and spreads the cheeks, opening me up to the view of the outside world. “What a turn-on to see those wet pussy lips.” He nips at my neck, freeing his cock. “Any man on the other side of this window will come in his pants.”

As he speaks, he aligns his cock with my entrance and presses an inch inside. I moan at the thick intrusion, needing him to drive deeper, but Gabriel isn’t to be rushed. Male grunts and female whimpers fill the space as he enters me painstakingly slow. It takes him a while to work himself fully inside. I’d almost forgotten how big and thick he is. By the time he’s buried up to his balls, he’s perspiring, and his face is contorted with strain. He flattens me against the glass with his body, bends his knees, and gives a few shallow pumps.

“Mine. Mine. Mine.” He accentuates each word with a shove that drags his cock over the sweet spot that makes my womb tighten with a new building need. It’s too little and too much.

“Pleeaasse,” I beg.

He pulls out almost completely to give me more friction, and penetrates me carefully. He cups my hips between his large palms as if I’m as fragile as our breakfast china. His heat envelopes me from the front while the cold window cools my back. At this rhythm, the contraction that announces my orgasm is a slow-detonating pool of pleasure that ripples out over my entire body.

“Ga––” I swallow the rest of his name as I come.

“Yesss,” he grunts, “come on my cock.”

My inner muscles clench around him as he speaks the wicked words. My skin is still tingling from the orgasm when he pulls free, turns me toward the bath, and places my hands on the edge of the tub.

“Hold on for me.”

With much gentleness he enters me from behind. His thumb presses on the pucker of my ass, adding extra sensations as he pumps in and out of my body, swaying us both with an easy rhythm.

“Look at that,” he says, grabbing my hair and turning my head toward the mirror on the wall.

The muscles of his legs and ass bunch as he pulls out, drives in, and grinds our groins together, over and over. The motion makes my breasts sway. Holding onto one hip, he palms a breast and rolls my nipple, making me contract around him.

He groans and pinches. “Yes, squeeze my cock just like that. Make me come.”

When I clench my inner muscles, he falls forward with a curse, catching his weight with his palms on the edge of the tub. His chest is pressed against my back. Even if I can’t take him any deeper he thrusts his hips up, claiming every piece of me he can.

I feel the exact moment he snaps, the moment every part of his body goes rigid and his cock grows thicker inside me. When he reaches for the bath oil, I’m reminded that Gabriel is still the hard lover from before. I squirm when the cap lifts with a click, but he holds me down with a hand between my shoulder blades and squirts the liquid down the crack of my ass.

I know what this means even before he penetrates my dark entrance with a finger. For a while he takes me with shallow pumps, and then his finger slips in all the way. When I’m used to the sensation, a second finger joins the first, and then a third.

“Will you be a good girl if I let up, Valentina?”

No matter how well he prepares me, anal will never be my favorite, but Gabriel loves it. I want to give him this. I look back at him from over my shoulder and give a small nod.

“Good kitten.”

He lifts his palm from my back and grabs the root of his cock, positioning it at my tight entrance. His free hand moves between my legs. It burns when he opens me with the broad head of his cock, but his deft fingers are manipulating my clit in just the right way, rolling the over-stimulated nub with the perfect amount of pressure. The way into my backside is a slow process that takes a long time during which he stops frequently to let me adjust. When the burn gets too much, he pinches my clit, setting my nerve endings off with a good kind of pain. By the time his whole length is buried inside, I’m shaking, but the pleasure is always bigger than the pain.

“I want to make this good for you,” he says in a strained voice.

I cry out when he starts moving, feeling a dark and demented pleasure work its way through the pain up my spine. I gnash my teeth together as he increases his pace, trying to accommodate the carnal feelings so different from my usual orgasms. I crave with ferocity, but I don’t know what. It’s only when he plunges two fingers into my pussy and scissors them that I understand what my body wants. I need to come so badly it feels like torture. I’m on the edge, but the anal penetration isn’t enough.

“Touch yourself,” he commands, understanding my body better than I do.

I find my clit and rub while he fucks me with his fingers and cock. I’m not cognizant of time or place, only of him and our bodies as he pushes me to the darkest of pleasures, to a point where no person should go. He fucks me into floating bliss, always pushing the boundaries to physical highs I’m frightened I won’t survive but somehow always do, and he’s right there with me as he curses and cries out his climax. Coming inside me while driving me past my limits and beyond, he makes me lose myself in the best and worst way possible.

Before I can guard my tongue, the words tumble from my mouth, drowning out even the powerful orgasm burning through me.

“I love you, Gabriel.”