My new toy wakes with a soundless gasp. Purposefully, I let her fall asleep first. Disorientated, her defenses will be down. It makes it easier to see the truth. For the moment, the only truth is the fear in her eyes.

It’s not so easy to see the truth in myself, because I don’t know what I feel, except for the physical. Her intoxicating smell dominated my dining room and hardened my cock. I don’t know what it is about her that brings out my lust. I only know I want her like I’ve never wanted a woman.

Straightening from the doorframe, I prowl to the edge of the bed. She watches me with her big, murky eyes, her chest rising and falling to the rhythm of my steps. Gripping the sheet, I pull it down slowly. She clings to the fabric, but after a second she lets go, surrendering to the inevitable.

It’s the chase. That’s what I want to tell myself. It’s not that I need to lie to myself. It’s just hard to find the truth in the fucked-up slush I call my heart. Maybe I simply want the things I glimpsed in her, the bravery and the love that made her strong enough to take this–– what’s happening right now––and nine more years of it for the sake of her brother.

My mind tends to be overactive. It rarely shuts down, not even in sleep, but all of my logical thoughts still as I stare down at her body. She’s laid out stiff and straight on the white sheet, her hair fanning over the pillow. I reach for the button of my collar. As it pops through the buttonhole, she gulps. Her fingers dig into the sheet. If her body tenses any more, she’s going to snap like a twig.

I’m many things, including a killer. I know I’m a scary son of a bitch. I own mirrors, and I’m not afraid to look in them. I see what she sees in her eyes. They’re wide and moist in the light that falls from the scullery. The room isn’t cold, but she shivers in her nightgown. Inexplicably, this touches me. The women I usually fuck don’t shiver. To soften it for her, I turn the scarred side of my face away when I switch on the light of her room.

With the sheet discarded at her feet, I take the hem of her nightgown and move it up over her body, exposing her thighs, cotton panties, and her full breasts that, like her eyes, are too big for her body. She’s perfect. Her calves are toned and her ankles tapered. I can see her pubic bone beneath the humble fabric of her underwear, and even the sight of the simple cotton hardens my cock. Careful to tamper my lust down a notch, I take my time to study the swell of her stomach and the way her breasts slightly flattens to the sides. Her nipples are a dark pink, exactly like I prefer. For the moment, those peaks aren’t contracted, but I know how to remedy that, despite her fear. I’ve had enough partners to accurately read a woman’s body and give her what she needs.

To ease the tightness in my chest, I undo two more buttons, letting the cool air wash down my torso. When I climb onto the foot of the bed, the first sound leaves Valentina’s lips. It’s something between a sob and a gasp. I much rather prefer a moan. I fold my hands around her narrow feet. She jerks as if I shocked her with a stun gun. Slowly, I run my hands up her legs, over her hips, and up her ribs. Goosebumps break out over her skin. Careful not to touch any erogenous zones, I reverse the path, keeping the touch light. My cock twitches in the constraints of my pants, pushing painfully against my zipper, but this isn’t about me. It’s about setting her at ease and bringing her pleasure. After a long time of stroking her like this, she’s still incompliant, but her muscles are less tense. With each caress, I move closer and closer to her breasts, until my fingertips skim inches away from her nipples. Even as they finally contract for me with the tips turning into little pebbles, she fights it, pursing her lips almost as hard as she’s squeezing her knees together. She’s holding back, watching my every action, trying to contemplate my next move instead of giving over to the feeling.

“Close your eyes, Valentina.”

“Are you going to rape me?”

I chuckle. “No.”

“Then what are you doing?”

“Getting to know your body.”

“You’re not going to fuck me?”

“Eventually, yes. When you beg me.”

Her eyes glisten like cold tiger eye gemstones. “That will never happen.”

“You talk too much. Close your eyes and shut your mouth, or I’ll be forced to blindfold and gag you.”

My words have the desired effect. She seals her lips and pinches her eyes shut. I retrace my movements, starting a slow rub from her feet to the underside of her arms. After a few minutes of stroking her like this, a flush spreads over her skin, marring her neck and the upper curve of her breasts. The erogenous zones of her body will be filling with blood, making her breasts heavy and her sex swollen, preparing her for penetration. This is the cue I’ve been waiting for. Drawing circles around her hardening breasts, I close the spiraling trace of my fingers until I’m outlying her areolas. I watch her nipples tighten more, extending into kissable pinnacles I ache to feel on my tongue. Ignoring the hunger that makes my balls draw tight, I roll her nipples between my thumbs and forefingers and am rewarded with a gasp that sounds very different now. There’s a crescendo of pleasure and an undertone of shame. The mixture is an intoxicating sound, one I take perverse pleasure in. I want to own her feelings, her whimpers, her pleasure, and her breaths. Like a signal, her hips lift. I know what her body is asking for, and I know she’ll fight it. I need total surrender.

Letting go of her pretty tits, I wrap one hand around her neck, applying gentle pressure. The touch is both dominating and protective, and the way she reacts to it will tell me everything I need to know about how to make her happy in bed. To my surprise, her head lifts slightly, pressing her neck harder into my palm. Valentina is a natural submissive. My favorite kind of conquest.

Keeping my hand in place, I reward her with a kiss on each nipple. Her lips part on a soundless moan, and her eyes fly open. She blinks at me in surprise. She either expected me to bite her, or she’s battling to process the sensation. Holding her gaze, I flick my tongue over her right breast, sucking the delicious nipple deep into my mouth. Her back arches off the bed, and a soft cry falls from her lips. At the sound of it, she goes completely still. Instead of fighting her arousal, she lies back like a corpse, her eyes fixed somewhere on the ceiling. Her muscles unclench, going slack under my hands. This won’t do. I won’t let her hide from me in her mind.

“Look at me.”

The command is at direct odds with my earlier one, but I’m learning to read and understand her reactions. Of course, she ignores me, wandering around in the void she has created in her head.

“If you don’t look at me right now, we’re going to start over. This time, we’ll practice in front of the mirror.”

Slowly, she turns her gaze back in my direction until she’s watching me from under her lashes.

“Good girl. Keep on watching me and tell me what you feel. If you stop talking, we start from scratch.”

“What?”

She furrows her eyebrows, but I don’t give her time for another question. I resume the task of licking her nipple like it’s my favorite candy. When a suppressed moan slips from her lips, I lift my head to give her a hard look.

“Valentina, I won’t tell you again. How does it feel?”

She licks her lips, watching me as I lave her breast with my tongue.

“It feels … hot.” She flushes bright red. “Wet. I mean…”

“Good?”

She bites her bottom lip.

“Carry on.” I move to her other breast.

“Uh… Soft. Ah! Hard.”

She cries out as I nip her with my teeth. “Tell me.”

“Sore. No. Different. I don’t know!”

I suck her relentlessly, plumping up her breast in my fist and pinching the hard tip with my lips. “Be clearer.”

“Good! Ah, God. It hurts…good.”

She pants and squirms. It’s good to have her in the moment with me. I need her to feel, because I get off on her pleasure. I kiss her breasts and fondle her nipples until she’s close to hyperventilating, throwing incoherent words and phrases at me.

“I’m going to make you come,” I say, “and you can’t stop it.”

She tenses again, her face a mask of agonized pleasure.

“Say it,” I urge, pinching her nipple hard.

She yelps. “Can’t…stop it.”

“That’s it.” I suck on her nipple. “Let it go.”

She wiggles. “I–I can’t.”

“I won’t stop, Valentina. We’ll go all night if we have to, but you’re going to give it to me.”

She grips my shoulders, her nails digging into my skin, and gives a frustrated sob. “I don’t understand what you want from me.”

“Just lie back and I’ll show you.”

Her grip on me tightens, and her neck strains up, fear dampening the arousal in her eyes.

“My cock will stay in my pants. Lie back.”

Slowly, the muscles in her neck relax as she lays her head back on the pillow. Once more, her body goes soft beneath me, but this time she’s present. There’s no more holding back. Her legs go slack, her thighs parting an inch. The slow, raspy lick of my tongue over her nipple is another reward, strengthening her good behavior. When she lifts her shoulders off the mattress, I almost lose control. I suck her nipple to the back of my mouth, eating her breast like a piece of cake, and she throws the reward right back at me by pushing deeper, forcing me to take more and giving me what I’ve been waiting for. The sweetest whimpers fall on my ears.

So damn hot. My fingers tighten involuntarily around her neck, applying more pressure, showing us both who she belongs to. There’s no intent to harm, and her subconscious mind knows this. I lave her other breast with the wet strokes of my tongue, giving the plump curve the same meticulous attention as its twin until she squirms in my hold. Loosening my grip on her neck, I let my palm slide down her throat, between her breasts, and over her stomach. Her skin is slick from my kisses, and the wet trail makes her tummy quiver. Keeping my hand on her stomach, I kiss a path to her pubic bone, nuzzling her skin with my nose. The smell of her desire drives me crazy. She’s wet, and the possessive side of me revels in the knowledge that I’m the cause. I’m the master of her desire. I brought her this far. I’ll take her over the edge.

She seems barely coherent as I hook my fingers in the elastic of her underwear and pull it over her hips and down her legs. I free her ankles and discard the piece of clothing on the floor. She’s turned on enough to take it a level rougher. I push her legs wide open, giving all of my senses access to her deepest core.

It’s no secret that I love fucking. This is the part of women I love with reverence. I love their delicate folds, their taste, their smell, and the sounds they make when I invade their bodies. Valentina’s cunt is beautiful. Her pussy lips are pink and plump, glistening with arousal. Her clit peeks from between her swollen labia like a pearl. The pucker of her asshole is a rosebud, and the tightness tells me no man has claimed her there. I don’t mind her dark, silky pubic hair, but it has to go. I want to see her bare skin when I part her with my cock. I want to see her peachy lips stretch as wide as they can go when I take her deep, but thinking ahead only fucks with my head and torments my aching dick. I close my eyes and focus on her taste, instead. My tongue sweeps over her slit to the tip of her clit. She jerks violently, a sweet cry bouncing off the walls. Her hands dig into my shoulders, shoving and pulling simultaneously. She stopped talking. The only sounds coming from her lips are the moans I was chasing after.

“Just feel,” I whisper over her skin. “You have no control, no choice.”

She relaxes and opens wider, giving me better access. I spear my tongue into her pussy, and groan as her thighs hug my face in a soft vice. Her honey coats my tongue, the taste a powerful aphrodisiac. I could stay with my head buried between her legs forever, but even my patience, the resolve and control I’m so proud of, has limits. I eat her like a starving man, my teeth grazing and nibbling while my lips pinch and suck. Her nails dig into my skin and her heels kick into the mattress. When I lift my eyes, I’m shocked to see she’s staring at me, her brown pools drowsed in desire. Soft, feminine pants and moans lash at me as I suck her harder, feeding my addiction for this, for everything she’s giving me.

A little surprised cry fills the air, and her hips lock. I know what this means. I push down with my palm on her stomach to measure her body’s reaction, but it’s not necessary. I know exactly at which point she comes. She utters a high note and contracts around my tongue with a tangy explosion of moisture. I want to use her orgasm to drench my cock, to make it slick so I can sink it deep into her body, as deep as she can take me, but for now I only kiss and lick her clit, prolonging the shockwaves and reveling in her release. Despite my earlier resolution, I’m more than ready to fuck her, but something is holding me back. For some reason, I feel like it’s her first time coming. A hot wave of satisfaction and immense anticipation washes over me as I consider the impossible.

Valentina is a virgin.

And it fucking crushes me.

I can’t break something that is whole and pure.

---

I’m inexperienced, not stupid. I know I had an orgasm, but it was my first and I’m devastatingly sad. Ashamed. I gave in to the man who was going to kill my brother, but those hands on my body… I expected force and roughness. Instead, he gave me gentle. It confused the hell out of me. The way his fingers explored my skin soothed me, and when I gave up on my fear, he set me on fire. He knew exactly what to do. There’s no doubt he’s a skilled and intuitive lover. He touched me like no man ever has, in a way that made my skin come alive. He twisted and primed my body, playing it like an instrument until it gave him the tune he wanted. I thought he was going to rape me. In a way, he did. In a way, this is worse. He raped my senses, took my defenses, and left me vulnerable, but not yet cold. His arms fold around me, pulling my naked back to his clothed chest. Hot, unwanted tears drip on the pillow.

I gave in.

I lost.

My body betrayed me.

Big, hard hands, hands that tortured my nipples into aching points of need, brush over my hip. One arm curls under me, strong fingers locking on my breast, while the other strokes my thigh gently as I battle to get my sobbing under control.

“Shh,” he whispers against my ear. Repeating the same mantra from earlier, he gives me absolution. “You didn’t have a choice.”

There are many things I can take, but not his gentleness. I need to hate him. Prying his fingers open, I roll to the edge of the bed and jump to my feet.

“Get away from me.” I jerk my nightgown down my body.

His eyes harden, but he doesn’t reach for me. With his dark expression on top of the scars, he looks scarier than any man I’ve seen.

Lifting up on one elbow, he says, “You should’ve told me it was your first time.”

Why can’t I feel indifferent? Indifference won’t hurt or cut so deep. The ache and betrayal won’t let me go. Using that pain, I mold it into a shield of hatred.

Loathing infuses my tone. “What difference would it have made?”

There’s a warning in his voice. “Valentina, I took nothing you didn’t promise to give.”

“Exactly,” I snap. “I promised to give, not to take.”

His lips lift in one corner, giving him the same amused expression from this morning when he threatened Charlie’s life. “Give and take, now that’s a debatable subject. The way I look at it, this was all give on your part. I did all the taking.”

I’m fuming. I expected him to use me, but to do it like Tiny. Instead, he somehow managed to make me a partner in whatever he executed.

“Are you angry that I made you come or that you enjoyed it?” he asks, hitting the hammer on the nail.

Shivering with fury, mostly at myself, I wrap my arms around my body. “Is there something else you want? Any other service you require?”

He smirks. “All in good time.” A wince replaces his cocky smile as he gets to his feet. “I’ll have my breakfast at five. Grapefruit, orange juice, coffee, and omelette with chili. Make sure it’s ready.”

Adjusting his pants over a hard-on impossible to miss, he limps from the room. I wait a good five minutes after the clack of his heels on the kitchen tiles has disappeared before I shut the door, leaning against it with wobbly legs. My shoulders shake with more unwelcome sobs, but I can’t stop them. It takes me a few minutes to find my control. I want to have another shower to wash away the remnants of Gabriel’s touch, but a glimpse at my phone tells me it’s past midnight. I have to wake in four hours, so I slip into bed and give myself over to the escape of a shallow and fitful sleep.

---

It’s torture when my alarm goes off at four. Oscar is stretched out on the foot of the bed, purring like an engine. He must’ve jumped through the window during the night. I can only spare him a quick cuddle, or I’ll be late. I put last night out of my mind, making a conscious decision to not dwell on the shameful memory. Torturing myself with the details won’t change anything. I’ll only make it harder on myself.

After a shower, I dress in the morbid, black dress and tie my hair into a ponytail. Knowing I’ll be on my feet all day, I slip on my trainers. Half an hour later, I’m in the kitchen, chopping chili for Gabriel’s omelette while the coffee percolates. Cooking comes easy for me. I’ve fed Charlie and myself since I was fourteen. I miss my brother so much. We’ve never been apart. It feels as if my anchor has been dislodged, and I’m floating aimlessly in a dark and treacherous sea.

My back is turned to the door, but I know the minute Gabriel walks into the kitchen. I first feel and then smell him. Heat creeps up my spine, making me break out in a cold sweat. The air becomes thick like smoke hard to breathe. My body registers his scent from where I’ve categorized it in my brain, connecting the dots to the sensual experience from last night, an experience I’d rather forget, but I can’t help the powerful association. The clean, spicy fragrance of his skin triggers an unwanted reaction in my belly, contracting my womb with a fluttering echo of my first orgasm. My cheeks flame at the thought. I hope he’ll think it’s from the hot stove plate.

“Good morning, Valentina.”

That voice again. Now that I’m less frightened, it leaves a complex mixture of sensory impressions on me––dark, smooth, bittersweet, and deep. Like burnt sugar. I glance over my shoulder. He’s dressed in a dark suit with a white shirt and red tie. His hair is damp and his beard trimmed.

I fold his omelette, doing my best not to let my nerves show. “Good morning.”

He comes to stand next to me, so close that our hips almost touch, and reaches for two mugs in the cupboard above. As he pours the coffee with a steady hand, mine holding the spatula starts shaking.

“Sleep well?” He pushes one of the mugs toward me, angling the scarred side of his face away.

Of course not. “Yes, thank you.”

“Have you eaten?”

“Later.”

“We can share the omelette.”

“I can’t eat this early.”

I’d rather die of hunger than share his omelette. It’s an illogical thought, since he gives me the allowance that pays for my food, but I have to hold on to whatever pride I can salvage.

“The doctor emailed your blood test results. You’re clean.”

Our eyes lock when I involuntarily jerk my head in his direction. We both know what this means. As soon as the birth control takes, he’ll fuck me. Unless he uses a condom to do it sooner. Before he can say anything else, I serve his omelette on the plate I heated in the warmer drawer and carry it to the dining room. Then I disappear to start my duties for the day, trying not to think about what he said in the kitchen or that I’d become a maid with benefits. A whore.

---

I quickly get a handle on the house routine. Carly gets up at six and leaves the house at seven without breakfast. Marie comes in at eight, places the grocery orders for the day, and starts preparing lunch. I give her my habitual shopping list. My staple diet consists of instant noodles and apples. Apples are cheap, filling, and nutritious. The noodles give me a boost of energy when my blood sugar levels drop too low. I need the bulk of the money I save for Charlie and my studies.

As I make the bed in Gabriel’s room, I try not to gawk at his private space, but my curiosity outweighs my manners. Like him, the room is overly masculine. Heavy, silver-gray curtains drape the windows, and his furniture is bulky, modern, and square. The bed is bigger and longer than a king size. The monogramed initials on the sheets indicate they’re custom made. The fabric is soft between my fingers. A glance at the label tells me it’s a high-thread Egyptian cotton. There are many black and white photos of landscapes and buildings on the wall. The pictures are of foreign places and cities, maybe places he’s visited.

A walk-in closet connects his bedroom to his private bathroom. The closet is bigger than my room with suits organized by color and shelves for shoes and ties. Gabriel is painstakingly neat. There are no dirty clothes or towels on the floor. Whatever toiletries he uses are stored in the cupboards. Nothing stands on the shelves, not even a toothbrush. His bathroom tiles are black and white with a gray border running above the twin basins. The taps and fittings are brass, and it’s a bitch to polish them to a shine. I scrub until my nails are chipped, but that’s the easy part. The not-so-easy part is trying not to feel the shame of my reaction to him as, even in his physical absence, his lingering presence taunts and torments me, forcing me to remember.

Oscar follows me around, keeping me company. By the time the morning deliveries arrive, I’m shaky with hunger. After wolfing down a bowl of noodles and an apple for breakfast, I feel better. Walking into my room for a quick bathroom break, my gaze falls on a box on the edge of the basin. I pick it up to read the label. Birth control pills. My face is ablaze with heat, even as my stomach turns to ice. I’ve never used birth control. Never needed it. With a shaky hand, I take out the leaflet and read the instructions. It feels like I’m crossing the last line by accepting the pills, but falling pregnant will be a disaster, and as crazy as it sounds to appreciate any gesture from my captor, I’m thankful to Gabriel for his consideration in this regard.

---

I’m hanging out the laundry when a whistle catches my attention. The driver from yesterday enters through the courtyard door.

“Morning.” He offers me an uncertain smile, eyeing my uniform. “How are you?”

I don’t know what to make of his greeting, so I simply say, “Fine, thank you.”

“I’m Quincy.”

I tug a stray strand of hair behind my ear. “Hi.”

When I resume hanging the washing, he cuts the small talk. “I came to warn you not to come outside before clearing it with the guard house.”

“The guard house?”

“We live in a staff house at the back of the estate. There’s a phone in the kitchen. If you dial the button marked guard house, one of us will pick up.”

“Oh.”

“Next time, if the door is open,” he motions at the garden access, “call before you come outside.”

“Why?”

“Gabriel keeps a guard dog. He patrols the garden, and we’ve had an accident before.”

“Okay.”

“Well then, have a nice day.” He must realize what a stupid thing that is to say, because his cheekbones turn a shade darker. “See you later.” With an awkward salute, he hurries away.

Picking up the empty basket, I notice Marie in front of the kitchen window, watching me.

---

Sometime during the day, Gabriel and Magda must’ve left, because they’re gone when Carly comes home at five. Judging by her casual clothes and the late hour of her return, she attends a private school. Public schools require uniforms and are out before lunchtime. Marie has already left when Carly finds me ironing in the scullery.

“Valentina, right?” She leans on the wall and bites into a peach.

“That’s right.”

“My dad didn’t say he was hiring a maid.” She regards me from under her lashes. “Can you bake?”

“Yes.”

“Will you bake me a cake for dessert? Marie made flan. I hate flan.”

I crane my neck to check the time on the wall clock in the kitchen. I need to finish earlier tonight so I can do my homework, but I can fit something in if it’s not too complicated.

“What do you like?”

She swings the fruit by the stalk. “Anything with coconut.”

I know a simple recipe for honey and coconut cake that doesn’t take long. The ingredients are common enough. The chances are good I’ll find everything I need in the pantry. I switch off the iron. “All right.”

When the base cake comes out of the oven, I pour the melted butter, honey, and shredded coconut over the top, and caramelize it to a crispy brown under the grill. Carly leans on the kitchen counter as I remove the cake, her blonde hair hanging in a braid down her back. She’s a stunning girl. She doesn’t take after her father. Her mom must be gorgeous.

Carly sniffs appreciatively. “That smells good. I’ll have a slice now.”

She’s not a child, but I say what I’d say to Charlie. “You’ll spoil your appetite for dinner.”

“Come on, Valentina.” She pouts. “My mom never lets me have sweets. It’s bad for my figure.” She motions at her body on which there isn’t an ounce of fat. “Daddy will be home any minute now, and I don’t want him to know I’m snacking before meals. I’ll never hear the end of it.”

“You’re a big girl.” I push the cake toward her. “Don’t say it’s my fault if you’re not hungry for proper food later.”

“Oh,” she winks, “I won’t.” She cuts a generous slice and bites into the warm cake, humming her approval. “Oh, my God, this is so good.”

“I’m glad you like it.” I return to my work, happy that I pleased her. Instinct tells me getting on with Carly won’t be smooth sailing.

Twenty minutes later, I’m folding the last of the ironed shirts when Gabriel’s thunderous voice bursts through the house.

“Valentina!”

Oscar scoots off the top of the tumble dryer where he’s been sleeping and escapes to my room. I jump, burning my arm on the still-hot iron. A second later, Gabriel storms into the kitchen, almost knocking me off my feet as I exit through the scullery door.

He grabs my arm, his fingers digging into my flesh. His face is pale, making the red scars stand out more. “There’s a first aid kit in the pantry. Top shelf on the left. Get it and bring it to the television room.”