CHAPTER SIX
The rest of the day proceeds on as if nothing happened between us. Xan eats his breakfast like a man starved, then we return to his office to work for two more hours before he makes me fix him lunch. I feel like I spend more time in the kitchen than out of it. Shortly after lunch, he gives me another shopping list for dinner and sends me out with his driver. I'm not sure why he didn't make me get ingredients for both meals the day before. It's kind of annoying, but I'll do whatever he wants as long as he keeps me in his employ.
I serve him the salt-crusted fish I made for dinner, then sit beside him and assess his expression as he takes the first bite. His lips pucker slightly, a good sign that I messed up again. I must not have packed the salt and egg white mixture tightly enough, which means the salt probably leaked into the fish. A forkful of the flesh confirms it. The meal is pretty much inedible.
I sigh, leaning back in my chair, waiting to be reprimanded, wishing that Xan would request less complicated dishes. Discomfort churns in my belly as I brace myself for the confrontation. It doesn't come, though. Instead, Xan moves on to eating the salad and steamed broccoli I made as sides, picking at the fish occasionally without complaint.
While I don't dare ask him what he thinks of the meal, the silence between us is killing me. Eating with him seems to always be a quiet affair. It reminds me of being tables apart in a cafeteria. Never do I feel further from him than when we're sharing a meal.
“Have you ever been married?” I want to suck the question back in almost as quickly as it leaves my mouth. That was not the best ice breaker to start with. I am curious, though. More curious about if he currently has someone in his life.
“No,” he replies shortly.
“This is a big house to live in by yourself.” My eyes flutter around the room, looking past the four walls to everything else around us—to so many empty bedrooms and living spaces.
Xan sets his fork down. It clanks against his plate, making me jump. “Does it bother you that I'm not married?”
“No.” I sink into my chair, fearing I've angered him by being too chatty.
“If I were married, what we've done together would be truly scandalous.” A hint of amusement tugs at his lips.
“It's still scandalous,” I mutter.
“Tell me about your family, Miss Miller.” He continues eating.
I frown at the fact that he turned the conversation to me. I've been longing to know more about him since I stepped into his mansion, but he seems to be a secretive man.
There's no point in hiding anything from him, so I tell him everything. It's a horrible thing to hope for, but perhaps if he takes pity on me, he won't treat me so harshly. I tell him about growing up on and off the streets, about having to sleep on the couches of strangers until my mother was financially stable enough to afford to rent out a room for us. I skip the parts about the unsavory roommates we've had in the past, moving straight into the blessing that Ruby and Dorothy have been. I tell him about the countless days I've spent baking bread with my mother and selling it on the streets. That part of the story seems to fascinate him more than anything else.
“Did you have any interesting experiences doing that?” he asks.
“Interesting, yes.” I nod. “And frightening sometimes. The streets are filled with all kinds of people. Most are honest and good, I like to think.”
“Are they?” his voice trails off.
“And what about you? I've told you almost everything there is to know about me. Yet you haven't shared much about you.”
“You'll learn things about me over time.” He gives me a look that says I shouldn't push the subject. “Do you have a boyfriend?”
I'm appalled by the question. Does he really think I would have allowed intimacy to go on between us if I had a significant other? “Of course not.”
“How many boyfriends have you had in the past?” His eyes are locked on me intently, and I feel the temperature in the room rise by several degrees. This has become more like an interview than a casual conversation.
“None,” I stutter, a bit embarrassed by the admission.
“Good.” He seems pleased, picking back up his fork to continue eating.
“Due to religious reasons, I've been trying to save myself for marriage.” Just saying it fills me with shame. I've allowed him to do too much. Hopefully, telling him this will make him back off.
“That's very admirable,” he replies as if talking about the weather. There's no emotion behind the response.
“It's my desire,” I add for emphasis.
“Is it?” He glances at me from the corner of his eye. His tone speaks volumes about his skepticism.
“It is.” I nod firmly, staking my resolve to my heart.
I expect him to say something else or argue with me, but he doesn't. Instead, we fall back into silence while he finishes his greens, leaving his fish mostly intact. I force as much of mine down as I can, not wanting to waste it. Over-salted or not, this meal was expensive, and I've lived in times when food was hard to come by.
After dinner, Xan retires to his office. He makes no more requests of me, so I can only assume that my workday is over. I do the dishes and return to my room for the night, thinking about the conversation we had. I never got far enough into my story to tell him about my mother being ill—to make him understand that it's the only reason why I haven't quit yet. Maybe that's a good thing. From what I've learned about him so far, he seems like the type of man who would leverage that against me. Perhaps pity isn't in his arsenal of emotions.
I change into my nightgown and settle into bed, thinking about my mother. Not being home to care for her is tearing me apart. I know I made our life sound harsh earlier, but she's always done the best for me that she knew how. She's a good mother. I'm trying to be the daughter she deserves, but being away from her makes me feel like I'm failing at that somehow, even if I'm doing this for her.
I drift off to sleep with misty eyes, wanting nothing more than to be home. Going back to work on the ranch doesn't seem like such a bad idea. I may never be able to pay off my mother's debts, but at least we'd be together.
I dream a horrible dream that my mother has a relapse of pneumonia while I'm gone, and she passes away. Dorothy and Ruby never reached out to contact me. It all happened so fast. My mother dies, they kick me out of the house, and then I'm alone. Utterly and completely alone. The despair is so great that I find a rope and tie a noose. All I can do is sob as I crawl up onto the chair.
I step forward, but I don't fall. Strong arms catch me. I open my eyes to darkness. It takes a moment for my vision to adjust. Someone is holding me. Tears are burning down my cheeks. I panic for a moment before I'm shushed.
Xan is leaning over me, his expression full of concern. “Are you alright? I heard you calling out, so I came to check on you.”
I'm awake, I realize with relief.
“It was just a dream. I had a bad dream.” I brush the tears away, embarrassed that I was loud enough to wake him. The loneliness and despair I was feeling in the dream are clinging onto my heart, filling me with an irrational emptiness and need to be comforted.
“Move over,” Xan tells me.
As soon as I do, he crawls into bed beside me and draws me into his arms, stroking my hair soothingly. It's exactly what I need, and I don't object to the closeness. I simply rest my head against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heart.
It's not long before a new aching takes the place of the one I felt from the dream. Aching and longing. This is what having a husband would be like. He would come to my rescue in the middle of the night and chase all the bad dreams away.
I stay in Xan's arms until the tears have stopped flowing and I know that I'm not moving just because I enjoy his touch. My mother used to stroke my hair like this. But it was different somehow—didn't have the same emotions attached to it.
I sit up, my eyes fixing on Xan's face. There's a change in him; a softness I haven't seen before.
He brushes my hair back behind my ears before taking my face in his hands. When he leans in, I think he's going to kiss me. I don't resist. I need this right now.
He doesn't kiss me. Instead, he rests his forehead against mine.
“Thank you for coming to wake me,” I say into the darkness.
He tilts his face up, his lips pressing against my forehead, then my temple. I close my eyes as his mouth makes its way around my face, kissing my cheeks, my eyes; everything but my lips. When he gets to my chin, I crane my head to the side. The kisses continue down my neck. When he reaches the collar of my nightshirt, he pauses to pull it over my head.
I feel drunk from the dream and my mixed emotions. There's a strange sleepy restlessness inside of me—a need to feel loved and that my world is greater than just me and my mother and our roommates.
I lie back on the bed, letting myself go as Xan works his way down my body. The affection that radiates from him is unlike anything I've felt before. There's still passion there, too, though.
He pulls my panties down my thighs, rendering me naked. I'm embarrassed for him to see me in the high-waisted full-coverage atrocity. Not sexy at all compared to what he's been having me wear.
He splays my thighs to crawl between him, then he leans over me again. His hand pets my cheek, his eyes caressing my face.
“Why won't you kiss me?” I ask.
He pauses, amusement turning the corners of his lips. “Isn't this far more intimate?”
“Isn't what?”
I feel his warm breath waft across my ear, making me shiver as he dips to whisper into it, “Me being inside of you.”
Almost the second he says it, I feel the hard flesh of his cock as he tugs it out of his pajamas and lays it across my mound. My clit pulses in approval, but my chest tightens as I realize where this is going.
When he pulls away from me, I wonder if he can see through my mask to my fear. “If I told you to stop, would you?”
“I'm not going to rape you, Christiana, if that's what you're afraid of.” His expression is serious, if not slightly offended. “I need you to want this.”
“I told you I wanted to wait until I'm married.”
He rolls off of me, lying in bed beside me, staring up at the ceiling. The heat between us dissipates immediately, and I just feel cold and uncomfortably alone again.
“Come here.” Xan pats the bed.
I give him a queer look.
“Up.” He nods in his direction.
It doesn't take long for it to register in my brain what he wants. I force myself to my knees, shedding some of the sleepiness I was feeling earlier. The bed is large enough that I'm able to crawl on top of Xan, straddling him. He grabs the base of his cock and positions it between my folds. I look down between us, knowing I have all the control but still feeling powerless against his commands.
“Why do you want to wait until you're married, Christiana?” His glans is already slick with pre-seed. Just seeing him beneath me has me wet, too. My need for him is quickly building. I never knew a man could look so hot on his back. His eyes are hooded, and his voice is full of that deep lust that rouses something within me. He swipes his tip between my pussy lips, hitting that sensitive bundle of nerves with each forward pass.
“Because I only ever want to be with one man for my entire life,” I reply breathily.
“I only want you to ever be with one man, too.” He pauses when his head is at my entryway, bucking his hips to probe at my opening. “Me.”
I lower myself slightly, not enough for him to be inside. Just enough to keep him seated there, his glans nuzzled against my channel. He groans headily, and the tortured look on his face takes me to new heights. The subtle spreading sensation does delicious things to my body, too. I want to know what it feels like to have him all the way inside of me.
“You're killing me, Christiana. You pussy is so wet and tight. I might die if you don't let me in.”
“I doubt this has ever killed a man,” I tease. But does it ever feel good. I can't stop my hips from moving. My cunt is slurping at his helmet. The faces he makes as I rub my body on him are exquisite. I can't even fathom what he looks like when he comes. I haven't seen it yet. Everything we've done up to this point has been all about me. It makes me feel selfish; like he deserves to have this.
“Let me claim you. I'll make you mine forever.” His gaze darkens into something almost primal. It reminds me of looking at the face of the devil. He's devastatingly handsome. This one act could destroy me completely. It would be my ultimate sin. But I'm tired of resisting. The promise on his lips is too sweet. It's everything I want and more, even if it's a lie.
“Yes.” I seal my fate with a word that I'm not even sure I know the full meaning of. All I know is that it will get me what I need right now at this moment.
Xan's hands wrap around my hips. I expect him to wait for me to lower myself. But instead, I feel firm pressure as I'm forced down on top of him, swallowing him whole in one fluid motion.
I gasp, my back arching as pain sears through me. The sound of him moaning is barely audible through that of my own cry. It's like heaven and hell collided in that one moment—pleasure and pain so intense that I see stars and the universe, and my body throbs as everything I am spills over into an earth-shattering orgasm.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” Xan curses, his hands pressing me down so firmly on top of him that I know there will be fingerprint bruises on my skin tomorrow.
He bucks beneath me a few times, and it's all I can do just to breathe as I think of how full I am of him. Then his arms wrap around me, and he rolls me onto the bed beneath him, holding onto me like lovers weathering a storm as he begins to move.
I drown in pleasures I never knew existed as I bask in the feeling of his thick cock pumping in and out of me. The stretching sensation is divine coupled with the sparks of electricity whenever his pubic bone grinds against my clit. He goes balls deep with every thrust, so deep that I don't know if I can handle it at times. I claw my nails into his back when it gets to be too much, and he hisses, though it doesn't make him slow down.
I allow my hands to explore his body, forgetting that he's my boss. Right now, he's mine. My master. My everything.
I rake my fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck, forcing him to look at me. When his eyes meet mine, I lift and press my lips against his. He pulls back for a fraction of a second before his mouth crashes on top of mine. His tongue seeks entry, and I taste him until I'm breathless.
When we finally break free from the kiss, there's something different in his eyes that I can't quite place. It's like he's lost focus. A strange vulnerability.
It's gone almost as soon as I see it. He turns his face away from me, closing his eyes as he picks up the pace. I feel a harrowing distance between us, and I fear that I did something wrong by kissing him. He continues fucking me until his body gives out with a shuddering sigh. And while the swelling of his cock feels amazing as it spurts into me, I can't really concentrate on the moment because I'm stuck back on the way he looked at me after I kissed him—on how he hasn't looked at me since.
Even after he finishes and climbs off of me, I'm not afforded a glance. “Stay there,” he tells me before leaving the room.
I pull the sheets up to my neck, wondering if I just made a huge mistake. He said that I'm his forever now. What does that mean? More importantly, was it a lie? Men like him lie all the time to get what they want.
Moments later, Xan returns and flips on the light. I shy away from the brightness as it burns my eyes. By the time I'm able to fully open them again, he's standing in front of me with something that looks like a leather harness with a thin cone-shaped thing sticking out of the crotch.
“What's that?” I ask, sitting up.
A firm hand on my chest pushes me down, and I let out a choked breath as my back hits the mattress. “Don't get up,” he orders, immediately getting to work slipping my legs into the holes.
“What are you doing?” I notice that the cone-looking thing is pointed straight at my genitals.
“You disobeyed me the other day.” His voice is firm with disappointment.
“Disobeyed you?” I furrow my brow.
“You forgot to buy condoms. This is your punishment.” He pulls the harness up my thighs, pushing the tip of the cone against my opening. I yelp as he forces it all the way inside. “This is a chastity device. It will keep my seed inside of you. Since you forgot to buy condoms, you'll keep it in all night as a reminder for next time.”
“Your seed...” my voice trails off. Everything else melts away as alarm fills me. “Are you trying to get me pregnant?”
“I'm trying to teach you a lesson.” He's all business. “You won't learn unless you're punished.”
“Xan, I can't get pregnant,” I say in a panic.
“If you can't, then you have nothing to worry about.” He heads for the door.
“That's not what I meant.” I reach out to him. The plug feels weird inside of me as I twist my body. I can't believe he's being so inconsiderate. My pussy is still sore from having a cock inside of it for the first time, and now he expects me to wear this thing all night.
“You should have thought about that before you tried to worm your way out of buying condoms.” He flips off the light switch. “By the way, you're not allowed to take that off until I see you again. If you try to take it off in the middle of the night, I'll know, and I'll make you regret it,” he warns before closing the door behind him.
All the pleasant feelings I was experiencing when we were coupled together are gone. Now there's only fear and dread churning inside of me. I feel like a washing machine. Full and spinning and dirty. So dirty.
I'm not on the pill, and he didn't wear a condom. Even worse, he doesn't seem to care about the repercussions of our actions. If I end up pregnant, he won't be able to pay me off to get rid of the baby. Abortion is against my religion, and I refuse to adopt out my own flesh and blood. Does he even care about me—what I want? Apparently not, or else he wouldn't be torturing me like this.
I throw caution and my job to the wind, going to the bathroom to take off the chastity device. If defying Xan causes him to fire me, then so be it.
Before pulling it out, I glance around the bathroom checking for cameras. They could be anywhere, and the thought that Xan might be spying on me while I go about my personal business gives me the creeps. I refuse to believe that he's so much of a pervert that he'd spend his free time watching me use the toilet. That's just gross.
As I step under the showerhead and wash the sweat and come from my body, I think about how my mother was excommunicated from the Amish community for having something similar happen to her. Except it wasn't similar at all. She had gone to the bishop for council, and he had forced himself on her. Since he's a prominent religious figure in the congregation, highly respected in the community, and supposed to remain celibate, no one believed her. She was shunned and cast out for having a child out of wedlock. I imagine that Xan would do the same if I ended up pregnant with his child and refused to have an abortion; cast me out like I'm nothing—mean nothing to him. That thought brings tears to my eyes. It makes me think about how much I've allowed myself to be used by him; that there's no real emotional connection between us.
After my shower, I rinse the chastity device before putting it back on. I wince as I slip the plug back into place, thinking about how uncomfortable it is. The fact that there's no longer any lubrication to ease its entry only makes it worse. This is definitely a memorable punishment; far more embarrassing than buying condoms.
I return to bed with an unfamiliar soreness between my legs and a heavy heart. I've only been in this house for two nights, and I've already shed many of the morals and values I hold dear. All I can do is hope that it will all be worth it in the end. But when I really think about it, the realist in me tells me that there can be no happy ending to this.