[FRIDAY]
“I think we have a problem with Enzo.”
My younger brother Dante stands in front of my desk with his arms crossed, scowling at Adrian. “There’s no problem with my guy.”
“Yeah, there fucking is,” Adrian states. He’s irritable as hell this week and doesn’t seem to have the patience for Dante’s shit right now. “I’ve double checked and his shit doesn’t check out. He’s skimming or someone on his crew is and he’s not noticing. Either way, it needs to be dealt with.”
“I’m saying you’re wrong,” Dante states.
“I’m saying I’m not,” Adrian shoots back, meeting Dante’s gaze.
Dante’s eyes narrow on Adrian’s, then he looks at me, since of course I get final call.
“Do one more check,” I advise Adrian. “If you turn up the same results, take care of it.”
“Does this check include talking to one of my best guys before you kill him?” Dante asks, his eyes glinting with aggravation, but his tone level enough.
“I’d say if he doesn’t notice skimming, he’s not one of your best guys,” I offer.
“Let me deal with it.”
“If you wanted to deal with it, you should’ve done so before it came to Adrian’s attention,” I inform him, declining his request.
“Enzo’s been around longer than you have,” Dante states.
“Then he should know better, shouldn’t he?”
Since he can’t very well argue with that but he still doesn’t like me messing with his crew, Dante’s jaw locks and he nods once. “So it’s like that.”
“Yes.”
He’s angry. I understand. Dante’s more in love with the business side of things than I am—forms closer relationships with the men, has a greater stake in the operations. To be perfectly honest, I don’t need the crime; I just like the power and have a legacy to uphold. I make enough of my own money without it, but I do very much enjoy not having to play by the rules of polite society. I have no trouble making the hard calls, but I prefer to deal less with the day-to-day hand-dirtying.
I am an excellent delegator.
Dante’s too close to the situation.
“Anything else?” I question, lifting my coffee cup and taking a sip as I watch the two men over the brim.
“Nope,” Dante clips.
I indicate the door. “Then you know what to do.”
It’s an obnoxious dismissal and I smile faintly as he gets even more annoyed and storms out of my study without another word.
Adrian shakes his head and sighs, dropping into the chair in front of my desk. Since I’ve started fucking with Mia, Adrian hasn’t been especially happy with me; I’m surprised he stayed to visit.
“Did you have something else?”
“Not business. Well, not really,” he amends. “I’m worried about Vince.”
“Why is that?”
His eyes flash to mine and he shoots me a look of thinly veiled hatred. “Are you fucking kidding me? You’re raping his girlfriend. That he hasn’t lost his mind and shot you in the fucking face is frankly more restraint than I expected from the kid.”
I can’t stifle a small smile as I consider that scenario. “You’d really hate that, wouldn’t you? Having to stop him?”
“You’re the one who needs to be stopped,” Adrian mutters.
I’m not sure if it’s a brave or stupid thing to say to me, but I don’t worry. Adrian doesn’t have to like me; I have all the leverage over him I need.
“Elise was in my bedroom.” His gaze turns murderous on instinct, then he realizes what I’m referring to. I smirk. It’s fun to mess with him. “Why?” I add.
Ordinarily only Maria steps foot in my bedroom. It’s not that I don’t trust Elise, but given her level of infatuation with me, it just seems wisest to keep her out.
Given how fiercely protective he gets now, you’d think he has a vested interest. I would expect no less for Elise, regardless of her actions, but Mia is the one he tries to make excuses for now. “Mia asked for her. She doesn’t know the way things are around here, she didn’t know Elise doesn’t go to your room. It was perfectly innocent. All she knew was she needed a maid and Elise is a maid.”
He’s worried I’m mad at Mia for telling on me. I’m not. She frankly did me a favor; pushing Elise on Adrian was an item on my to-do list. I hadn’t anticipated this move with Mia would accomplish that end as well, but then Mia tattled on me. Now I have one less thing to do. Teamwork.
“You like her,” I remark.
It’s not a question, but he withdraws even further into himself. “What?”
It shouldn’t surprise me. He’s always had a sweet spot for kindly blondes. His mom was one, so I shouldn’t be surprised.
“You like Mia,” I reiterate.
He’s tense just hearing me say her name. “I think you’re treating her like shit and there were more humane ways to do this,” he states. “But you already know how I feel about the situation.”
I smile slowly. “But you like her.”
He snaps at me now. He’s letting me get to him. “I stand guard outside your bedroom door in case she tries to escape her rapist; if that’s how I treat people I like, God help anyone I don’t.”
I should let him get back to that now, actually. After I took her this morning, Mia curled up and went back to sleep. I figured I could take advantage and bring him in for some actual business. I really shouldn’t have him away from more important matters like this, but I don’t trust anyone else to keep an eye on Mia. Not sure why, but my instincts are usually sharp, so I just trust them on this. She hasn’t even tried to leave yet, so I’m not as worried about it as I was initially, but I still feel more comfortable with him posted outside my bedroom door.
“If this morning is any indication, she’s in a dark mood today. Make sure you check in on her,” I tell him. “Make sure she’s all right.”
“I think she’d be more all right if you’d stop hurting her,” he states.
“I have stopped hurting her.”
His eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “You have?”
Realizing he probably means something different, I amend, “I mean, I could do a lot worse.”
Adrian somehow manages to look disappointed in me as he pushes up out of the chair. “Shit like this is why I hate working for you.”
“Oh, come on; this isn’t the worst thing I’ve made you do.”
“I think it might be,” he disagrees, shaking his head. Meeting my gaze, he states, “That girl has been nothing but nice to everyone in this house—including you. She didn’t say a word about what she saw to anyone. There’s no reason to think she ever would have if you hadn’t sabotaged her like this.”
“Don’t be so trusting, Adrian,” I advise. “Vince would’ve worn on her. With his temper and jealousy, he would’ve turned abusive eventually; she would’ve wanted out, and she would’ve talked if necessary to escape him. I know you think I’m just being an asshole, but I’m saving everyone a lot of time and trouble in the long run.”
Adrian shakes his head, rubbing the back of his neck as he heads for the door. “No, you’re strapping your own baggage to that poor girl’s back and forcing her to play the role you expect of her. Doesn’t mean she ever would have on her own.”
“We’ll have to agree to disagree,” I offer mildly.
He doesn’t bother responding.
---
Ordinarily, Maria would bring a used food tray the back way into the kitchen, but today she hauls it right through my dining room so she can shoot me a narrowed, disapproving look as she passes. Everyone in this house is obsessed with attempting to guilt me over the Mia situation. I’m not sure if I should be more impressed, amused, or alarmed at the loyalty she has somehow inspired within my household.
We have vastly different methods of commanding loyalty, I’ll say that.
I can’t help noticing, as Maria walks past, the tray is still full. “Did she not eat her lunch?”
“She hasn’t been eating anything at all,” Maria states, her face somehow blank and quietly resentful at the same time.
“Well, that’s no good,” I murmur, grabbing the napkin from my lap and tossing it on the table as I push my chair back.
Faint surprise flashes across Maria’s features as she takes a step back to make room for me. I take the tray from her and head upstairs myself.
I’m in the master hall, heading toward my bedroom with Adrian’s confused stare bouncing from me to the serving tray I’m carrying before I realize how ridiculous this must look. I don’t serve people.
Still, the damned girl has to eat.
Adrian turns the knob and pushes the door open wordlessly. I head inside and kick it shut behind me.
Mia is still in bed. She’s not asleep; she’s just lying there with my comforter pulled up around her neck. Her gaze drifts to me when I come in, but she makes no attempt to move.
“Why aren’t you eating?” I demand.
“Why do you care?” she returns, faintly glaring at me. “You’re just going to kill me anyway. Maybe I wanna look really good at my funeral.”
My lips curve up with mild amusement and I carry the tray over to the bed. “You won’t get a funeral. There, problem solved. Eat your lunch.”
She watches me put the tray down beside her and take a seat on the edge of the bed, but she doesn’t move to touch it. “I already told Maria I’m not hungry.”
“I’m not Maria.” I raise my eyebrows, cocking my head toward the tray. “Eat, or I force it down your throat.”
Fuck, shouldn’t have said it that way. Now I’m thinking about forcing other things down her throat and my cock is reminding me it’s been hours since I last fucked her. So many hours.
Despite her withering glare, Mia sits up in the bed. She keeps the bedspread pulled carefully around her torso and reluctantly reaches for the tray. “Fine.”
“I want the whole tray cleared,” I inform her.
Irritation gleams in her soft blue eyes, but she doesn’t argue; instead, she takes a bite.
I just sit there, watching her. I don’t really think about it or consider that it’s weird until she finally says something.
“Are you really going to sit there and watch me eat?”
I shrug like that’s a reasonable thing to do. “If I left, you could toss the food in the garbage. Maria said you haven’t been eating. I want to make sure there’s something in your stomach.”
More dread than the comment deserves settles on her, but she doesn’t say anything, just continues eating.
“After lunch, you can take a nice, warm shower,” I tell her. “I had Maria bring in your shampoo and conditioner.”
“Nope.” She pauses to take a sip of her orange juice. “I figure if I’m not clean, maybe you won’t want to rape me.”
“Did that strategy work with not eating?” I ask, simply. “Maybe you want me to watch you shower, too?”
At that, she pales. All the rebelliousness goes out of her though, and I’d bet my house she’s freshly showered and smelling strongly of coconut when I return to this room tonight.
Mia watches me suspiciously. “Why are you smiling?”
Well, damn, didn’t realize I was. I don’t have a reason to give her, so I don’t answer at all.
Probably because I’m sitting here watching her eat like a creepy bastard, she continues to eye me uncertainly as she eats her lunch.
“From now on when Maria brings you breakfast in the morning, you eat it. If you’re not hungry for lunch, fine, but you need to eat something to keep your energy up. I’m not always home to check lunch and I eat dinner at the table like a civilized human being, but I will always be home to check your breakfast tray. If Maria brings it back full again, I will punish you.”
Her pretty face flushes, but she doesn’t argue. I can practically hear her thoughts, wondering what that entails, but she’s not bold (or possibly brave) enough to ask.
“You can come back to nightly dinners now if you want to,” I add. “Just let Adrian know and I’ll have a dress brought in for you. He’ll escort you downstairs to avoid any unpleasant run-ins.”
Avoiding my gaze, she swallows her food and takes a drink of water. “Will Vince be at dinner?”
“Generally, yes.”
Nodding slightly, she murmurs, “I’ll pass.”
“You don’t belong to him anymore,” I state. “You needn’t be uncomfortable.”
“It’s extremely uncomfortable,” she returns. “This is incredibly uncomfortable. He—I can’t. I can’t.”
“All right,” I say, easily enough. “It was just a suggestion.”
She’s quiet for a moment, thinking, then she looks up at me like she can’t help herself. “So, he still shows up to dinner and has to sit at the table with you?”
My lips curve up faintly and I nod. “With your empty seat between us. It’s not awkward at all.”
“It’s not funny,” she says, mildly. “It’s horrible. He didn’t deserve this.”
“He didn’t deserve this?” I ask, lifting my eyebrows. “He’s the one who gave you up. He lost his shit because my dick was inside you—and you didn’t even want it there. Vince is a prideful idiot with a lot of growing up to do.”
Mia scowls, her protective instincts flaring up. “He’s not an idiot,” she says, fiercely. “Vince was wonderful before you got in the way and ruined everything. I was his, and you…”
I roll my eyes at her theatrics. I know she’s young and wrong, but Vince is a dumbass and I would feel better if she’d just accept and admit the fact already. “It doesn’t matter,” I tell her, to make things simple. “You’re not his anymore.”
“And he didn’t give me up, you stole me,” she states, still stuck on defending Vince.
“Well, he didn’t fight very hard for you, now, did he?”
Her face flushes an even deeper shade and she shoves the tray away from her. It’s not completely cleared, but she ate most of it. “I’m full,” she states.
Since it seems I perturbed her, I expand on that. “I wasn’t insulting you, I was insulting him. You were worth more of a fight than he put up.”
Frowning slightly, she says, “Thank you, I guess?”
That was too nice, so I add, “Especially considering the stakes. He wasn’t exactly giving you up to a happy ending.” I shrug when the anxiety comes back to her face. “Anyway, how is your day going?”
“Well, it was fantastic until you just reminded me you want to murder me. Now it’s kind of a downer.”
She surprises a smile out of me. I love the little pops of spirit she shows me—she’s completely conquered, I effectively own her, but even here in the thick of it she’s not broken yet. Of course, I’ve kept the kid gloves on. Hadn’t planned to. I fully intended to unleash unrestrained cruelty upon her, but I’m enjoying playing with her. I don’t need to completely break her, just bend her until she’s close.
Fidgeting with her hands uncertainly, she avoids my gaze and asks a little awkwardly, “How is yours?”
Better now. I don’t say that. It’s bad enough the thought passed through my mind, but I feel better for having seen her. I’m unsure why. She hasn’t actually done anything, I just enjoy her presence. Since the moment I got her in this bedroom, I’ve been lingering longer in the mornings and coming to bed earlier at night just so I get more time with her.
“Fine,” I say casually, reaching for the comforter and drawing it away from her. “Business as usual, mostly.” I cock my head to the side, amused, as she hangs onto the fabric with a death grip, trying to keep herself covered. I’m not sure why. I’ve already seen every inch of her—it’s pointless to try for modesty now.
Of course I easily get the comforter away from her, but then she just covers herself up with her hands. Her blue eyes are narrowed at me and she does not ask any follow-up questions about my day.
I take my time looking her over, noting the flush of her skin as she angrily avoids my gaze.
I love her body. I haven’t been intimately acquainted with it for very long, but already I adore everything about it. I love the tint and tone of her skin, I love the size and aesthetic of her breasts—I even love the jut of her collar bone. The wisps of blonde hair scattered around her dainty shoulders. Her long, elegant fingers. Her fingernail polish is cracked and peeling off, I notice now. I know she doesn’t like that. She’s mentioned it in Vince’s room a time or two when he complained about the strong smell of the stuff.
I make a note to have Maria bring Mia her nail polish. I bet it bothers her to have it looking unkempt but she’s certainly not going to ask me for something so trivial. She wouldn’t even ask me for her shampoo. She could ask me for things, but I guess she doesn’t see the point since I keep telling her I’m going to kill her as soon as I get bored with her.
Well, unless she’s pregnant. That would buy her a bit more time.
I should just have all her cosmetics brought to our room. Beth’s old vanity is empty; Mia could fill it with her things and I can buy whatever else she needs. Everything she owned combined was worth less than a crisp twenty before she met me, but I can fill in all those gaps now. She’s a beautiful woman who likes pretty things, so I’ll get her all the pretty things.
Frowning at the sudden turn of my thoughts, I remind myself that this girl isn’t a permanent fixture; she’s a ship passing in the night. A lovely ship, but a passing ship.
“You know what would make my day better?” I ask.
She’s guarded, already anticipating she won’t like this. She keeps her arms crossed and her expression stormy but she doesn’t answer me.
“Your mouth around my cock,” I say, like she did.
“You know what would make my day better?” she shoots back.
Smirking, I answer, “Your mouth around my cock?”
Cutting me a distinct look of disapproval, she says, “Definitely not.”
I shrug. “Let’s try it and see.” Crooking my finger, I indicate for her to come closer.
Naturally, she’s reluctant. She remains where she is, still covering herself to the best of her ability. “You already—It’s not night time yet, I’m supposed to get a break until night time.”
“This is a break. I won’t fuck you—unless you do a shitty job. If your mouth is inadequate, I know your pussy won’t be. With incentive like that, I suspect you’ll bring your A game—unless you want me to fuck you, of course. In that case, I’m happy to oblige.”
Glaring and flushed, she flings back, “You know I don’t.”
I nod once and pat the top of my thigh. “Then come over here. I won’t ask again.”
Despite her reluctance, she gives up trying to hide her body from my gaze and crawls across the bed toward me. She eyes me the whole time, like a gazelle approaching a lion, wary that I’ll pounce.
She should be wary. I want to pounce on her.
Jesus, she looks good crawling across my bed. My cock strains against the fabric of my pants already, my heart kicking up a couple speeds. I keep my hands to myself until she’s about to climb off the bed, then I catch her around the waist and pull her into my lap, facing me. She’s uncertain since I said I wanted a blow job and she can’t exactly give me one like this, but I can’t pass up the opportunity to kiss her first. Or to have her straddle me, bare naked while I’m fully dressed. Fuck, she is beautiful.
She can’t decide how to respond to me as her bare ass rests in my lap, my hands on her hips. I pull her against me so she can feel how hard I am already. I haven’t had her in this position before since she isn’t a willing participant here, but the temptation of her body so close is more than I can resist. I shouldn’t show her so much tenderness, but I gather her closer and lean forward to brush my lips across her collar bone, then every few inches until I get to her shoulder. I kiss my way up her neck, pushing my fingers through her hair and cradling the back of her head. Her body does everything I want it to, yields when it should, bends when and where it should. My lips wander everywhere, like pioneers charting newfound land. I wish I hadn’t told her I’d only fuck her if she gave lousy head. I’m already craving more than her mouth but I don’t want to give her a complex.
Holding her close, I palm her right breast and watch her face. Her eyes are closed, her breathing labored. I fist my hand in her hair and tug. She gasps, her eyes fluttering open, but I crush her lips against mine before she can object. Her mouth opens to grant my tongue access, her hands coming to rest on my shoulders for support. Mia’s fingers lightly dig into my shoulders as I explore her mouth, pulling her chest against mine. I resent the fabric that keeps me from feeling her breasts as they press against me, but then I forget to resent anything because a faint moan slips right out of her. It’s like injecting straight desire into my veins—I don’t take time to consider that she looks quietly horrified, I just reach between her legs, needing to touch her. As soon as my finger moves inside her, she curls into my shoulder. Her hand drops between our bodies, catching mine and guiding it away.
Just as I’m about to push her hand away and touch her anyway, I feel her warm breath on my neck and she murmurs a heartfelt plea in my ear. “Please. Please don’t.”
Fuck. Another thick wave of desire rolls through me. I need her. She doesn’t object as I place a hand at the small of her back and pull her closer, butting my cock against her. My clothes are the only layer of protection she has from me, and she knows how flimsy that is.
Now that I’ve given her an inch, I expect for her to push for more. She asked me to stop and I did—now she may try for more control I won’t give her. That’s my thought, at least. I’m pleased when I use her hair to tug her head back and bury my face in her neck—she does not object.
“Touch yourself,” I command.
A little breathless and a lot reluctant, she murmurs, “What?”
“One of us is going to get you off. If you don’t want it to be me, I suggest you do it yourself.”
Now she tries to pull away from me. “I don’t want to do that.”
I yank her right back, kissing her hard before murmuring against her mouth, “I don’t care.”
“Please,” she says, since it worked so well last time.
There it is.
Smiling faintly at her attempt, I let her know that’s not an all-access pass. “I do like you begging, Mia, but I rarely grant requests. You’ve already hit your quota today. Argue with me and I’ll hold you down and finger fuck you myself.”
“Jesus,” she mutters. She doesn’t test my threat though. Her hand drops between her legs, her whole body flushed and I watch her fingers go where I so desperately want to go myself. I can’t believe I have her naked in my lap, on my bed, and I can’t fuck her.
“Don’t be shy.” She’s trying to hide from me, even sitting right here in my lap. She keeps her eyes closed and her head down like this is a punishment instead of a reward. I don’t like that at all. I’m quickly becoming president of the Mia’s Body Fan Club, and even the notion of her feeling an ounce of shame because of it makes me want to shoot someone in the face. It wouldn’t do any good, I just have anger and I have to do something with it.
“What do you think about when you touch yourself?” I ask her.
Somehow her blush deepens. “I’m not going to tell you that.”
“I want to know,” I tell her, catching her breasts in my hands and squeezing.
“Then learn mind-reading,” she tosses back.
Since her eyes are still closed, I don’t hide my smile. Since I can’t let her get away with that, I give her nipples a hard, punishing pinch. She gasps at the jolt of pain, her eyes opening and locking with mine.
“Mouthy girls get punished,” I inform her.
“That’s not fair. I don’t even want to be here. I shouldn’t have to obey your every command.”
My sympathetic nod drips with irony. “Life’s not very fair, is it? Would you like a reminder of the alternative?”
“No, I remember.” Now she pouts at me while she fingers herself in my lap. This girl is going to drive me out of my fucking mind.
I release one of her breasts to reach for her neck, tugging her close so I can kiss that pretty pout right off her lips. Her spirited moment must have passed because her mouth opens for me without hesitation. The rapid movement of her hand between our bodies as she pleasures herself pushes me far enough, but she tempts me further when she moans into my mouth.
She breaks the kiss, recoiling in response to her own slip-up. I can tell she doesn’t want any pleasure out of any of this, but that’s stupid. There’s no reason for her to deny herself a moment of pleasure—plus I really want to watch her come. We both lose if she’s ashamed of her sexuality.
Tenderly petting her hair, I guide her face to my chest protectively, tucking her under my chin. It’s the most privacy I can give her right now—the most privacy I’m willing to give her—but she goes right into my embrace.
“You’re beautiful,” I murmur, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “You never have to feel ashamed of your pleasure, not with me. I want to watch you come, Mia. I want it so damn much. I want every moan, every movement, every shudder. I want to watch all of it.”
She sighs against me, then shocks the hell out of me by dipping close and initiating a kiss herself. That’s the first time she’s ever done that, but I’m damn sure not complaining. I lean back slightly, bracing my hands behind me on the bed, and Mia obeys me—boy, does she obey me. She closes her eyes like she can’t bear to witness it herself, but she lets herself get into it, rubbing herself against me while she plays with herself. My own fingers dig into the sheets as she grinds her pussy against me, breathing hard, her face taut with frustration as she thrusts her fingers inside herself.
I’m so hard it fucking hurts, but I can’t take my eyes off her. Even with hers closed, even if she still has to hide from me, this level of obedience was so unexpected that I don’t even know how to respond to it.
Once she gets into it, she gets herself off. She cries out with pleasure, arching her back and kissing me as she rubs herself through her orgasm. Once she’s spent, she shudders and weakly collapses against my shoulder.
Slowly releasing a breath, I let a hand come up to her back, offering her a comforting caress as she recovers. God, I love her curled up against my body, weak from her own release. I could stay like this for the rest of the day.
I’m tempted to, frankly, but then Mia eases off my lap and slides down into the floor. I watch her look at the zipper of my pants like she’s about to go to war with it. She takes a deep, fortifying breath, then her finger closes around the tab and she drags it down, darting a glance up at me as she does.
I hold her gaze as she undoes my pants, then I stand and let her drag them down. She moves up higher to reach now that I’m standing, then she swallows and licks her lips. Her small hand wraps around my length and I close my eyes—but only briefly. I want to watch her. I love watching her.
She eyes up my dick like it’s an opponent she has to face-off with, then she darts another look up at me. “If I’m not good at this, it isn’t intentional. I don’t have an enormous amount of experience. I’m sure you’re accustomed to a… higher level of proficiency.”
I smile faintly. “A higher level of proficiency, huh?” She nods. “How inexperienced are you?”
“Let’s say very inexperienced.”
“How many blow jobs have you given?”
“I can count them all on one hand,” she states.
I nod. “Gotcha. Don’t worry; I’ll happily be your guinea pig. We’ll get you leveled up in no time.”
Rolling her eyes at me, she runs her hand gently from base to tip. “How generous of you.”
“I can be very generous,” I assure her. She pointedly ignores me, staring at my penis again. I don’t know why she’s so intimidated. I’ve watched her go down on Vince before and she didn’t hesitate like this. Maybe because he’s younger and less experienced himself. Given I’m obviously not, she’s not feeling confident in her own capabilities. “Just do whatever feels right,” I tell her. “It all feels good. You really can’t do this wrong; I was just warning you so you wouldn’t get the dumb idea to bite me. I wasn’t expecting you to deep throat on night one.”
Eyes widening slightly, she tells me, “I don’t know how to do that.”
I smile down at her. “You don’t have to—tonight. Just do what you’re comfortable with. Do whatever you want to do. I’m in no hurry. I’m sure you’re sufficiently capable of getting me off, but I’ll guide you if you need it.”
“Do you last as long with oral as…?” Mia trails off, apparently unsure how to refer to whatever the fuck it is I do to her. I can’t help smirking at her confusion. Poor girl, she’d need all kinds of therapy after this if I let her live. It’s almost an act of mercy that I’ll kill her after she talks; there’s no recovering from me.
“After watching you play with yourself, I think I can safely assure you I’m not going to last as long as I usually do.”
She licks her lips again and starts to move in, but she stops halfway, her gaze drifting to my thigh. Releasing her grip on my cock, she runs her soft fingers over an old scar—a long, jagged scar. Her brow furrows with concern and she glances up at me. “From your sister?”
I nod my head.
She leans in and kisses it.
Damn, if that doesn’t nearly bring me to my knees.
Thankfully she doesn’t look up at me after that, she just turns her attention back to my cock, leaning in and running her tongue along it like she’s licking a lollipop. I’m still feeling a bit off-kilter, but she effectively distracts me when she takes me into her mouth, bracing one hand on my hip and using the other to work my cock near the base. She doesn’t take me too far into her mouth, not quite halfway, but it doesn’t matter. The knowledge that she wants to please me is as intoxicating as the sight of her on her knees with my cock in her mouth.
I let her do her thing for a few minutes, then I reach down and work my fingers into her hair, making a loose fist and using it to guide her head. More of me slides into her mouth now and she tries, but her gag reflex isn’t accustomed to my size. Her blue eyes dart to mine almost apologetically when she gags. I offer a faint smile of reassurance and continue to guide her head; I don’t make her take quite as much of me this time.
When I do come, I expect recoil as she tries to pull back, but she doesn’t; she keeps her mouth sealed around me and swallows every last drop.
Mia eases back on her legs now that she’s done, looking up at me for approval.
I give it to her, reaching down to give her cheek a tender caress. “Good girl.”
I note hunger in her eyes, a desire for more—not of my cock necessarily, but maybe the approval it earned her. This is the kind of nuance I couldn’t pick up on the cameras, the kind you can only get firsthand. It’s potentially useful knowledge, so I tuck it away for later.
Now I pull my pants up and fasten them, watching her. I consider giving her a little more, but I don’t. I’m supposed to be making her hate me, not figuring out and feeding her kinks.
I guess I could do both.
No, I need to stay focused.
I don’t know.
Before I can get lost any further down this rabbit hole of distraction, I take one last look at her sitting there looking up at me, her perfect body bare for me. More than her body is bare right now; she’s experiencing some vulnerability and confusion. I should stay and do something with that, but I don’t.
Without another word, I leave.
---
I haven’t quit thinking about Mia’s mouth around my cock by the time I get back to my study, which is damned inconvenient. The last thing I need is to be haunted by visions of her blue eyes looking up at me, brimming with conflicted feelings.
Out of curiosity, I decide to pop into my security room. I already have my room pulled up on the main monitor from last time I checked in on her, but now I frown because she’s not on the screen. I look up at the other monitors, checking my sitting room. She shouldn’t be in there, but I check anyway. I gave Adrian specific orders to keep her in my bedroom now. I don’t want her running into Vince again. He’s not home right now, but it’s just better to keep her in my bedroom.
She’s not in the sitting room, either. I check the hallway and see Adrian is still guarding the door, so he didn’t go rogue and decide to rescue her. He wouldn’t do that this close to getting Elise, though I’m sure he’s tempted.
I rewind the footage to see where she went. I rewind too far, and there she is, kneeling on the floor in front of me, sucking my cock. Jesus Christ. I hurry to skip ahead, but my stupid cock is already under the mistaken impression it’s going to get more of her sweet mouth.
Ignoring my baser urges, I watch her after I left. She remains on the floor for several minutes, unmoving. A faint wince tugs at me. I knew making her participate like that would take things up a notch, make her feel it differently, but actually watching her sit there, struggling… well, it’s unpleasant.
Thankfully, she pulls herself together. Gets up off the floor and wanders around the room. I stifle a groan as she pops into my closet and comes out wearing one of my dress shirts. Nothing else. Jesus Christ.
Now that her body is covered, she takes the empty food tray to the door and hands it to Adrian. She closes the door and goes back in my bedroom, then glances at the bathroom door. Her gaze drifts back to the bed, then the bathroom door again. She finally turns back around and goes back to the door to talk to Adrian. They stay right in the doorway, which is damned inconvenient. I turn up the audio, but they’re too far away on this screen and talking quietly, so I can’t hear what they’re talking about. After a brief conversation, she nods and steps back into the bedroom, closing the door. Then she goes in the bathroom, which presumably is where she is now.
What did she say to Adrian?
I switch to the hallway monitor, but again, since they were right in the doorway between rooms, I can’t make out what’s being said.
Goddammit.
I consider going up there again, but to be honest, I’m not sure I can keep myself out of the bedroom if I do. Instead, I switch back to live view in the hallway and call Adrian.
“Yeah?” he answers, none too friendly.
“What did Mia say to you?”
“What?” his voice is sharp, but faintly confused.
“Just now, when I left the room. She opened the door to talk to you after she gave you the food tray. What did she say?”
Adrian pauses briefly, then spins around to look up at the camera. “Jesus fucking Christ, you just left her and you’re already spying on her? Don’t you have actual work to do?”
I kick back in my seat, smirking at the screen. “Yes, and I can get to it if you answer my question instead of monitoring my behavior.”
“She asked if she could have a razor. I told her no. It was titillating.”
“Why did she want a razor?”
“I figured it might be so she could slice open one of your arteries while you sleep. I advised her that you’re a light sleeper, so she probably shouldn’t try it.”
I grin at the idea of her trying to murder me in my sleep. I can’t actually see her trying, but the resulting struggle would be very appealing. “She’s fun, isn’t she?” I remark, lightly.
“Yes, I love protecting you from the woman you’re victimizing. Makes me all warm inside.”
Adrian tries to rain on my parade with his droll tone and disdainful comments, but it doesn’t work. I wish I had a camera in the bathroom. This girl is like an infection in my brain today; I don’t know why, I just want to go back to the bedroom. Even if she just pouts at me and hates me—it’s even cuter when she tries to rationalize me, tries to make excuses for me.
Well, sort of cute. I’m not sure I’m the first person she’s had to make excuses for. There was nothing in Adrian’s work-up to indicate she had any official history of any type of abuse, but there’s always the possibility it wasn’t reported. I’ll have to look into that some more.
“Hey, I need you to look into something for me,” I tell him, on a whim. “I know you already looked into Mia’s past, but I need you to look deeper. Talk to people. Find out if maybe her mom had any inappropriate boyfriends or family members, anyone who may have abused her before.”
Appearing completely bewildered, he asks, “Why?”
“I’m a curious man.”
“And what am I supposed to do with this information?”
“Bring it to me? Are these complicated orders, Adrian? Should I draw a picture in crayon for you?”
“Don’t be a fucking asshole.”
“Then don’t question my orders, just do it.”
“Am I supposed to kill this hypothetical slimeball, or bring him in for drinks so you can compare notes?”
I cock my head in consideration. “I’ll take care of him myself. Just find out if such an asshole exists and we’ll go from there.”
“You’re a confusing motherfucker,” he tells me. “I can’t look into this myself while you have me on her door, you realize, that, right? She’ll be dead by the time I look into it. This seems like a waste of my time.”
“Oh, come on, you love murdering rapists. It’ll be a treat.”
“You just said I don’t get to kill him.”
“Maybe I’ll let you hang him up on a meat hook and beat the shit out of him or something first. I’ll think it over, play around with some ideas to make it fun for everyone. Well, not him. Fun for us.”
He mutters about what a fucking psycho I am. I figured he’d like that idea, so I don’t know what’s up his ass today. Well, I guess I do. He’s really pissed I’m making him take part in this whole Mia thing. Perhaps he’ll feel better when we torture Mia’s former abuser since his hands are tied with her current one.
Assuming a former abuser exists. I’m getting ahead of myself.
“What if you’re wrong?” Adrian finally asks.
“What if she wasn’t abused? I don’t know. I’ll find some other unlucky pervert for you to take your aggressions out on.”
Sighing heavily, he says, “No. What if you’re wrong about her? What if she doesn’t talk?”
His question puts an instant damper on my good mood. I know it’s the end goal here, but I’m reluctant to think about the inevitable unpleasantness of that day before it comes. “She’ll talk,” I say, simply.
“But what if she doesn’t?” he asks, more assertively. “I’ve been thinking about it, and she’s already doing things that don’t make sense. She’s nice to me. Why is she nice to me? Why is she nice to any of us? Maria goes in there and she’s nice to Maria. I stand guard out here and she’s nice to me. That’s not normal. She should be pissed at every last one of us for helping you keep her. Where’s the appeal for help? Where’s the anger at the injustice of it all, even if she knows better than to ask? Even Vince—he was a total asshole to her, blaming her for putting herself in your path, and she just took it. I would’ve punched him in the face. Where is her fucking anger, Mateo? Everything I’ve seen makes me think there’s no vengeance in this girl.”
He’s not wrong, exactly. “It may not be vengeance, then. I assumed that before I knew her. Her motivation doesn’t matter, only the resulting action matters. She’ll talk.”
“She didn’t tell on me and Vince,” he points out.
“It wouldn’t have benefitted her to do so. She thinks she’s in love with Vince,” I say, rolling my eyes. “I’m sure she has some romantic idea about protecting him. I assure you, she has no such devotion to me. Even if she only talks as a means of self-defense to get away from me, she’ll talk.”
The line falls silent and I see him shake his head on the monitor. “I don’t like this. This isn’t fucking right. This isn’t a test, Mateo, it’s fucking entrapment. You’re not giving that girl a shot in hell.”
“Which is why she’ll talk,” I remark, with no small amount of patience.
“It’s bullshit. Why don’t you give her a real shot? Why don’t you stop what you’re doing to her and let her out of your room? That way she knows she doesn’t have to deal with you or Vince and she has a few days of safety to get her head straight first. I can put her in the room across from Francesca. At least stop abusing her before you send cops to talk to her.”
“Which is it, Adrian? You don’t think she’ll talk, or you’re worried she will to get away from me? You can’t believe both eventualities.”
“I don’t know what the fuck to believe,” he states, irritably. “I just know this isn’t right and I don’t like it. Let me take her out of your room.”
“No,” I say, immovably.
“Because you want her dead, or because you’re fucking enjoying yourself?”
I can hear how much he hates me right now—he usually keeps it toned down to gruff disapproval, but this Mia thing is pushing Adrian’s limits. He feels complicit in my crime, like he might as well be the one forcing his dick in her because he knows what he’s allowing me to do.
All it takes for evil to succeed is for good men to do nothing, after all.
On fairer grounds, Adrian can live with himself despite his complicity in my various shenanigans, but Mia isn’t an opponent. This isn’t a fair fight—it’s no fight at all, it’s just me mowing down a helpless target.
It’s cruel. I acknowledge that.
Initially, Adrian tried to stomach it with my promise that her suffering wouldn’t be drawn out, that I’d resolve the matter quickly and we’d put the poor girl out of her misery. Sure, I’m doing damage that could last a lifetime, but her lifetime expires within the next couple weeks; that’s not so long. He still thought it was inhumane. Kicking my food around before I kill it. It probably is. Can’t bring myself to regret it, though.
I might, when she’s dead and my cock is still rising at the thought of her. That’s going to be a bit disturbing. Maybe I should shop around for a girlfriend when all this is over. Perhaps Mia’s right; maybe I am a little lonely.
That’s a lot of work, though. I don’t know if I feel like doing that.
Switching the monitor, I focus back on my bedroom. Mia’s still in the bathroom. Faint annoyance moves through me at my inability to see her.
“Does she usually shower long? Maybe you should go check on her,” I suggest.
“What?”
“She asked for a razor. What if she wants to hurt herself? Go make sure she’s all right.”
Adrian pauses. I glance at the monitor again, then consult my watch to see how long she’s been in there. I didn’t check the time, though, so I look at my phone to see how long I’ve been on the phone with Adrian.
“You want me to bust in on the girl you’re planning to kill while she’s showering… to make sure she isn’t hurting herself? Wouldn’t that save us a whole lot of steps?”
“You can go check or I will. If I do, I’ll be staying for a while.”
Vaguely growling, Adrian hangs up on me.
I smirk, placing my phone on the desk and turning my attention to the monitor. Adrian heads into my room, ducking his head and rubbing the back of his neck. It’s his tell. He always does it when he’s deeply uncomfortable. Poor guy. I’m probably taking years off his life.
He pushes the bathroom door open, but immediately hesitates and takes a step back into the bedroom. He takes another minute, then pushes the door open again and walks inside.
He comes back out a moment later, walking a little faster, rubbing at the back of his neck again. He glares up at the monitor and flashes me a sarcastically emphatic thumbs-up.
I chuckle to myself, pushing up out of the seat and retrieving my phone so I can leave the security room before I sit here and watch Mia all fucking day.
---
Mia gasps as I yank her head back by the hair, thrusting my cock inside her from behind. Her arms are pinned at the small of her back, secured there with one of my hands, but she doesn’t attempt to pull free. Her ass is up like a good girl, her perfect tits crushed and chafing the mattress as her body moves with the force of my thrusts. I really like this position—it’s reminiscent of the first time I fucked her, but she knows it’s me this time—the only problem is I can’t see her face. I don’t think I’m hurting her but she’s trying hard to be silent, so without seeing her face I can’t be sure if that was a gasp of surprise, pleasure, or pain.
I need to watch her, so even though this will be the third position change (and I’d like to finish in this one), I pull out of her body and roll her over onto her back.
She isn’t fighting me tonight. She certainly didn’t initiate, but tonight when I climbed into bed beside her, she seemed less like she wanted to die than usual. When I began touching her, she didn’t even ask me to stop. That’s something, I suppose.
There’s no struggle as I push her knees apart so I can move between her legs. She has cooperated through each position change instead of uselessly trying to divert me tonight. I appreciate that. Struggling can be fun, but not every damn day. Now that I can look at her, Mia holds my gaze steadily, but still does nothing to participate. Her hands rest on the bed at her sides and never touch me. Her legs, while spread to accommodate me, do nothing to hold me there. Her pussy abandoned the team a while ago, though. Even though she tried not to respond to my touch beforehand, she was wet enough that I could ease inside without hurting her. I didn’t call her on it. It’s not her fault her body’s reacting. I could be a dick about it, it fits my mission right now, but blaming her for something that isn’t her fault goes against my personal principles. I don’t mind lying when it serves me, but the mere idea of uttering this lie makes me feel like Vince. Yuck.
I focus on her again and I can’t help smiling faintly. She narrows her eyes suspiciously in response but doesn’t speak. She seems to think if she does her best impression of a dead fish, I’ll lose interest. She’s wrong. At least as I slide my cock inside her now, she doesn’t bother looking like I’ve betrayed her. I have a hunch she’ll give a little more tonight if I push for it, so I tell her, “Hold onto me.”
She tentatively brings her arms around my body. I lean in to kiss her. She doesn’t fight me on that tonight, either. When I break the kiss to look at her, she keeps her eyes closed. Her grasp on my back tightens ever so slightly, strained breaths slipping out of her. I cock my head curiously, watching her face as I pump in and out of her body.
Is that pleasure? I think it is. A few experimental thrusts later, I can match her body’s reactions to the sensation of my cock inside her and my thought cements itself. Her mind may not want this, but her body’s into it.
I should make her come. I love watching her come and I’d really like to be the one responsible. Not sure I should pile on like that today, though. I already made her give me head and pleasure herself for my entertainment. If I give that final push, she might crack. Whatever flashes of pleasure her body is experiencing right now, her mind hasn’t caught up.
But could she? Maybe she could. I would’ve said no, that’s an unreasonable expectation after what I’ve done to her, but now I have the mental image of her tenderly pressing her soft lips to the scar on my thigh. Wanting to heal my hurts, even as I continue to hurt her. Maybe she is fucked up enough to care about me—or think she does, at least.
Given her youth, general inexperience, and natural inclinations, it would probably be pretty easy to control her with sex. I could train her to be a slave to my pleasure—and by extension, her own. If I own her pussy, I could own her heart.
A hostile takeover would be exceptionally easy to pull off with her.
Hm.
I don’t push her tonight with an orgasm she doesn’t want, though; I just use her body for my own pleasure and then yank her into my arms while I recover.
She doesn’t pout at me tonight. I generally pull her back against me, but tonight she’s facing me, curled up against my side. I love that she’s not bothering to wear clothing to bed already. Even physically sated for the moment, I draw pleasure from looking at her.
I’m thinking about her perfect breasts, but Mia seems to be thinking about something a bit deeper because she suddenly says, “Tell me something about you.”
I bring my gaze from her breasts to her eyes. They’re more intense and focused than is typical, like she’s on some kind of mission. Maybe I’ll indulge her. “Like what?”
Shrugging her shoulders, she says, “I don’t know, whatever you want to tell me. I just don’t know a lot about you. I want to know more.”
Smiling faintly, I inform her, “There’s a lot you don’t know, yes. Give me a more specific idea of what you’re looking for.”
“Anything,” she says. “We can start simple. Favorite color, your birthday, what’s your sign? I don’t know.”
Her gaze drops a little self-consciously, like those are all stupid suggestions. They’re not the stuff my psyche is made of, admittedly, but she’s 18 for Christ’s sake; I wasn’t expecting her to scrape my soul.
“My favorite color is gold, my birthday is February tenth, and accordingly I am an Aquarius.”
Brightening as she looks up at me, she says, “No kidding. My birthday’s in March—we’re pretty close together. Well, in months, at least. I’m an Aries.”
“Are you interested in astrology?”
She shakes her head. “Not really. It’s fun to read the horoscopes, though. They’re actually right sometimes.”
Because they make open, general predictions, but I don’t say that.
“Do you read your horoscope when you read your paper in the morning?”
“I do not. I don’t need someone else to predict how my day will go.”
“You’re kind of controlling, has anyone ever told you that?” she jokes.
“Never,” I deadpan.
A helpless grin steals across her face, but she bites it back after only a few seconds. “I think it’s cool how you still read a physical newspaper. Most people just use their phones now.”
“I like the routine,” I explain.
She nods. “I figured.”
We fall into a pleasant silence for a few minutes, then she gets up to go to the bathroom. I’m feeling better than I have in a while when she comes back in, flashing me a smile as she pulls back the blanket and climbs into bed.
“Oh, and mine is pink.”
I blink at her. “Excuse me?”
“My favorite color,” she specifies, pulling the blankets up around her. “You told me yours; I realized I forgot to tell you mine.”
“I could never have guessed; thank you.”
She rolls her eyes at me, but doesn’t seem too offended. After a couple of minutes, she turns her head and looks up at me again. “Tell me something else.”
Snaking an arm beneath her, I pull her back into my arms. “You’re getting bossy. Do you need me to remind you who’s in charge here?”
Rolling easily into my embrace, she cocks an eyebrow at me. “We literally just finished.”
“I finished. You didn’t.”
Her determined peacefulness falters at that. “I’m fine. Let’s talk instead. Please?”
I appreciate her attempt to figure out how to work me—she keeps defaulting to please, even though it hasn’t worked consistently. Nothing has worked consistently. Nothing will, either. She’s going to be so disappointed when she figures that out. I bet she found Vince’s buttons without much trouble.
Since I’m not answering but I keep watching her, she grows uneasy. Her fingers naturally fidget with the down comforter. Her gaze shifts away from me and toward the ceiling. I could tell her something insignificant and recharge her brightness, but I let her squirm for a few minutes instead.
“You have a daughter, right?” she asks rhetorically, since she already knows I have a daughter. “Vince said her mom isn’t around anymore, and you told my mom she abandoned you guys. What happened there?”
“She died,” I answer, simply. Before she can ask any additional questions about Beth, I remark, “You sailed right past small talk, didn’t you? From ‘what’s your favorite color?’ to ‘what happened to the mother of your child?’ Points for trying, but ease up.”
“I didn’t mean to pry,” she offers, looking over at me. “I’m just trying to get to know you better.”
“Why?”
Shrugging her shoulders uncertainly, she says, “I don’t know, it seems like I should. I don’t know exactly what’s going on here. I’m just trying to…”
Obviously feeling awkward about what she’s trying to express, she doesn’t finish this thought. I want her to, but I don’t say anything. Trying to make the best of a bad situation? Trying to stay alive? In all likelihood that’s the driving force here. I’ve told her on numerous occasions that her continued existence depends upon her proximity to my good side. I didn’t think she would be able to approach it that logically with what I’ve done to her, though. Knowing what she has to do in order to live is one thing, actually doing it is quite another.
Since I don’t help—but I also don’t stop her—she continues. “I have no idea where I stand or what’s going on anymore. I don’t know what this—” She gestures between us. “—is. I don’t understand what we’re doing here. This is unbelievably confusing, so I don’t know what I’m supposed to do or how I’m supposed to react to anything. When you’re here and I’m in your bubble, it seems… I mean, indescribable, but somehow almost normal. But then as soon as you’re not, reality drops on my head like an anvil in one of those old cartoons, and I don’t… I get overwhelmed.” She nods, apparently settling on that summary. “Overwhelmed. I’m overwhelmed.”
Already? I don’t say it, but I’m tempted to.
“I guess I’m just trying to figure out my place,” she finally says.
I think she’s found her place quite nicely, but I can see my continued silence is making her increasingly uncomfortable so I hold my tongue.
Her gaze darts to me uncertainly. “Doesn’t this seem weird to you?”
“Which part?”
Her eyebrows rise and her blue eyes widen slightly. “All of it. Three days ago I was in a relationship with someone else. Your cousin—someone who works for you and sits at your dinner table every night. Now I’m… I don’t even know what I am.”
At least this I can answer without worrying I’ll come off too nice. “My fuckdoll.”
She rolls her eyes, torn between embarrassment and faint pleasure. That’s interesting. “Okay, but even that—I mean, it’s just bizarre to think about.”
I tug her closer and look down at her. “What’s so bizarre about that?”
Of course I know what’s so bizarre about it; I just want to see if she has the guts to say it to my face. I know I only have myself to bet against, but I put my money on no.
She can’t look directly at me; her eyes drop to my bare chest. “Because you’ve made it incredibly confusing. Or, I guess maybe I have, too, I don’t know. I was just trying to follow your lead, but it led me somewhere really fucking weird.”
I fail to stifle a light laugh at that assertion. Her gaze darts to mine. She’s relieved and my reaction gives her the confidence to go on.
“On one hand I was there the other day so I know what you did…” She lets go of the rest of that sentence, shifting gears. “But then you did all this strange stuff and made it confusing. You cuddle me after, you make me kiss you—or, I kiss you. I don’t even know if you make me anymore.” Now her brow furrows, her brief bout of relief pushed aside. This distresses her. The possibility that she’s not kissing me because she has to, but maybe because she likes to. “And then earlier today….” She shakes her head, looking at my chest again. “It’s not like you had a gun to my head that time. I don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t know what this is. I’m so confused about everything.”
I wait to see if she’s done. When she doesn’t say anything else, I ask, “Does it matter?”
Wary blue eyes regard me. “Does what matter?”
“Most experiences in life are some blend of good and bad, happy and painful. Experiences are rarely just one thing or another; they’re different classifications at different times. You fall in love and that’s fun. You get your heart broken and that’s not. Someone important comes into your life and it feels exciting. You lose someone close to you and it’s excruciating.”
“Right,” she says, following so far.
“I raped you,” I state, since she’s clearly afraid to accuse me herself. “That was painful for you. Right now, other than confusion because you’re unnecessarily reviewing and trying to process the situation, you seem relatively content. That’s good for you. Why do you need to know which box to put every experience in? Are you keeping a running tally of how many good and bad things happen to you over the course of your life? Your experiences don’t need to be confined to a box. Boxes don’t make people happy. Don’t worry about what you’re supposed to feel or how you’re supposed to react. How do I make you feel now, in this moment? If it’s better, then go with that. Let go of your rules and just live your life.”
I made her nervous when I blithely referred to what I did to her, but by the end she seems introspective. I wonder if this is her ceiling—if this as hard as her mind resists. Generally speaking, she’s quite easy to handle, but since she’s so worried about her own reaction to me, she’s hung up on the thing that doesn’t quite fit the picture she’s trying to paint. She doesn’t seem hung up on her own image of herself though, so I can probably get her over this hurdle pretty simply. People with big egos or excessive insecurity are very concerned about their own self-image. Mia’s not overly concerned about herself at all. It’s the strangest thing. It doesn’t even feel like the effect of some psychological trauma; it seems so natural, like it just doesn’t occur to her. Like somehow Mia was born without the instinct of self-preservation.
For someone who accepts direction so well though, she sure is struggling to maintain control of this particular experience. I never considered that I could talk her out of her own opinion on this matter—mostly because there’s no reason to; it directly opposes my plans—but my mind is significantly stronger than hers. My will eclipses hers already, and it shouldn’t. I really haven’t exerted much effort, but this girl follows my lead like she was born to do it.
“But I don’t know if I’m still—You had a gun to my head, you threatened to kill my family. It was pretty clear what it was the first time. But you’ve confused me. I don’t know if I’m being victimized or courted,” she finally blurts.
I don’t know if my uncontrollable grin is at how horrified she looks at having said that to me, or how appropriate a thing that is to be confused about. Logically, my brain sends several appropriate responses my way, reminders that I don’t want her to get more comfortable with me—I want to make her hate me. I should say something mean in the interest of furthering my own agenda, but it’s fucking funny.
“They’re not necessarily mutually exclusive with me,” I tell her, wryly.
That doesn’t answer her question, so she keeps trying to work it out on her own. “On one hand, the fact that you want to kill me should help clarify that,” she reasons.
I shake my head. “Not necessarily. I told you, it’s not personal. Just business.”
Covering her face with her hands, she shakes her head. “You’re insane.”
“So I’ve been told.”
“I’m never going to tell on you. If I live to be 150 years old, I will never tell any of your secrets.”
“Right,” I drawl, really emphatically, just to be a jerk.
Narrowing her eyes at me, she says, “Can’t you just tell me what you’re doing to me so I know what I’m dealing with?”
She’s literally asking me to control her. How am I supposed to resist this?
Smiling faintly, I say, “So you know which boxes to put your experiences in?”
“I guess I need boxes,” she states.
We’ll fix that.
I frown at myself, since no, we most certainly will not have time to fix that. My own (ordinarily sturdy) brain keeps misfiring, so I guess I shouldn’t be too hard on hers.
I bet she considers this bizarre, since she’s so confused by everything else, but as I hold her in my arms like a lover, I tell her, “It’s simple. Do you have a choice in any of this? Try asking me to stop one of these times and see if I do. Maybe I didn’t hold a gun to your head today, but the threat didn’t have an expiration date, did it? If I tell you to do something, do it. You do what you have to do to get by. If you can find some physical pleasure in that, you should. Why deny yourself? For whom are you doing it? Not for you. Not for me. It’s no one else’s concern.”
“It is for me. I’ll feel guilty.”
“Why?”
“Because… that’s fucked up,” she says, a bit at a loss.
“Says who? Furthermore, who cares? Who’s keeping score, Mia? Is there an invisible judge somewhere, critiquing you on how you respond? Embrace a world without boxes. If it feels good, let it. Who cares what other people expect you to feel?”
After regarding me with a narrowed gaze for a moment, she finally says, “You have an interesting mind, don’t you?”
“It doesn’t work quite the way most seem to,” I admit.
“I’m intrigued,” she tells me. Then, smiling more playfully than one would expect given the conversation up to this point, she adds, “You should tell me more things so I can have a bigger glimpse.”
I roll my eyes indulgently. “Which soul-deep question would you like to ask next? Which superpower I’d pick, my perfect first date, or my dream vacation spot?”
Mia pokes me in the chest with her index finger. “Don’t mock me. I didn’t know what I was allowed to ask. My questions seemed safe.” She misses half a beat, then asks, “But actually, which superpower would you pick?”
I catch a lock of her hair and wrap it around my index finger absently. “The ability to read minds. People aren’t terribly difficult to figure out, but just being able to listen in on their thoughts would save me a lot of time.”
Mia nods. “I can see how that would beneficial, given your position. I don’t think I would always want to know every unguarded thought people have about me, but I can see why you would. I would choose healing powers.”
“That’s a good one. That way I could try to kill you over and over but it would never work. Look at you, thwarting my plans.”
She pokes me again and I catch her finger, trapping her hand beneath mine and pinning it to my chest. She doesn’t seem to mind. “Could we go one night without revisiting your horrible plans to kill me? Just one?” she asks. “And that wasn’t what I meant by healing powers. I didn’t mean I’d be invincible. I didn’t think of that, actually. I meant I could heal people. Like, if someone got hurt, I could just wave my hand over the wound and magically heal them.”
I stare at her blankly. “If you could only have one super power, you would choose the one that couldn’t possibly benefit you?”
“It would benefit me,” she argues. “It’s not pleasant to watch loved ones in pain. Plus I would request the top-shelf package that includes the ability to ease emotional pain. Not make it go away completely, people need good and bad experiences to grow and all that, but I could just touch their heart or something and absorb some of the pain and ease their burden.”
It’s not lost on me that her hand is, at present, resting over my heart. She seems to notice too, her gaze dropping to her hand. Looking back up at me with feigned solemnity, she asks, “Is it working? Do I have secret super powers?”
Smiling faintly, I tell her, “Maybe.”
A smug little smile plays around her mouth. “Ha, I knew it.”
All I can think about in this moment is kissing those smiling lips. I shouldn’t, so I rain on her parade instead. “Of course, emotional pain doesn’t actually come from the heart. That’s just a bunch of cutesy bullshit. If you want to ease emotional pain by touching the source, you wanna go with the brain.”
“Stop trying to ruin it,” she tells me.
“I can’t help myself.”
“Whatever. I have superpowers. Maybe you do, too. Here, touch my head and see if you can read my thoughts.”
“I do not need to. You’re not even an open book, you’re a billboard.”
She wrinkles her nose up with displeasure. “I am not a billboard.”
“You are. There may be a few unsolved mysteries tucked away in there, but you can’t hide your feelings to save your life. Literally.”
Mia shrugs. “I don’t need to be mysterious. If you want to know something, just ask. You should consider adopting this policy, at least for me. I have a lot of questions.”
“Well, I enjoy the quiet, so I’m ecstatic that I invited a chatterbox into my bed,” I state.
Snorting indelicately, she says, “Invited. Right.”
Nonetheless, she falls quiet. I release her hand but she leaves it over my heart. She could move away, but she remains curled up in my embrace.
It’s nice.