by J. L. Beck
“Not likely,” she grits out.
Why does she keep challenging me? Have I not showed my ruthlessness multiple times since she came into my possession?
I back her toward the bed. When she stumbles and threatens to topple, I lift her off her feet and throw her effortlessly, face-first, on the iron-gray coverlet. I press my weight on top of her, my hips against her ass as her feet reach toward the floor but never meet the carpet.
“You want to test me, stellina? That’s fine. I’ll give you a demonstration.” I keep my hips lined up with hers, letting her feel the outline of my dick against her ass cheeks through my pants.
She shifts underneath me, trying to crawl across the bed to escape. “No, you wanted to push me,” I whisper against her cheek.
Her elbows pop up on either side of us in another attempt to dislodge my weight from her back.
When she settles back onto the bed, resigned, I deliver a slap against the side of her hips. The strike isn’t hard since we are pressed too tightly into the bed for my entire hand to meet flesh. She still flinches and gasps into the blankets.
I rub against her again.
This time her attempts to wiggle away are half-hearted until she stops fighting altogether.
I soothe the area I smacked and then deliver another blow, sharp and harder than the first. “Just as a reminder,” I tell her. “I’m in charge. I want to let someone pay for the privilege of taking your virginity. But if you don’t stop fighting me, so help me, God, I’ll rip these little teasing panties off your body and fuck you until all you can think about is obeying me, so I give you more of my cock. Nod if you understand me.”
She nods against the bed and her back tenses underneath me as I press into her sweet heat one last time.
“Good.” The word comes out strained, as it takes a lot of my self-control to release her.
As if she is stunned by what’s just happened, she is still for several long seconds before crawling up onto the bed. She turns to face me, her body still tense with fear. Her cheeks are flushed, her eyes bouncing around the room, looking everywhere but at me.
Backing away from her, I open the door to the right of her bed and slam it behind me as I enter my own room.
On the other side of the wall, I hear furniture moving and shake my head. As if a side-table can keep me away from her. If it makes her feel safe for tonight, I’ll allow it.
Tomorrow, every revolt will earn her a much worse punishment than a few swats to the ass.
7
Celia
I hate this man. He hasn’t even told me his name yet, and every time he addresses me, it’s by his little pet name. He’s probably doing it on purpose to get a rise out of me. I know he is. It’s merely another step in his plan to break me.
Maybe I should come up with my own pet name for him. The devil would be fitting.
I stare up at the ceiling in the bedroom he so graciously offered me. If he makes one more comment about my vagina or selling me, I… I will…
Ugh. Nothing. I’ll do nothing because I know that would only make it worse. It’s ironic that he hates my father so much, yet he is so much like him.
Just like my father, he thinks he is more important, more powerful, more worthy than everyone around him. They both don’t value women other than for their own gain, and they both like to threaten death when they don’t get what they want. Maybe his ending my life now will be better than being forced to play whatever twisted game this is.
The light streaming through the window is muted, pale. I turn to look at the clock beside the bed. It reads six am. I pull the covers over my head for a moment and contemplate screaming. That’s probably not a good idea, especially not early in the morning. I take a few calming breaths and then shove back the covers and tug down his shirt as I hurl myself off the edge of the very tall bed.
I want a shower, some clothes, and apparently food since my stomach decides then to rumble loudly.
Have I only been here for two damn nights? It already feels like an eternity.
I shiver as my bare feet smack against the cold wood floor. In the room's corner is a bathroom. The lights turn on automatically as I walk in, and my eyes swing around the room, moving from the toilet to the shower, and then to the vanity.
I notice it’s fully stocked with supplies, but nothing I can use as a weapon unless I want to squirt shampoo in the bastard’s eyes. The image of me shoving a pair of nail scissors in his eyes gives my spirit a little boost as I start the shower.
The soap all appears new. Not that I can be picky about it as I scrub my skin, paying special attention to the still-stained blood splatter on my chest. I can’t believe I slept like this, but truthfully, I was too exhausted to care.
After I dry off, I put his shirt back on with my overused panties, but I’ll be damned if I go without them, and braid my wet hair. When I exit the bathroom, I find an older woman standing in the middle of the room, holding a stack of clothing. Her mostly gray hair is pulled back into a tight bun, reminding me of a strict teacher. Her face is weathered with frown creases that look to be permanently carved into her face.
The glare she is giving me makes it clear asking for her help in escape is a dumb plan. For some reason, she already dislikes me. I can see it in her eyes.
I stare at her and wait for her to say something. She watches me for a moment, almost like she is sizing me up, then shrugs, drops the stack on the bed, and walks back toward the door. “He expects you to bring him breakfast, and he does not like to be kept waiting.”
“What?” Did she just say bring him breakfast?
“While you are staying here, you are to work as a maid, cleaning the house, doing laundry, and serving in any other way you are required,” she explains to me like I’m a misbehaving child.
“You do know I’m not here of my free will, right?”
“And what does that matter? Would you rather be in a cold cell with no food? Staying in the guest room isn’t free. Now, hurry before we both get in trouble for being late.”
I take a moment to wrap my head around what she is telling me. Only when my brain has caught up with reality do I answer.
“Of course,” I grit through my teeth, not even trying to hide my annoyance.
She walks out with a lingering look that’s equally curious and challenging. If I didn’t know better, I’d think she sees me as a threat. Stopping at the door, she says, “I’ll be in the hallway when you’re ready.”
The clothing isn’t much—another dress shirt, still too big for me, and a clean pair of white cotton panties. Well, I’ll take it. I strip my dirty clothes and slide into the clean ones. The scent of fabric softener and soap drifts off my skin. For the first time in hours, I take a deep breath. Whatever this psycho wants from me, I can endure. At least that is what I have to keep telling myself, so I don’t lose my mind.
I cross the room and open the door. The woman stands in the middle of the hallway, fidgety. I gesture for her to lead the way, but she is already trudging off down the empty hall.
We walk down a staircase, past a few doorways—with guards posted outside—into a giant kitchen. Only two other people are inside, washing dishes or cooking. I stand against the granite countertops and wait. The woman works, and I feel like an idiot for lingering and not doing anything. To be fair, I’ve never cooked a thing in my life. We always have chefs and maids at home.
“Don’t just stand there. Get to work,” she sneers at me. “Are you not good for anything?”
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me. Start cooking.”
“Okay…” I look around the kitchen like the cabinets are going to give me instructions on what to do. “Can you tell me what he likes to eat?”
She flops the ball of dough she’d been kneading on a wooden cutting board and crosses to the refrigerator. When she returns, she shoves a carton of eggs and a couple of cheese slices at me.
Eggs. Okay, I’ve seen people make eggs on TV; it can’t be that
difficult, right? I find a skillet quickly enough, then approach the giant stovetop. Its black metal grates rise above the surface of the stove, and fire leaps underneath at the turn of a knob.
Pan. Heat. I stare down at the eggs, little brown orbs neatly nestled in the gray carton. The other maids are gone now. The only person left in the kitchen besides me is the grouchy lady, and no way am I going to ask her for help. My eyes dart to the knife block, which is in easy reach. Would she notice one missing? Do I even have a chance if I rush out of here with it? I’d most likely have a better chance at stabbing myself than someone else.
I stare at the knife block a little too long, contemplating my next move before letting a sigh escape my lips. No, I can’t do it. If I take it, I might have to use it and stab someone in my path, someone simply doing their job. Yeah, I couldn’t. I’m a fucking coward. The thought of hurting someone that might be innocent makes my stomach churn.
Slowly, I turn my attention back to the eggs and begin cracking them into a bowl. It takes me ten minutes to get the tiny pieces of shell out before I can even attempt to cook them. I should leave them in there just to spite him, but I’m afraid of what he might do to me if I don’t pass this small task.
Strangely, I feel a sense of accomplishment as I watch the eggs turn from a clear runny mess to a white and yellow mess. She didn’t specify how he wanted them, so I did the best I could before throwing them on a plate. It doesn’t bode well that they really don’t look appetizing, but my stomach growls loudly as I stare down at them. And I know if I had the chance, I’d eat them.
The woman gives me a couple oranges when I hand her the plate. “Those are for you. Follow me up to his office and hurry. He’s already going to be angry that it took you so long.”
Perfect. Can I turn one of these oranges into a strong enough weapon to disable him? Probably not, but it doesn’t stop me from imagining it as I follow her through the house. It has to be as big as my father’s. Cut crystal and modern furniture throughout, the floors in the halls are marble, the entire house is posh. No surprise considering his clothes and the literal parking garage on his property.
We enter a room down from the bedroom I slept in. The woman sets a plate and a cup of coffee, I never saw her pour, on the desk and rushes out. I turn to follow her, an orange in each hand, but the monster speaks up.
“No, you stay.” He gestures at an armchair to the side of his desk against the wall. “Sit.”
Even the grumpy lady’s presence is preferable to his, but I do as he tells me to keep the peace a little longer. Maybe we can go a day without him touching me inappropriately. Ha, probably not.
I arrange myself on the chair, ensuring my legs are covered by his shirt, and stare at him. His dark hair is slicked back, and his eyes are menacing, even early in the morning. I wonder if he goes to bed and plans to be an evil monster every day or if something made him this way?
He’s immersed in studying a ledger but points at the plate. “What the fuck is this?”
I lean forward to look at it. “Eggs.”
He drags his eyes up to mine, a sneer on his full lips. “Did you cook this?”
Instead of answering right away, I stare down at the fruit in my hand and dig a nail into the soft flesh of the orange. I can feel his eyes on me, and no matter how much I want to deny it, his mere presence makes me squirm.
“Yes, I made it. I don’t exactly know how to cook, but I tried.”
“Of course, you don’t, princess. You’ve always had someone to do it for you, am I right?”
I blink at him. Every word he speaks is a knife slicing through my skin.
“What do you want from me?” I try to keep the bitterness out of my voice, but it’s hard with the way he treats me. “Yes, I’ve never had to cook before. I’m sorry I grew up the way I did. I can’t change that, and forcing me to be your maid isn’t going to produce a good breakfast. What’s the point?”
He narrows those pensive eyes and shoves the plate over the edge of his desk. It hits the floor with a thump but doesn’t shatter. The eggs spill out in an arc around it. “The point is you’re a spoiled bitch who needs to learn her place.”
He shoves his desk chair back. The strength of it causes it to crash into the wall. My lips press firmly together, and I try to keep my mouth in check as he stalks over to where I’m sitting. Last night, he told me to stop fighting him. No doubt he counts this argument as me fighting. I’m going to die in this place if I don’t watch it.
He hovers over me, and I huddle into myself, waiting for whatever fresh hell he offers me today. Dropping to his haunches, he crouches in front of me, a move he seems to enjoy doing, but so far, it only precedes some kind of violence. “Your place is wherever the fuck I say it is.” His voice is icy cold, and I shiver at the chill his words spread over my skin.
“Okay,” I whisper, keeping my eyes down on my oranges.
When he returns to his desk, I finally draw a full breath and uncoil my tense muscles. How much more of this does he expect me to take?
Silence settles over us, but the room only grows more tense with every passing minute. He has gone back to scribbling something on paper, ignoring me completely.
“You said you are going to sell me. My family has money if that’s what you need.” My voice is small and submissive, and I hate every syllable that leaves my lips, but I don’t think approaching him any other way is going to do me any good.
He doesn’t look at me as he waves at his office. “Does it look like I need money?”
“So this is just about revenge for you?” Silence greets me yet again, so I continue in the hopes he will hear me out. “I know you hate my father for whatever he has done to you, but I am not him. Just let me go. If you do, I won’t tell anyone anything. I’ll go away. I’ll never go back home. I can promise you that.”
Finally, he glances up at me. “I’m not letting you go, so you can fucking forget that. What I want from you is for you to sit there, eat your food, and shut up.”
I flinch back in the chair and drop my gaze. Quietly, I eat the oranges and gently place the peels on the seat beside me. When I finish chewing, I watch him as he scribbles down the ledger, one line at a time.
“I—”
He huffs loudly, annoyed. “If you say one more goddamn word, I’m going to give you my full attention, and believe me when I tell you, you won’t enjoy it very much.”
His warning is clear, and I slump back again, waiting, but time ticks by slowly as he refuses to acknowledge me. Instead of waiting patiently like a good girl, I cross the room to the mess he made of the eggs on the floor and try to clean it up as best I can with the linen napkin the kitchen lady had placed with his silverware.
After that, I gather the orange peels and pile them on the plate and sit the mess on a table near the door. When I turn to take my chair again, I find he is staring at me over his desk. The pen long forgotten, his eyes on me, intense and focused. Suddenly, I’m not wearing enough clothing for the hungry look in his eyes. My pulse races and my mouth goes dry. Flicking my tongue out, I wet my bottom lip. This is a cat-and-mouse game I won’t win.
I cross the room quickly, all but diving for the chair. He closes the book on his desk, the sound making me jump. When he swivels to face me, I know damn well I shouldn’t have moved from my seat.
Intent on not drawing his attention further, I keep my eyes on my hands and tuck my feet under me in the chair. I think maybe he’ll direct his attention to something else, but it’s too late for that.
Shoving away from the desk, he faces me in his own chair. “Come here.” He’s not asking, he’s ordering.
I don’t meet his eyes and shake my head. “I’m good. I won’t move, promise.”
His tone tells me everything I need to know about how much I just fucked up. “You’re good?” Menace laces each word.
Shit. Damn. Fuck.
In one fluid movement, he drives himself out of the chair and stalks toward me. His grip is tight as he
lifts me by the waist like I weigh nothing. Without a word, he settles me across his lap. I consider struggling, but what good would it do me? He’d just overpower me anyway. He places me in his lap, diagonally. “Let’s try this again. When I give you an order, you follow it without question or delay.”
I tuck my chin to my chest, trying to paint the picture of a meek submissive even as I chant how much I hate him in my head. “Okay.”
He grips my jaw in his huge hand and forces me to meet his eyes. “Try again, but this time with a little conviction, stellina, fucking convince me, and maybe I’ll let you scamper away unscathed.”
I clear my tightening throat. “What’s your name? What do I call you?”
His eyes narrow, but to my surprise, he answers, “Nicolo.”
“I’m Celia. I’m sorry, Nicolo.” I glance up to look into his flinty gaze. “I’ll listen to you next time.”
He loosens his grip on my chin and drags his calloused fingers down to curl around my neck. My heart shoots into my throat, and I shiver against his firm chest. Is this it? The moment he decides he’s tired of putting up with my shit. Maybe I should’ve tried harder. Now I’m going to end up like my sister. Dead.
His fingers remain loose around my throat until I cease shaking. “Why are you so useless? Is there anything you’re good at? How about sucking cock? With no sex to offer your little boyfriends, did you spend a lot of time on your knees?”
I know he’s baiting me. Deliberately degrading me to draw me into another fight. Another excuse to punish me. He likes to see me angry, but he’s going to be deeply disappointed. I won’t let him drag me into another fight. Instead of defending myself, I duck my chin again and focus my attention on the floor and let him believe what he wants.
But even my refusal to rise to his prodding angers him.
He coils around me like a snake, his chest pressing against my bicep, and his free hand wrapping around my hip. Hot breath fans across my collarbone, and I focus on doing everything I can to not react to him. To not encourage him, even as liquid heat circulates through my belly, pooling at my core.
