I looked into her mesmerizing gaze, memorizing every last thing about her in this moment between us.
Everything I loved.
Everything I cared about.
Everything I needed…
Was right there in front of me.
In my embrace.
In my distress.
My home.
My hell.
She was heaven.
An angel.
For another first tonight.
For the first time in my life, I stared into her hopeful eyes…
And started to believe there was a God, and he’d sent her here for me.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Juliet
One month later
During the day, I was his slave.
But during the night—he was mine.
His moods changed as swiftly as the Seattle weather, just like shared smiles, touches, and punishments.
I never knew which side I was going to get from him. There were a few things that had changed since that first night on the piano, and one was his insatiable hunger.
I never went to bed clothed—neither did he, for that matter—and every evening felt like some religious experience where his hands gripped me only to follow with a caress like he’d forgotten he was touching something that could break.
My days were long, filled with useless and demeaning tasks he needed me to finish, like making sure I was constantly clean for him, ready for his mouth, ready for his touch. But you could only shower so many times, and I was getting more and more bored by the minute.
Besides, you couldn’t just have sex twenty-four-seven, and he was gone all day, leaving me to lounge around the house. Yes, he let me roam now. Not that I could escape anywhere with the number of guards he had on his estate. I swear, I turned, and there was another man who I hadn’t seen yet. I thought my father was paranoid, but this man took the cake. I often wondered if it was like this before me or it was only like this now because I was held captive by him.
Though, was I?
I had food.
I had a pool.
Several places to walk.
TV.
I had freedom in his home, which only further confused my role in his life. How much more liberty would he allow?
I wasn’t used to being idle, and despite having free range of his entire property, including the rose garden outside, and the miles and miles of land that he owned, I was still unfulfilled. When I finally discovered the home gym, I nearly burst into tears only to have him punish me later and whisper in my ear, “Lose that ass, and I’m marking it.”
He’d pinched my skin so hard I was afraid it was going to bruise. After that, I did a lot of air squats and constantly walked around sore, almost like a reminder of his threat and my new promise.
Keep the ass.
There were cameras everywhere in his home, and it didn’t surprise me that he was watching my every move.
Would it always be like this, or would he eventually trust me? Did I trust myself? Did I want to leave?
No, I didn’t. And that was the hardest pill for me to swallow.
The sound of the door slamming shut had my heart racing as I made dinner in his elaborate kitchen. I’d never made him food before.
I wasn’t even sure I was allowed to.
But I was again so bored it was worth the punishment for whatever he thought was appropriate at my taking control and the lead.
Even after all those punishments, after all that pain, and trust me—he still invoked a lot of pain. There was always pleasure that followed. Naked, pounding into me, pulling my hair, and screaming my name like it was his religion.
Everything happened at night, and it was when he was truly mine. There was something about the darkness that permitted him to let his guard down with me. Not sure how much more capable he was at letting me in, but it didn’t stop my mind from hoping that I’d eventually own him entirely.
“What’s this?” Donovan pulled off his suit jacket and threw it over one of the barstools with his steely eyes focused in on the lasagna that I’d attempted to make for him. “Pet…” He frowned. “You have many jobs, but none of them include cooking.”
“Sorry, Master.” I gritted my teeth. “I just wanted to do something since I can only watch so much TV and shave the hair off my body…” I didn’t mean to add that little bit in at the end because he always wanted me bare, but really, how much could one person tolerate as far as boredom?
He froze, and then in a harsh whisper, “Are you saying you aren’t happy with your master, pet?”
“No!” I blurted. “That’s not it; I just…” I frowned again and gripped the countertop, embarrassed that my stupid lasagna looked so bad, and it would be a point of contention. I couldn’t do anything and was only using his body while he used mine.
I wanted more.
But I was terrified of speaking it out loud, and maybe I was sick in the head, but the idea of leaving him, of leaving this, had me panicking all over again like I was trapped back in that room by myself instead of next to him, in his arms.
Donovan pulled out a chair, the sound nearly deafening as he dragged it across the kitchen floor. He crossed his arms and stared.
“Do I not fulfill all your needs?”
“You do, Master. You do,” I lied.
His lips curled into an amused smile. “You need to work on that, your ability to make me believe things…” He sighed. “Open a bottle of wine, two glasses, and let’s discuss…”
I froze and then did exactly that, grabbing the first bottle of red from the cellar I could find along with two glasses.
When both were poured, I stood next to him, unsure of what to do. Was I allowed to sit? In a chair? His lap? The floor?
Most of the time, he fed me from his hands.
“Sit,” he demanded.
Still, I paused, my hands twisting in front of me as they clung to each other, afraid I would reach for him by accident, afraid I’d never let go.
And that was the issue.
I wanted him.
I never wanted to let go.
But he was the same person as before.
Unable to realize that some of the things we wanted the most, we could never have, even if they were right in front of us, begging to be seen.
Slowly, he pulled out a chair.
I sat and waited, head bowed.
“Look at me,” he commanded in a hollow voice that had me wondering what the hell we’d gone through these last few weeks that he could address me with such limited emotion when I was ready to be facedown in front of him, bowing to a king I never knew I would have to serve, but enjoying the servitude because it was him.
Donovan.
His dark eyes were trained on me for a few short seconds before he leaned back and crossed his arms. “You cooked.”
“Yes.”
“For me?”
“For us,” I said before thinking. Wincing, I waited for the pain for the deserved punishment.
Instead, he stilled and then reached for my chin, tilting it toward him with his finger. “Us?”
I gulped, willing the tears to stay in. “I just thought…” I tried again. “I’m bored and figured I could help with…”
“You thought,” he repeated slowly. “What? That I would magically fall in love with you the minute, you cooked me pasta?”
“No.” I wanted to scream. “No, that’s not what I—”