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When I return to the bedroom, Vivi is still sitting on the edge of the bed, not looking at me. I approach her again, my hands clean, and reach out, teasing her skin. My fingers trace along her neck, and I lean in to kiss her there, feeling her shiver under my touch, before straightening up. I hold my hands out for her to see.
“Clean, see?” I murmur, my voice rough.
Her eyes flicker to my hand, and she nods. I begin stripping with deliberate, measured movements, watching tiny microexpressions come and go upon her features. Her cheeks flame when I lower my pants, revealing my eager cock to her gaze. She swallows, but doesn’t say anything.
When I’m naked, I step close and ease her skirt up, slipping my hand between her legs, where her core burns hot. Her breath hitches, and I relish the sound. I want to make her come, to prove that she can’t resist me, that her body will betray her mind.
I don’t break eye contact with her, and surprisingly enough, she holds mine, too. Her gaze wavers with unshed tears, but behind the glistening liquid, I see her want as I push her panties aside and slip two fingers into her pussy.
She’s so fucking tight. My fingers are skilled, and it doesn’t take long until her eyes fall closed and her hips move in an awkward rhythm, her resistance faltering. I tease her, my fingers skilled and patient. I feel her body responding against her will. Her pussy clenches around my two fingers, and I know she is close, so I use my thumb to circle her clit.
Finally, she gasps, her body trembling as she comes on my hand. I smirk, confirming the truth with my finger: she is still a virgin. I’m the first man to bring her to this point, the first to make her feel this way.
"Good girl," I murmur, my voice laced with satisfaction.
I grip her dress and drag it up. There is a moment of pure confusion and panic that takes over Vivi’s features, but as I move to position myself, my throbbing cock ready to penetrate her, she relaxes deliberately. She stares up at me, and we are suspended for a moment, both of us aware that this will change everything.
I’m ready for a change.
I penetrate her, surprised to feel her body arching against mine instead of fighting the invasion. It’s not virginal behavior, but I don’t care. I relish it, savoring the sensation of her surrender, partially withdraw, and thrust again. Vivi gasps, pink lips fallingopen on an “ohhh” of sound, and suddenly I want to elicit that sound again. I want to give her pleasure, make her shake with it—
But that will never do. Vivi is my wife, not my lover. My possession. Seized by the sudden desire to conquer, to own, todefile…I grip her hips and plow hard and fast. She’s a good piece that I shall enjoy devouring.
Vivi gasps again, but this time in discomfort. Her fingers ball into fists and clutch the blanket on either side of her. Her cheeks are flushed, and when she turns her head to the side, I reach forward and grip her throat, forcing her to watch me. She will never forget who took her body, mind, and soul.
I slam into her, driving home my need to own her completely, and when I finally come and a tear trickles from the corner of her eye, I’m satisfied.
Afterward, I lie next to her, my mind already shifting back to business as she curls up on her side, trying to make herself appear small.
My phone buzzes, and I glance at the message. My men need me. I don’t bother kissing her as I get up, dressing quickly. I leave the room without a word, locking the door behind me.
She’s learning. And so am I.
Chapter 3
Vivi
Sunlight warms my face,waking me from a dreamless sleep. At least, I don’t think I dreamed. I don’t remember any dreams, but then…I never do.
I blink a few times, staring up at the ceiling above me. There’s nothing special about it. No plaster design or blue or green underlay. Just plain white. The type of ceiling one would expect to find in a lawyer or doctor’s office.
And yet, I am fairly certain I could recognize that ceiling if I had to pick it from a thousand such ceilings.
I’ve spent countless hours staring at everything in this room from my place in the cage. I can identify anything in this room—any tiny, mundane detail, from the tasseled tie backs on the drapes to the way the glass ripples slightly in the lower left window pane—because my eyes have cataloged those details as they followed Ivan during his morning routines, his nightlyroutines, and every routine he has developed in order to deal with the life he leads.
Today, though, for the first time, I’m seeing these details from a different vantage point.
I’m seeing them from Ivan‘s bed.
My hand runs down my body, tracing the curve of my breasts and the flatness of my stomach.
I had touched myself before last night. Experimented with giving myself pleasure. My fingers had somewhat clumsily caressed the tips of my nipples and explored that intimate place between my legs that I figured only a lover’s hands would ever touch.
And then there was Ivan.
I remember the first time I saw him at my family’s estate in Long Island. I’d been outside, reading a book I’d snuck into the party, and I’d felt his gaze on me like a physical weight. Looking up, I saw him across the terrace, standing with my father. His stare pinned me in place, rendered me naked, helpless, and…powerful for the first time in my eighteen years. Desire and terror hummed through me in equal measure, and I wanted to run.
Toward him or away from him, I wasn’t certain, yet.
