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I’m a temptress.
A whore of the worst kind.
My father and uncle used to be good men. God-fearing men. But ever since I began blossoming into a woman, they’ve turned into sinners being tempted by me. Their own flesh and blood.
Their family.
Soon, so soon that it scares me, I’ll be unable to fend them off. Control over their hungered lust will shatter, and it’ll be all my fault.
When they’ve come into my room at night, their bodies ready to do as they must to find relief, I’ve felt sick. Dirty and disgusting, and sometimes, I wished I were dead.
I didn’t lie to Seery when I said I wanted to see what autonomy over my body was like. I did. But mostly, I think, deep down, somewhere in the darkest depths of my soul, that I did want to die. For so long, I’ve felt like I exist in a world where I don’t belong. Live a life where I can’t contribute to my own reality.
I want to be free. To learn to live.To love.
Levan, Valerian, and Zakar offer me a life I never dreamed of having, and if I’m reading them correctly, they want it as the four of us. A ménage à quatre relationship. I’ve heard of them before. They aren’t uncommon in Poti because the number of men outweighs the number of women. They haven’t outright made the request, but they treat me as if we’re one unit. Especially when Levan spanked me last night.
I can feel my face heating for another reason now. I never imagined enjoying something like that, never dreamed I would enjoy some form of sexual punishment from a man. But I loved it. I craved it again.
Slowly removing my clothes, I avoid the mirror because I don’t know if I can look at myself and not break down. The bruises and scars are prominent against my pale skin, and the fact that the men haven’t questioned where, how, and why I’ve got them speaks volumes. They already know, or at the very least, they suspect what’s happened to me.
They don’t know the worst of it, though. They can’t.
Nobody knows.
Except for Father Marcum, and he has to take my secrets to the grave with him.
* * *
Valerian
Watching Levan pace back and forth across the hardwood floors of the boutique is the only thing stopping me from doing the exact same thing. His agitation calms me as we wait for Abilene to finally come out of hiding. Gladys suggesting we let the woman dress alone was a mistake. We shouldn’t have let her out of our sight.
What if she leaves?
What if someone takes her?
What if Gladys convinces her to run from us?
“If you two don’t calm the fuck down, Abi will come out of there and think you’re pissed at her. Now, that might send her straight into my arms, which I won’t complain about, or it might send her running out that fucking door.” Zakar’s voice remains even-keel as he points out our moods while staring every bit as intensely as we feel at the curtain she’s behind.
“Fuck.” Levan stops in the middle of the waiting room. “Did you book the limo, Val?”
Leaning back in the chair I’m sitting in, I reply, “Yes. The jewelry will be at the house tomorrow morning, too.”
He nods. “Good.” His head bobs again.
“Will the decorator be at the house by the time we get back, as well?” Zak asks this time, and for once, I see his nerves getting to him.
We shouldn’t be so damn unsure about Abilene when she’s out of our presence. The problem is, we didn’t get time to speak with her this morning. Tell her what we want from her and our expectations of the relationship. There’s far too much about our roles in her life left up in the air.
While we’d never trap her in the house if she genuinely wanted to leave, letting her go wouldn’t be easy either. We know she’s meant to be our woman. Our wife. The mother of our children. It’s been quite evident for months.
But Abilene has no idea about any of it.
She’s so innocent in this world. Taken advantage of by the men who should have loved her but naïve in the way of a relationship between consenting adults. Last night was only a taste of what we long to give her. A taste of what she could enjoy.
The curtain finally gets pulled back, and Zak and I practically jump to our feet, expecting to see Abilene come out in the dress she’s chosen. Instead, Gladys walks through with a wrapped box in her hands, Abi following along behind her. Head down, shoulders slumped, she’s not nearly as energetic as she was going in. And when I go to question Gladys—trusted friend, and woman or not if she has done something to hurt our precious girl’s feelings, I’ll hang her from the rafters of the church Levan is so fond of—Zak stops me with a hand on the arm.
