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He’s not smiling anymore, and his eyes take on a distant look. He blinks, shakes his head, then they focus on me again, intense and dark. His gaze then follows his hand as he slides it down over my belly, down to the hair between my thighs.
I squeeze my legs together.
“Damian?”
I watch his Adam’s apple bob when he swallows.
My gaze mirrors his, down between my legs. To watch his big, scarred hand on me. This, whatever is happening here, whatever this is, it’s erotic. Sexual. But it’s not just that. I know it, as strange as it is. It’s not as simple as that.
It would be easier if it were.
“Damian?” Does he hear how my voice quakes?
He shifts his hand to his own chest, and I watch him smear blood from the scratch onto his fingers. I watch as he smears those fingers over my sex, and I don’t miss the erection pressing against his wet jeans before he meets my eyes again.
“You’re mine,” he says like it’s the first time he’s truly understanding it. Like he wants to be sure I hear him. Wants to be sure I understand it.
For a long moment, we remain like that, my heart thudding against my chest. Is his beating as fast?
It feels like an eternity later when he draws his hand away, releases my wrists, and stands.
I sit up a little, closing the towel around me as I watch him walk to the door.
He stops. Turns. I’m not sure what just happened between us.
“Tonight, you’ll go to bed hungry. Less of a punishment than you deserve.”
I swallow.
“I’ll be back for you tomorrow night. Eight o’clock. If you’re not ready, you won’t eat tomorrow either. Do you understand?” His voice is tight.
There’s a darkness inside Damian. I just had a glimpse of it and it should repel me.
“Do you understand, Cristina?”
I nod. Yes, I understand.
This man is not playing games. This isn’t a game at all.
He nods too just before he walks out the door and locks me in.11DamianI turn the key in the lock. It sounds final and heavy, but it won’t keep the monster out when it wants in.
When I want in.
I walk away from her room, even my shoes soaked, down the narrow, dimly lit corridor and to my own room to change my clothes before going downstairs.
I’m not sure what the fuck I’m feeling or thinking. Why I asked her that particular question. Don’t I know the answer? I won’t ever stop dreaming it.
She is mine. Yes. But what happened in there, it’s not what I intended. I meant to punish her. To be indifferent when I did.
But I wasn’t. I wanted her.
I didn’t expect to want her. Not like this. As a means to an end, yes. The sacrifice. I didn’t expect this.
The scratches on my chest burn, but that’s good. They’ll serve as a reminder tonight. Make me feel oddly closer to her.
That’s the first time I’ve ever mentioned my dreams. And I need to be careful. I need to remember who she is and, more importantly, what she is to me. What she has to be to me.
I pull on a dark wool sweater, a pair of jeans, and change into different shoes. I walk into the bathroom to brush my hair. Before I do, though, I bring my hand to my nose, and I smell the faint scent of her.
Fuck.
It’s like scenting blood, injured prey to a starved beast.
And that’s exactly what she is. My prey.
That is all she is.
I wonder if my father will be present enough to see past this mask of arrogance tonight. I wonder if he’ll know how she has impacted me in the short time I’ve had her.
He too is a predator. Even now. Even given his deteriorated state. Will he smell my blood?
I school my features and watch my reflection. I turn on the water to wash my hands but turn it off again before I do. I want her smell on me.
Before I walk out into the hallway, I listen at the door that connects my room to hers. Silence. I imagine her inside curled up on the bed trying to make sense of what just happened.
I head out of my room and through the corridor to the stairs to where I can already hear Bennie’s voice as he tells one of his jokes.
This is good. This will get me out of my head.
Because when I’m around Cristina, I’m not in control. And it’s not rage or hate I feel. Those would be acceptable. Expected.
Bennie gets to the punch line. They’re bad, the jokes, but I love the fact that he tells them. That he brings laughter into this house.
It was worth what I had to do to get him here. I wonder if Michela agrees since she’d say it’s she who paid. It cost me too, though. Cost me a piece of my humanity, and there wasn’t much left of that to begin with.
