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She hasn’t cut herself; I check every night and reward her by making her come several times. I fuck her brains out, leaving her screaming and moaning beneath me.

We fuck during the day—my favourite part of the day— when she stops me from working by walking in naked.

A small cloth in her hand as she wipes my table clean, her arse in my face, and fuck does it drive me crazy.

Thank fuck, she was wearing clothes when she left the room a few minutes ago. You never know with her. I’d have to rid Roman and Alec of the burden that sight is by scooping their eyeballs out.

The first time when she entered the study in all her naked glory, I only raised a brow at her.

She spoke. “Is it just me or do you also see dust here?” Her quizzical expression robbing me of my calm composure.

“Just you, malyshka.” I replied in the thick accented voice that usually drives her mental. “But let me give you a reason to clean it.”

And then I ate her pussy like a man starved in broad daylight, sucking the juices straight from her core as I made her come so hard, she rocked and shuddered for minutes.

Then I spread her wide on the table, her head hanging from the edge upside down as I made her choke on my cock all the while playing with her nipples and sensitive clit, flicking the pads of my finger over it every now then.

Sliding my cock out of her mouth I came all over the desk and asked her to lick it clean.

Like the good girl she is, with zero hesitation, swiped my cum off the table with her tongue all the while holding eye contact and fucking moaned when she swallowed.

I’ve created a monster.

I’ve fucked her in my class, in the library, in the parking lot and she took all of me with a beatific smile on her face and lust in her gaze, ravenous for another fix while riding me.

Every time my eyes lands on her, the need to have my dick in her hot, welcoming cunt makes me delirious.

And she’s just as voracious, her hands trailing down my back or landing on my thighs are usually the tell-tale signs that she wants me to fuck her senseless.

She’s gotten way too comfortable hanging around those two little shitgoblins—Roman and Alec. Calls Roman a menace every time he tries to get under my skin by throwing around “dollface” like he has every right to do that.

That usually ends up with me smacking some sense back into him.

It makes Elara laugh, and I live for that sound.

She never made friends, kept herself locked away in a world of her own, hidden from anything that could touch her. And now, watching her smile like that?

So easily, so freely—around me, around my people—it does something to me.

I’m grateful that Roman doesn’t go on his murderous streak whenever he’s around Elara. I know he’s having a hard time spending time with a woman—hell, I’m the one who asked him to do it.

Elara needs the company. Especially when she’s spent so long shutting herself off from forming a connection, but he doesn’t slip.

Elara is oblivious to his freaky nature, doesn’t see the violence simmering under his skin, the way he has to hold himself back.

Roman’s hate for women is not just groomed misogyny but it is a deeply rooted trauma that he doesn’t acknowledge. Yet, I’m glad that he’s trying.

And while I wouldn’t want my woman to be around any man, Roman is someone I trust and know for a fact, down to bone-deep certainty, that he’ll slit his own wrist before hurting Elara.

Elara isn’t as guarded around Alec and Roman anymore. Their presence doesn’t send her spiralling like it used to, doesn’t shove her into that frantic, breathless panic.

Even the accidental brush of their hands doesn’t unravel her the way it once did, her panic attacks have eased, little by little.

She still avoids touching anyone but me.

And fuck, my heart melts. It turns into a puddle; I burn with the intensity that keeps her warm.

I realised, she never hated her body, it was the shame over what she’d done and couldn’t bear for me to see.