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He's chuckling as he stands and lazily drags the back of his hand across his mouth.

“That's right,” he says. “Good girl.”

I am spent, covered in my own fluids and his, every muscle in my body trembling and wrung out. I feel him unfasten my ankles. My wrists are next.

I immediately draw my legs to my chest, fucking blissed out.

I am already half asleep when he comes back to me. I feel the warmth of something wet and soft against my skin. He cleans me. He wipes my face and the drying mess from my thighs, and then I hear the wet cloth hit the bathroom tile.

Something vibrates in the distance, but I don’t care. The hounds of hell could be snarling at the door, and I wouldn’t care.

“Sleep, Valentina,” he whispers close to my ear, his voice almost gentle. “Tomorrow we'll talk.”

I’m already gone before he finishes speaking.

Chapter Eleven

TORIN

I don't sleep.

Alright, that’s not entirely true. I take the couch for two hours, maybe three, because I know what I am when I’m running on nothing, and I know what I’m capable of.

I woke with my hands around her throat once, and I won’t let that happen again. I doze with the taste of her still on my lips.

But I sleep lightly and make sure I’m up before she stirs. I’m showered and dressed, the food ordered and laid out on the table by the window, before the lass has moved so much as an inch. I pull the chair to the side of the bed and watch her breathe.

She’s smaller than she looked at the auction. Now she’s curled in the center of the bed, the sheet twisted around her small frame.

She’s mine.

I tried denying that it mattered, that I care, but I can’t stop thinking—I bought her, so she’s mine.

I haven’t told her why, and I’m going to have to do something about that.

Eventually.

I tell myself it’s better that she doesn’t know the truth.

She wakes up the way I suspected she would. No slow surfacing, no confusion. Her eyes open, and she’s already reading the room before she’s fully arrived in it. She notes me in the chair. She sees the food. She sits up, pulls the sheet up, and says, “Hi.”

“Morning.”

She’s so close, I can see how the sheet moves ever so slightly with every breath she takes. I controlled that breathing last night. I’ll fucking do it again.

And just like that, I’m hard.

I stand, scoop her up in the sheet, carry her to the table, and set her in a chair. I lift the cover off the first plate. Eggs, bread, and fruit. French toast, hash browns and toast, oatmeal and grits, muffins, and a bagel with cream cheese. I didn’t know what she ate, so I ordered more than enough of everything.

“Eat.” I hold her gaze, watching her cheeks color and her throat work when she swallows. “You definitely worked up an appetite.”

Some calculation happens behind her eyes that I’m not privy to. She picks up a fork. I consider that a win.

My phone goes off. I got a text from Seamus last night telling me to stand by, and I've been waiting on the follow-up for the better part of an hour. I hold up a finger at her, which she ignores, already focused on the plate in front of her like I'm not even in the room.

Good. Eat up.

I step toward the large window that overlooks the Boston waterfront and answer. “Talk.”