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I note how tired he looks as I take my seat. He doesn’t lift his eyes from his phone as I pick up the glass of juice and take a sip. We eat in silence, avoiding one another, the atmosphere tense. After eating, I cradle my warm tea in my palms, wondering if he remembered my sweet tooth as I take a tentative sip.
One and a half sugars exactly.
“Do the clothes fit?” My eyes meet his. He’s been watching me, though his expression is unreadable. Not particularly kind, but something...
“They do.”
He diverts his gaze back to his phone, continuing whatever he’s doing on there. My insides deflate as I replay last night’s kiss. You wouldn’t think anything happened between us at all. He’s back to being cold. An enigma. How I’m meant to feel right now sitting across from someone I so badly want, I don’t know, but it’s not great. And now I can’t help envisioning him knocking back the stool and closing the gap between us. Claiming my mouth like I belong to him. Ripping my clothes off—
“What is it?” My tea almost sloshes over me when I jump from his voice, but he’s speaking to someone on the phone, not me. “I see…” A spark of agitation crosses over his eyes. “No. Just observe and keep me informed. Don’t call unless it’s urgent.”
Hanging up, he tosses his phone onto the counter. Running a hand through his hair, stress creases his brows. I don’t ask. He won’t tell me even if I did. Though, it’s fascinating to see him like this when he’s never allowed it before. The dam has burst, and it’s all gushing out now.
At that moment, the electricity goes out, and the kitchen darkens. Goosebumps dot my skin as the wind howls and rain taps against the roof like little stones. After a few seconds of silence, Milton curses beneath his breath. “Stay here. I have to check the generator.”
As he walks out, his phone vibrates on the counter. It does it again. And again. My eyes land on the screen. He’s been sent multiple messages. Chewing my bottom lip, I lean forward and turn the phone to face me, wincing as I bite down too hard and draw blood.
Someone named Rika wants to know where he is. Why he hasn’t messaged her, and she looks forward to seeing him again at the club on Saturday. My insides twist and turn, and I might throw up breakfast. I’ve heard that name before, haven’t I?
Shoving back the stool, I edge away from the glimpse of Milton’s world. I’ve been too busy taking trips down memory lane and hadn’t thought about his present situation and who else might be in it.
Going against him telling me to stay, I flee back upstairs to my room. Throwing myself onto the bed, I squeeze my hair at the roots, not knowing what to think. Has she been there all along? Is she his next woman lined up?
Flashbacks of the little Italian restaurant we visited when I was in Stonehill come to taunt me. The night Milton stabbed a man who tried to buy me under Bella’s instruction. She’d mentioned her daughter—Rika. She even offered her to him. It sure seems like he took her up on that offer.
Slamming my fist into the comforter, I need these thoughts to fuck off. Now. I’m here, I’m staying, and he’s leaving me…
…to show Rika a good time.
Ignoring my heart thumping with emotions I shouldn’t be feeling, I get off my bed and whip open the door again, needing a distraction. Something that reading books won’t cut because I’m not that girl anymore.
The house is a maze of corridors and rooms. Most of them are empty. Others are locked. I find myself facing two double black doors down the far end of the house. It’s dark as I enter. A scent of cologne and musk hangs in the air of what appears to be the main bedroom. It must be Milton’s, and I know I should leave, but curiosity pushes me further inside.
The black sheets on his large bed are messy, like he spent the night tossing and turning. The curtains are drawn, but a tiny speckle of light filters through a gap. Enough for me to see the strange iron hoops bolted to the wall next to the headboard. Something you’d see in an old dungeon, which is odd. Or is it? This is Milton, after all.
Passing the bed and going through another door, shivers wrack my spine by what’s in here. It should be an ordinary closet filled with expensive clothes, shoes, and anything else the respectful, well-groomed man could ever need. Though, what I’m seeing is far from what I expected. And now I’mreallytrespassing somewhere I shouldn’t be.
The closet is dark—black wood and plush carpet. On display on the shelves are things that make apprehension nestle in the pit of my stomach. At first, I’m not surewhatI’m looking at as I move closer to get a better look. Despite all the depraved sexual encounters I’ve endured in my past, I suddenly feel incredibly…inexperiencedwith what I’m seeing.
Sat against navy satin, displayed on stands, are objects of the sexual sort—that much I can tell. Sex toys, but nothing I’ve ever seen at Blake’s club. In fact, these don’t look like they’re for women at all and certainly not for pleasure. Confusion washes over me for even thinking of describing the contraption I’m most intrigued byas male underwear made of thick leather and chains. The part where the penis is supposed to go is like a cuff and has a lock.
I can hardly swallow. Someonewearsthis?
Understanding floods me. That a man would wear this to lock away his penis. Some sort of abstinence? Sexual torture?
“Control,” Milton’s voice penetrates my thoughts. Is this how he controls himself? Why would he want to?
Next to it are different types. Some are designed to only cover the penis. Cock-shaped cages with locks. The scariest one by far is a thick black cage with spikes. For what purpose, I’m not sure, but I imagine it to be incredibly unpleasant. And painful.
Reaching out, I don’t know what possesses me to run the tips of my fingers against it. Like everything about this man, I’m curious. Achingly intrigued. It’s hard and soft—something I don’t expect.
Dropping my hand, I need to leave but can’t back away. It’s a sexual horror show that I should look away from but can’t. Pulling open a small drawer beneath the stand, my head tilts sideways by the items neatly placed in here. They remind me of large nails, though I doubt they’re used to hammer into a wall. Made from surgical steel, they range in different thicknesses and lengths. One end is sharp, the other blunted with an X inscription.
Pulling open a more extended drawer beneath that one, my mouth goes dry by what’s in here. Leather crops, floggers, and metal ball gags. Rope of various thicknesses, metal cuffs, and anal plugs of every shape and size. Surgical knives are laid out in the last drawer, with tiny necklace vials in another section. Only a few filled with a deep red substance—
My eyes widen.
Letting the drawer roll shut, I back away with my chest heaving. But just as I go to turn around, I collide with something solid, and air empties from my lungs.
