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“You did seem to have fun with Angelo. Stand up.” Victor gestures with his hand, like I’m a dog.
“No.” I’m not in the mood to play nice, not with Victor. If he wants me to stand up, he can damn well make me, like the brute he pretends not to be. But beneath that veneer, he’s just as bad as the others.
Maybe even worse.
I brace myself, expecting him to grab me or kick me, but Victor just keeps staring. Until finally he shrugs and says, “Very well.”
He turns back toward the door, and I’m confronted with the fact that I’ll be alone again, stuck in this fucking room with nothing but a dirty mattress and the blank walls.
“Fine,” I say with more authority than I feel. I stand up, and it takes all I have not to instantly cover my breasts and my shaved cunt. I don’t want him to see all of me, even though it wouldn’t be the first time, but I’m not going to keep cowering either. “I’m standing. What do you want now?”
Victor faces me again, but there’s still no hint of what he’s thinking. I don’t even want his approval, but I remember the way Saint praised me, and how Angelo kissed me so sweetly. I wonder what Victor would do if he was pleased with me.
He points to the floor in front of him. “Come here.”
I want to see a crack in that flawless marble statue of a man, to get him to treat me like the other two do. It’s in my best interest—something I have to remind myself even as waves of revulsion wash over me once more at the memory of our last visit. I slowly walk toward him, standing just in front of him with my head held high.
For a few seconds he stares, and even though I know he’s doing it to unnerve me, I can’t stop the tension from building. Victor slowly reaches out to touch my chin and turns my head to the side. I’m confused about what he’s doing until he pushes down on one of the marks Angelo left behind.
Victor proceeds to touch every hickey Angelo left behind, not saying a single word while he’s doing it. My fists clench when his hands reach the marks on my breasts. The cold, clinical way he’s touching me is so different from Angelo, yet the dread in my stomach is met with an equally insistent throb of arousal.
I’m just glad Angelo hadn’t gone any lower, because the idea of Victor’s hand following that path puts me even more on edge, even as it threatens to make my body respond even more. How is he even doing this to me? It makes no sense that he could evoke similar reactions as the other two did. There’s no way I like this clinical detachment, especially not enough for it to send waves of arousal through me.
“Are you done?” I finally ask.
“Angelo did a decent job,” Victor says, “But he wasn’t very thorough. Spread your legs a bit.”
I gape at him for a moment. “Why?”
“Because I told you to. But if you’d rather not…” Victor lets go of me entirely and takes a step in the direction of the door.
He’s bluffing. He has to be bluffing. He wants to freak me out, wants me to beg him to stay. I’m not going to beg, but it doesn’t mean I won’t give in just a little. I spread my legs, only slightly, but I say nothing. I just watch him, waiting to see what he wants to do to me.
I hate how relieved I am when he steps back toward me. I don’t want him to touch me at all, but somehow it’s better than being alone after all.
Victor puts his hand on the inside of my thigh, and without any warning, he pinches me, hard.
I yelp, jerking back. “What did you do that for?” I demand. Is he jealous that Angelo left his mark on me? Does he want to leave his marks on me, too? Will Saint be the same way? Am I going to be a mess of mottled bruises from being bitten and pinched just so they can feel like they own me?
“Stay still,” Victor commands. “This is the last warning. If you disobey or resist again, I’m leaving, and who knows when anybody will visit you again?”
It’s a low blow, and he knows it. But it’s an effective one, too. I go still, watching him, waiting for another pinch.
The next pinch lasts long enough that I whimper in pain, no matter how much I try to hide my reactions. When he finally releases my skin, it’s a relief. It doesn’t last long though, because he pinches the other thigh too. This one he doesn’t hold as long, but he immediately goes for the skin even higher up. He starts alternating my thighs, pinching and rubbing the skin in turn. His knuckles brush up against my folds, and I can feel them smear fluid on my bare skin.
“You can brace yourself on me if you need to,” Victor says quietly. I blink, surprised to find my eyes tearing, and look at him. There’s sweat on his brow, and his pupils are dilated.
Oh. He isn’t unaffected by this, whatever the hellthisis.
His words feel more like an invitation, an order even, than a casual offer. The fact that I fully have his attention, that he’s showing any sort of reaction, makes me want to do just that—just to do a little bit more, to see what else I can get him to do. To see if I can find that tiny little crack in his veneer to exploit.
I grab hold of him, bracing myself against him. I don’t need to—or so I tell myself—but I’m doing this to manipulate him.
I’m glad I did though. The next thing Victor does is run his fingers between my folds, a strangely gentle gesture, right before he pinches the skin. It’s such a sudden, intense pain that I scream and stumble forward. If I hadn’t been holding onto him, I’d have fallen. He’d planned this, just like he planned everything, and I’d fallen right into his trap. Damn it.
“Good,” Victor says. His mouth is right next to my ear, and I can feel his breath against me. My entire body heats up, and my face must be beet red. I’m glad he can’t see it right now.
I shudder, swallowing a plea to not pinch me again. I don’t think I can change his mind if he wants to keep going, so there’s no point in making myself look pathetic by trying.
