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I don’t understand what he means because when he pinches my clit, I see stars. But instead of continuing his assault, he withdraws his fingers and lets me go. I droop forward with a winded yelp, not understanding what just happened.
“No…please.” I was almost there.
My heart is thrashing wildly, and my breaths are jerky as I gasp for air. But I turn over my shoulder to see a nonchalant Saint place the fingers that were just inside me into his mouth. He suckles them, his gaze never leaving mine. I instantly flush the brightest crimson.
His eyes flicker briefly when he licks his fingers clean. It appears he’s just tasted the most delicious dessert. But his delight soon turns when he removes his fingers. “So this is your punishment,” he concludes while I blink.
I suddenly feel like nothing but a whore. I cover my breasts, tears stinging my eyes. “You as-asshole,” I stutter, my high soon fading.
The happy endorphins soon turn to nothing but shame.
“Yes,” he affirms with a stiff nod. “I am.” His words are contradictory to what I see, but I shove that aside.
A tear scores my cheek, but I let it fall as it’s my scarlet letter, my mark that shows the world what an idiot I am. I allowed him to defile me, but worse still, I liked it—I wanted it. I wanted to come, and once again, Saint demonstrated that I don’t do anything unless he allows it.
I feel cheap as if I’ve just sold a small piece of my soul.
Turning back around, I lower my chin, permitting the tears to fall freely. I am nearly naked, my body flushed from Saint’s touch, but he’s denied me any pleasure as yet another lesson—Saint is my master, and I am his slave. And no matter how smart I think I am, he’s always ten steps ahead.
He leaves me alone, arms shielding my nakedness as I sob helpless tears. My body doesn’t know what to do as I want to come. And I want to cry.
I crawl over to the mattress, curling into the fetal position as the heat simmers. What I just did crashes into me, and the ring on my finger weighs heavy like a manacle around my heart. I just cheated on my husband…and I did so without a second thought.
Saint humiliated me, which is what this little exercise was all about. Yet I know he doesn’t remain unaffected…I saw the proof, the monster bulge in the front of his pants. But that doesn’t matter. I need to stop seeing him as my savior because he’s not.
I am merely a means to an end—he told me so himself. There is no happily ever after for me. And after what I just did…I don’t deserve one. Clutching the cross around my neck, I remember Saint’s words.
“I think He might make an exception for you.”
But he’s wrong. There aren’t enough Hail Marys to save my soul.
She has every right to hate me. I hate me. But touching her that way…I am in way over my head.
Day 9
HIS SMELL.
His touch.
His entire being.
It still lingers in the air. On my body. Which is why I’m huddled in the tiny shower, scrubbing my skin raw. I want to eliminate every trace of him from me, and although the water can wash away his physical touch, nothing can eradicate the damage done to my soul.
I haven’t slept a wink as I’m too afraid of dreaming. I lie on the filthy mattress, numb to everything. Kazimir brought down some things, including my change of clothes and some toiletries. Even though my back was turned, I could feel him eyeball me, as his lust has turned to hatred. If I make it off this boat alive, it’ll be a miracle. But once I arrive in Russia, I have a feeling I’ll have wished he killed me.
Saint hasn’t been down here, which is a blessing, as I can’t look at him without memories of what I did crashing into me. I don’t understand why my body responded the way it did. I can deny it all I want, but his actions aroused me. When he plunged his fingers into my body, I wanted nothing more than to come and come by his hand.
Screaming, the water mutes my pain as I slam my fist against the wall, sobbing. I have never felt more helpless than I do right now. There is no getting off this boat. Saint has ensured that. So all I can do is wait until we reach our final destination.
Switching off the water, I dry myself and slip into a blue summer dress. I have about five days’ worth of clean clothes. I wonder if that means I’ll be in Russia before then. My stomach growls, reminding me of other pressing matters—I need to eat.
Kazimir also brought down some food. Most of it is non-perishable, seeing as we don’t have a fridge. Hunting through the boxes, I decide on having some canned fruit as it’s the only thing I can stomach. I don’t want to go outside, but staying down here is beginning to give me cabin fever. So I suck it up and open the door.
The sun is bright and warm, and my skin instantly basks in the rays, desperate to thaw the chill from my bones. That feeling soon submerges, however, when I see Saint. He’s sitting on the edge of the boat, writing in what looks to be a leather-bound journal. I arch a brow as I’ve never seen him writing in a journal.
He senses my arrival and slowly lifts his chin.
He isn’t wearing his ski mask as it seems futile now. The sunshine just seems to highlight his good looks. Last night, it appears, the darkness revealed a sliver of what he’s packing because the daylight exposes just how handsome he truly is. I suddenly hate the daytime and wish I was once again shrouded by darkness.
