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Crawling up my body, he smashes our mouths together to mute my scream. I can taste myself on his lips, which just heightens my orgasm. His kisses destroy me, and I grow lax, my body trembling with the aftermath. My heart pounds fiercely, and I can’t wipe the smile from my cheeks.
We lie entangled, both our guards lowered as we rest nose to nose. We don’t have to say a single word because our lust-ridden gasps are all the speech we need. However, when a soft knock sounds on the door, my ecstasy shatters, reminding me this is all Saint and I will have—stolen moments in time.
“Willow, please come back to your room. Alek will be looking for you.” It’s Sara.
Saint brushes the hair from my cheeks, nothing but regret pooling in his eyes. But we both know she’s right. “You look beautiful. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.”
And just like that, I fall even harder.
Once I’ve said a sorrowful goodbye, I creep back to my room, ensuring to stay hidden in the shadows because just like Saint—I now belong in the darkness.
She is safe…for now as Alek is blinded by her perfection. But aren’t we all?
Day 47
“HARDER!”
I’m coated in perspiration, and my muscles ache, especially my wounded shoulder, but I embrace the burn because each bead of sweat takes me one step closer to regaining my life. Or, at least, a small sliver.
Saint stands before me shirtless, his ripped body shimmering under the bright lights, but I don’t allow the sight to distract me because we’re here for a reason. He’s teaching me how to fight.
So far, I’ve ended up on my ass more times than I care to admit, but I don’t see that as a failure. It spurs me on to get back up and try harder because each punch and kick on the focus pads and boxing bag has me feeling stronger.
“You’re not even trying!” Saint mocks loudly to be heard over the pop music blaring through the speakers. He waves the focus pads at me while I gnash my teeth together, attempting to prove him wrong.
But he is fast on his feet, and it’s easy to see why he’s good at being a…hitman. It’s still hard for me to stomach that fact, but I have come to accept it because that’s who he’s become to survive. Just as I have become Alek’s perfect submissive.
I have behaved as expected, and because of this, Alek has loosened up a bit, allowing Saint to train me. Saint invented the genius ploy that for me to stay in shape, I was to undergo brutal physical training. He called it bootcamp. He said it was an American thing.
Alek didn’t question it because I did what I was told. He thought the physical exercise was a part of my coaching for Saint to mold me into the perfect docile little lamb. And besides, there were cameras in every corner of the room, so it’s not like we could plot his death.
Saint was right. My virginity seems to be far more important to Alek than a quick roll in the hay. He has respected my wish to have my own bedroom, which has surprised me. I wouldn’t think a man like him would behave remotely like a gentleman.
But that’s exactly what he’s been.
I’m not fooled, though, as I know he’s just looking after his “investment.” That’s all I am to him. Come the night of the masquerade ball, which the date is yet to be announced, it’ll be a completely different story as he will have no qualms taking my virginity in front of a room full of perverted strangers. And I’m sure once I’m no longer a virgin, his chivalry will be long forgotten.
But that won’t happen. I’d rather die than allow myself to be used that way ever again.
“Oh, I’m sorry.” Saint’s sarcasm whips me into the now. “If you’ve got someplace better to be, like kneeling at Alek’s feet, then don’t let me stop you.”
Everything fades into the background as I narrow my eyes, intent on knocking that smug grin off his handsome face. “Fuck you.”
With a rumble, I charge forward, punching the focus pads he holds with all my might. He’s taught me a few boxing combinations, so when he attempts to knock me on my ass, I duck and deliver an uppercut. He staggers back, smirking.
“Again.”
This continues until I can no longer feel my arms, but giving up isn’t an option. Whenever I lower my guard, Saint knocks me to the floor, scolding me for not trying harder. I know what he’s doing, and it’s working because over the past few days, I have felt myself grow stronger and I’ve learned how to defend myself.
It’s still early days, but with Saint as my teacher, failure isn’t an option. He isn’t gentle. When I lower my guard or am too exhausted to jump to his command, he makes me pay. Bruises cover my body, but each blemish only has me more determined to succeed.
“Jab!” he exclaims, flashing me the mitt, which I punch. “Jab to the body!” He holds the mitt low, which I strike. “Jab to the head! Then body!” I do as he demands, following the sequence and watching his hands…a rookie move.
He kicks out his leg and trips me. I tumble onto my back, cursing my slipup.
“What did I tell you?” he asks. Shaking his head, he removes a mitt and offers to help me up.
“Never take my eyes off my opponent,” I reply between clenched teeth as I reach for his hand. He yanks me up, and thanks to my equilibrium being off, I topple forward.
