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I try not to be impressed, but I am.
“Yay, Papa!” Jeremy kisses his father on the cheek, joy sparkling in his wide eyes.
Adrian faces me. “I think your mom should show appreciation, too, shouldn’t she, Malysh?”
“Yes, Mommy! Kiss Papa.”
I glare at Adrian for the way he’s manipulating a kid, but I don’t make a problem out of it as I lean in and press my lips to the stubble on his cheek.
For a fraction of a second, it feels normal, like we’re actually a family who are out in the garden, doing family things.
I’m about to pull away when my gaze shifts upward. I don’t know why I look in the direction of the guest house at a moment like this. I don’t know why my eyes immediately go up.
All I know is that I shouldn’t have. I really,reallyshouldn’t have.
A figure stares at me from the window. Her face is as pale as her nightgown, but her eyes are a raging blue as she stares at me.
Myeyes.
The ghost Jeremy mentioned is staring at me and she looks ready to kill me.
21
Winter
“Lift your arms.”
I follow Adrian’s command so he can slide the silky nightgown over my body. It feels soft, soothing, but it’s still too much against my sensitive skin.
We’ve just finished another session of punishment. This time it was three successive orgasms for talking back to him three times today.
The number has been shortening over the past week. Maybe one day, it’ll be zero and I’ll be able to get my reward, but that doesn’t seem like it will happen anytime soon.
It’s been two weeks since I came into Adrian’s house, and he always, without fail, finds something to punish me for. I guess I’m not being careful enough either, but he’s not tolerant at all.
If I say ‘okay,’ it’s one.
If I ask why, it’s two.
If I don’t look at him while he’s fucking me with his fingers or with his mouth, it’s three.
If he calls me Lia and I don’t answer immediately, it’s four.
There’s no winning with him, because he laid out all the circumstances, so they’d work in his favor.
Every evening, after Jeremy goes to sleep, I come to this bedroom with my heart in my throat in anticipation of what he’ll do next. Sometimes, he doesn’t wait until then and calls me to his office so he can extract his punishment. Then he’ll restart the count to make sure his hands are busy during the night.
Hands that are currently buttoning the top of my nightgown. Big veiny hands with long, lean fingers that I couldn’t stop staring at even if I wanted to.
Hands that can bring pleasure or pain—or both—depending on their owner’s mood.
My eyes are droopy and I’m exhausted from the number of orgasms he gave me in one go, but I remain seated in front of the dresser while Adrian is kneeling before me.
He’s fucking kneeling, and yet the movement doesn’t deter anything from his power. From the hold he has on me—physically, at least.
Onlyphysically.
He’s just finished showering me. Since that day in his office, he’s been open about caring for me. He lathered my whole body with soap and even washed my hair. At one point, my legs couldn’t carry me and I sat on the floor of the shower. Adrian knelt behind me and finished with my hair. His hands were all over me—on my shoulders, my back, between my legs, and running over the birth scar.
