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“Make me,” I challenge.
He pulls out of me, making me gasp as he flips me onto my stomach and lifts my hips, re-entering me. The new angle reaches a spot within me that makes me come instantly.
And without even thinking, I call out, “Viktor!”
Viktor spanks me as he continues to fuck me from behind. My body feels so tender, I could almost cry. With one more thrust, Viktor comes, too, growling my name. Hearing my name on the lips of a powerful man like Viktor makes me feel like I can accomplish anything.
I slump to the mattress, unable to hold myself up anymore as Viktor gently pulls out of me. My body is sore in ways I never knew it could be.
He lies down beside me, pulling me into his arms, my back flush with his chest. Viktor rubs his hand over my back in a soothing way, and without warning, I cry.
The tears hit me before I can stop them, and they slide down my face. God, I never thought I’d be one of those girls who cries after sex. I don’t even know why I’m crying. All I know is that’s it’s the first time I’ve done it since Viktor brought me here.
Viktor doesn’t say anything as I cry, which I’m grateful for. I think I’d die if he mocked me.
I cry for the loss of everything I’ve experienced. My family. A wedding I had to endure alone. Days with a madman and no one to protect me. And now this—I finally had sex, and it was with the very same man who kidnapped me. I don’t have any regrets over losing my virginity. I was never that attached to it. I’m more upset by the idea that I just gave all of myself to Viktor, and I can’t help but wonder if it was a mistake.
As I cry, the only thing I can think about is my father’s funeral. The memory hits me like a piano falling from the sky. I purposefully haven’t thought about my father’s funeral in the past two years since. I’m not sure why it’s coming back now.
But the image filling my mind is the face of my dad, looking peaceful in his coffin.
Grief has made the day fuzzy in my memory, but I do remember some things. And one of those things was standing behind Emilia, looking down at our dad.
* * *
“I can’t believehe’s dead,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. We were in a church, surrounded by my dad’s men. My siblings and I were the only minors present. Other women were there, the wives of my dad’s employees, but I didn’t know them, so I didn’t go to them for comfort. I also hated how their husbands leered at my sisters and me as if we were pieces of meat instead of the daughters of the boss they’d just lost.
“We’re going to get through this.” Emilia squeezed my hand. Even at our dad’s funeral, Emilia wasn’t crying. She had to be strong for us while our mom and siblings cried. Mom’s sobs were so loud, they were deafening in the quiet of the church. She always claimed she and Dad had an epic, everlasting love. I always thought that sounded stupid. But looking down at Dad, I felt bad for ever thinking that.
“It’s never going to be the same without him.”
“I know. But I’ll be here. You know I will.”
“The question is, will Mom? She’s a mess.” A part of me was angry with my mom for crying. Her tears were so much that I felt like I wasn’t allowed to cry myself.
“She just lost her husband.”
“Yeah, and we just lost our dad.” A sob escaped me.
Emilia held me for a moment before turning to the rest of our siblings. “They need me, too. Will you be all right to go sit down?”
I nodded and took my place by Mom. She was crying so hard; there was nothing I could do to make her stop. With a deep breath, I reached my hand out, intending to put it on her back, but I stopped. Would she even appreciate it? Would it even help?
And before I could make up my mind, Emilia slid between us, Mia clinging to her, and I lost my chance to help my mom.
Mom leaned on Emilia’s shoulder and cried even more while Emilia looked ahead, being strong for all of us. I tried to do the same and felt like an utter imposter. I would never be as perfect as my older sister, and the thought made my throat choke up. Dad was the only one in our family who let me be me. He encouraged my behavior, usually rewarding me with a piece of candy he brought home from work. Mom would always scold him for it, but Dad never stopped, not even when I became a teenager. He still always brought me that piece of candy and gave me a wink, letting me know I wasn’t a completely messed up human being.
At the reception, I was grabbing a sandwich from the buffet table when I saw a spider resting on the linen. I stared at for so long, my eyes began to water. There was an inconsequential spider at my dad’s funeral, and it didn’t even know it.
A hand came down toward the spider, trying to kill it. I looked up to see Antonio, his eyes glued to the spider. “Don’t.” I stopped him, grabbing his wrist. “Leave it alone.”
“You’re not the boss of me, Gemma.” He tried swatting the spider, and it scurried under a plate. Antonio lifted the plate up and was about to bring the plate down on it, when I stopped him again.
“You’re being immature,” I muttered.
“I want to kill it. What’s the big deal?”
I grabbed the plate, and we struggled with it until I got the upper hand and ripped it away from him. I stumbled back and fell against a table behind me, knocking down platters of food as I fell to the ground. Everyone in the room looked at me. Antonio’s eyes widened as he turned and hurried away, moving far from the scene of the crime.
