“Later.” She wiggles her hips. “I want you inside me.”
Holy fuck. What she does to me. I strip my clothes and climb between her legs. Even if she’s offering herself, I want to hunt her. I want to catch her in the wild, wild, darkest woods of our desires and conquer her body. I want to tame her soul. I’ve got her, but I’m terrified I’ll lose her. I need to pin her down and constrain her, keep her in the cage of lust I so carefully constructed to trap her.
I flatten my palm on her pelvis, keeping her lower body in place as I push two fingers inside her pussy. She’s wet. The suction of her inner muscles welcomes me. I can’t wait. I grip the root of my shaft and place it at her entrance, but she shakes her head. It takes every ounce of willpower I possess not to give in to the urge to tie her up and make her have it my way. It takes strength to lift my hand from her abdomen and allow her to escape, but she doesn’t run away from the monster in her bed. She embraces the need that’s chasing us both by turning over on her hands and knees. She looks back at me from over her shoulder, putting her beautiful cunt on display.
“Take me like this,” she whispers.
The animal in me rises to the occasion. I open her pussy with my thumbs, align my cock with her slick folds, and drive home. Her back arches from the fast and hard intrusion, but she slams back, meeting my force with an urgency of her own. I’m giving her my all, thrusting our groins together with enough force to bruise her skin.
“More,” she pants. “You’re holding back.”
I’m fucking the air from her lungs, and she’s begging for more.
“Harder, Gabriel. Please. Please, God. Let it go. Make me forget. Make me forget what happened tonight.”
I do. The walls of my constraint break, crumbling around her, and I take her like I’ve never taken a woman before.
* * *
Valentina
Gabriel is pounding into me, hurting me inside, but I need more. With him, I’ll always need more. He steals my breath, takes my pleasure, and owns my desires. I am so filled with him, I can’t take more, and, yet I want him in every crevice and corner of my body.
Reaching between my legs, I caress his testicles, feeling their charged sway as he slams his groin against my ass.
“More,” I moan. “Please.”
“If I fuck you harder, I’ll break you.”
I want him to bleed into my cells until we are inseparable, until our DNA is entangled and my life is grafted with his. Together, we’re invincible. As long as he’s with me, no one else can touch me. Like this, there’s no ugly. No Diogo. No men like Tiny. Only Gabriel who makes me forget everything, even that he owns me.
“Fill me, Gabriel. Fill me more.”
“Goddammit, Valentina. You kill me.”
I look back at him from over my shoulder. His face is scrunched up with pent-up desire, his cool eyes dark with lust, and his jaw tense with control. Without breaking his pace, he lets go of my hip to stick his forefinger in his mouth. He opens my ass with his free hand and sticks his wet finger into my dark entrance. I fall forward and catch my weight on my arms. With the intrusion in my ass, the pressure in my pussy increases two-fold.
“Yes,” I whimper. “Like that.”
I brace myself for the impact. His hands being otherwise occupied, he can no longer support my hips. The force is too much. My body is helpless under his brutal hammering. Every thrust shifts me higher up the mattress. He follows me, pulling out and pushing back in, his cock and finger working in synchrony. One hand moves around to the front of my body, finding my clit. A few fast strokes and I come, yelling his name. I expect him to come with me, but he doesn’t. While I’m riding the incredible wave of my release, he stretches me by adding a second finger to the first in my backside. I’m overfull, but I don’t care. I’m contracting and sizzling, my body a canvas of receptors for pleasure. I’m floating in a space of euphoric bliss. I don’t care what he does with my body.
After a while, he pulls his cock free. Only his fingers are punishing my ass. This, too, stops. His touch disappears.
“Don’t move.”
Exhausted, I melt into the sheets. I’m not going anywhere. The bed dips, and then he’s gone. Cupboards open and close in the kitchen. What is he doing? I have my answer when he returns with a bottle of cooking oil. He places it on the floor and continues right where he left off, working two fingers into my ass. The sensation is wrong and thrilling. A forbidden kind of pleasure runs up my spine. After a moment, he withdraws his fingers and opens my crack. Cold liquid squirts into my ass. After the heat, the cold comes as a shock. I squirm to escape the onslaught, but he grabs me between the legs and holds me still while more of that slippery liquid fills me up. The oil. It feels like when he comes inside of me, only colder. He smears the substance around the tight ring of muscle, and when he pushes his finger back, it slips right in. I arch my back in response, needing more of the friction. The second finger joins the first, and soon a third finger stretches me. It doesn’t hurt, but it’s too full. I’m about to say so when his hand disappears and a hot, smooth surface pushes against my dark entrance. I look over my shoulder to see him positioning his cock where his fingers have been.
I try to lift my upper body, but he pushes me down with a hand on my lower back, working himself into me an inch. It burns like hell. I moan and squirm and try to push him out, but the harder I clench my backside, the harder he pushes.
“Relax,” he says in a tight voice. “I’ll take your ass regardless.”
I know he will, and I want him to. I take a deep breath and try to let the tension go, but when he moves deeper, I cry out and bite into the pillow to muffle the sound.
“Almost there,” he says, rubbing his palms over my ass cheeks.
God, it hurts. I’m not sure I can take it. “Gabriel.”
“Hush, beautiful.” He bends down and kisses my spine. “Take a deep breath.”
He talks me through it, making me breathe in and out until he has buried all of him inside me. The last inch is the worst. I gasp and swallow air. When he moves, I scream, grinding my pelvis to the mattress to escape the touch, but he chases after me, fucking me deeper. With every thrust he pounds the breath out of me until my voice is raw, and then he stills, keeping his cock in my body. I’m barely aware of anything but the invasive hardness. Carefully, he slips two fingers into my pussy. The pad of his thumb rests on my clit, stimulating my need. As my desire starts climbing again and my muscles contract around him, he moves again. He takes me to a place I didn’t know existed, where pleasure and pain are one, and the effect of having both sensations simultaneously on my body makes it impossible to discern where the one starts and the other stops. He’s kindling the biggest need in me yet. I’m full and fulfilled. I’m aching, but he’s soothing me. I’m hovering on the edge. If I tumble over, I may not stop falling, but I’m powerless to prevent it.
My body tightens. As the wave starts rolling, he drags his wet fingers from my pussy. His hands fold around my neck, squeezing just enough to cut my airflow. I need to fight, but I’m too weak. I don’t have enough energy left. I can only lie there with electric shivers running through my clit, and Gabriel’s cock ramming into my ass while white spots start to dance in my vision, and my pulse hammers in my ears. The minute he gives me back the gift of oxygen, of life, I come with a force that shatters my body and mind. Thousands of volts of pleasure course through me, pulling every muscle, finger, and toe so tight my body is one, great spasm. I must’ve fallen over that edge, because I’m drifting like a feather, and everything around me turns into a comfortable darkness where the brutal pleasure mercifully stops.
* * *
Gabriel
Fuck. Shit. It’s the first time I fucked a woman unconscious. I turn Valentina’s limp body on her back and slap her cheeks.
“Wake up, baby.”
She doesn’t move. Not even her eyelashes flutter. The euphoria of my climax evaporates. Fuck, fuck, fuck. I pick her up in my arms and carry her t
o the shower. I can barely squeeze inside with her draped over me. I adjust the water to a lukewarm setting and, tipping her head back, let it run over her face and hair.
She frowns and stirs.
“That’s my girl. Come on, Valentina.”
She gasps and coughs. Her eyelids lift to reveal tiger-eye gemstones staring at me.
“Gabriel.”
Relief washes over me, and the tightness in my chest expands marginally. “I’m here, beautiful.”
I hold her to me, letting her find her feet without releasing my grip on her waist. Allowing her to pass out wasn’t part of my plan. I’m furious with myself. She deserves better than a sadist who pushes her to the limits of pleasure, all the way into fucking fainting. The only way I know to make it right is to give her comfort. Like she took care of me the night I was stabbed, I take care of her, washing her hair and her body from the top of her head to the tip of her toes as best as I can in the confined space. I’m careful with the tender part between her legs and especially her ass. After drying and dressing her, I put her to bed. It tears me up, but I have to go to my own. I’m too exhausted to risk staying with her. If I fall asleep, I may not wake up before Carly.
I don’t want to leave her like this, but I must. For how much longer can I keep up the pretense?
* * *
After my morning workout with Quincy and Rhett, I meet Sonny and Lance, two of my franchise owners, about a dispute over territory. Lance has been casting his nets in Sonny’s reservoir, and as much as I hate playing ombudsman, I prefer to step in before we have a war on our hands. It’s a glorious day, and we’re having our discussion by the pool. My leg has been bothering me more than usual after last night’s sexual marathon, and the exercise in the water does me good. I swim a few laps before stretching out on a deckchair in the sun, listening to the squabble between the grown men. When it gets close to one o’clock, I interrupt their bickering.
“No eyes on the housekeeper.”
Sonny and Lance exchange a glance, but comprehension dawns on their faces when Valentina exits from the kitchen, a tray loaded with food in her hands, and walks our way. Sonny looks up at the sky while Lance fixes his gaze on his toes.
Her figure is slender in the dark dress. With tendrils that escaped her ponytail, she looks feminine and vulnerable. I want her next to me, in my arms, not at a distance acceptable for a servant, not with a barrier between us that lets me enjoy the sunshine while she’s standing there in her black garb, sweating in the sun.
There’s not a stitch of resentment in the brilliant smile she gives me. “Can I get you anything to drink?”
“Lemonade.” I turn to Sonny and Lance, who are looking anywhere but at Valentina.
“Beer?”
“Please,” they say in unison.
“Anything else?”
I’m suddenly bothered that she has to serve men not worthy of kissing her feet. “No.”
Her smile is genuine and pure, a ray of beautiful that doesn’t fit in the filth of my world.
“Just shout if you need me.”
As she walks back to the kitchen, I can’t help but stare after the frail set of her narrow shoulders with an emotion that, this time, isn’t foreign to me.
Longing.
I’m consumed by longing.
* * *
Valentina
Nothing is worse than the helplessness I felt at the hands of men who bullied and assaulted me. Tiny lifted the tightly sealed lid on those emotions. What Diogo tried to do made me relive those feelings. Those forbidden sentiments, the ones I banished to the depths of my mind, make me shaky with shame and anger. I hate not being able to defend myself. Then there’s Gabriel.
The things I feel when I’m with him are too complicated to examine, and I’m too scared of what I’ll find. What I need is not to analyze what’s happening between me and my keeper––I can’t change it, anyway––but to learn to protect myself from people stronger than me. Maybe I could get a weapon and learn how to use it.
I’m sweeping up the leaves on the pavement, fantasizing about my options, when Magda walks up.
“I want all the leather sofas treated with beeswax and polished to a shine today. Carly is complaining her cupboards are full of dust. Unpack everything and wipe down the shelves. Her closet can do with a good reorganization.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“I want dinner to be served an hour earlier, tonight. I have an appointment after.”
“I’ll make sure it’s ready.”
“Tomorrow you need to start taking down the curtains and wash them. Start with the bedrooms. You can do one room every day.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She checks her watch. “Don’t wait for the afternoon to sweep the pavement. It has to be done every morning at eight. The neighbors must think we’re pigs living in a pigsty.”
“I’ll do it at eight.”
“Are you any good with a sewing machine?”
“I’ve never used one.”
“Better learn. You can adjust the hems of the new curtains I bought for the lounge.”
The delivery van pulls up, thankfully saving me from more tasks she can think up, as I have to check and sign for the produce.
For the rest of the day, I race through my chores, skipping lunch and teatime. It’s hard not to stress over screwing up a task or failing to execute it when your life’s in the balance. I haven’t slept enough in weeks, and I haven’t studied in days. I missed deadlines for two assignments and only got extensions because of my good grades, but no matter how fast I work, there’s always more work and too little time. My mentor warned me if I miss another deadline, I’d get a zero for the assignment. She can’t keep on making exceptions for me.
* * *
During the next two weeks, Gabriel is hardly home. When he comes to me at night, there are lines of strain on his face. I don’t ask about his business, but from the way he takes me, hard and relentless, I know in his own way, he’s as stressed as I am, so I don’t complain. When I’m at Kris’ house, I cook, clean, help in the clinic, and spend as much time with Charlie as I can. At night, I try to catch up with my outstanding projects, but I’m several weeks behind. I sleep between four and five hours per night, returning to my studies when Gabriel leaves me to go back to his own room. I don’t dare confess to him in the fear that he’ll take it away from me, and I can’t lose my dream. Despite the explosive sex, I’m still property. Nothing but an amusing toy.
Gabriel takes care of me like one would maintain an expensive car or look after a cute pet. Copious amounts of coffee keep me awake and jittery during the day. It’s only by sheer willpower that I finish the tasks Magda doles out. The harder she pushes me, the harder I try. The more she demands, the more I deliver.
It’s a bright December morning when half a kudu carcass is dropped off in the kitchen.
“A gift from business colleagues who went hunting,” she says, regarding the piece of meat with her hands on her hips.
It’s not hunting season. “Where does it come from?”
“A friend did some culling on a game farm up north.”
“What shall I do with it, ma’am?”
“Marie used to process the meat. The leg is good for biltong. You can use the offcuts for sausage.”
I’ve never chopped up half an antelope, but I’m not going to admit it. When she’s gone, I do an internet search and come up with page that gives detailed illustrations on how to process a carcass. It’s too heavy for me to handle alone, so when Quincy walks past the kitchen with Bruno, I ask him to help. Together, we use the meat axe to chop the meat into smaller, more manageable pieces. He helps me to set up the electric meat saw and grinder on the island counter. While he’s cleaning the blades for me, I order the intestines for the sausage from a local butcher.
“All ready,” he says. “Need some help with the grinding?” “I’m good, thank you.” I’m proud that I figured it out.
“Just shout.” With
a wave, he’s off.
For the next hour, I cut the bigger pieces into smaller parts, keeping the strips for the biltong aside, while soaking the offcuts in a solution of vinegar and salt for the sausage. It’s a long and time-consuming process. I’m stressed about preparing dinner, but I can’t cook in the dirty kitchen. I’ll have to disinfect the countertops, first.
My phone beeps while I’m pushing the meat through the blades to make sirloin steaks. Normally, I won’t interrupt my work to check my messages, but the beep tone tells me it’s from my mentor, Aletta. I flick the switch on the saw and gingerly fish the phone from my apron pocket between my thumb and forefinger. The message hits me like a hammer between the eyes. Come see me. You failed your cell biology test.
My hand trembles as I leave the phone on the counter, reading the text over and over. The repercussions are enormous. The test scores are taken into consideration at the end of the year. If I fail one subject, my partial bursary will be revoked. I’d have to drop out. Devastation crashes over me. I want to remain positive, but the realistic side of me brings my mind to a standstill to evaluate the facts and face the truth.
I’m not going to make it.
There’s a terrible finality in the notion. It’s as if an anchor has been cut from my life, and now that I’m no longer grounded to a dream, I’m floating meaninglessly in a life which only purpose is to keep Charlie alive. Swatting at the moisture building in my eyes, I try to let my pride keep me strong. I won’t cry over this, but my heart is not on par with my mind. Fresh tears blur my vision as I switch the saw back on and start feeding the meat through the blades. I work on autopilot, letting the rhythm of my hands and the noise of the machine dull me to a state of unfeeling, automated movements. It liberates my mind to think. Not making my dream come true will hurt my heart, but failing my brother will destroy me, so I make peace with giving up the dream.
The very moment I make the decision, a hot sensation explodes in my right hand and travels up my arm. I look at the slicer and the meat I clutch in my hands, but I don’t make immediate sense of the scene. My brain registers the blood squirting from my thumb long before it does the pain.
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