Dubious

by Charmaine Pauls

  Bruno is out. Quincy told me ten minutes earlier he’s letting him run free for exercise.

  “Valentina!” My voice carries through the window, because she lifts her head with a frown.

  Jumping to action, I sprint as fast as my limp allows to the backdoor, my body in fight mode. I clear the house in record speed, but my voice didn’t only attract Valentina’s attention. The Boerboel rounds the corner, his ears drawn back in alert. My heart stops. My lungs collapse, making it impossible to draw in a breath.

  “Quincy!” Where the fuck is he? “Valentina!”

  I don’t have time to elaborate on my warning. The dog spots her and charges.

  8

  Gabriel

  The chances are in Bruno’s favor of making it to Valentina before I do, and I don’t have my gun on me. I throw my weight behind my effort, but my disability makes me too slow.

  One more second and Bruno is next to the wall. Horrible visions play off in my mind. I reach for Valentina with an outstretched arm, trying to throw myself between her and the dog, but Bruno is at her feet, his enormous jaw going straight for her delicate ankle. I’m about to tackle and strangle the animal when the fact that he’s licking her leg instead of tearing her apart registers in my frantic mind. I barely stop myself from crashing head-on into both of them. My hands are shaking, and my skin is clammy. The powerful rush of adrenalin drops as quickly as it has flared, making me feel physically ill. I swallow several times to suppress the urge to puke. While I’m battling to settle my guts, Bruno slobbers all over her.

  Valentina gives me a confused look, uncertainty creeping into her eyes. She puts a plate with a half-eaten serving of Shepard’s Pie on the wall and pushes it away from her, as if the food is the cause of my reaction. Bruno puts his forepaws on the wall and stretches. When she scratches behind his ear, he closes his eyes, and tilts his head to her touch.

  “Is everything all right?” she asks in a small voice.

  I must look like I feel––a fucking madman.

  Quincy comes running from the back, jogging up when he spots me. He stops with his hands on his hips, looking between Valentina and me. “What’s going on?”

  I can’t look at him right now. The chances are too big that I’ll rip his head from his body. Instead, I lock gazes with Valentina.

  “What the fuck are you doing outside when the dog is loose?”

  She stops petting Bruno and drops her hand. “He doesn’t mind me.”

  “He’s a guard dog, not a lapdog.”

  The vixen dares to challenge me. “He seems friendly enough to me.”

  “She’s right,” Quincy adds quickly. “Bruno likes her. He won’t attack.”

  “You,” I turn to him with ice in my tone, “are supposed to check that nobody is out before you let him loose.”

  “It’s not Quincy’s fault,” she says. “I didn’t tell him I was coming outside.”

  She’s covering for Quincy? With the aftermath of the adrenalin still burning in my veins and my leg aching like a bitch from the overexertion, this is as much as I can take.

  I grab her arm and pull her from the wall, catching her around the waist before she falls. “Inside.”

  Her face pales at my tone, even if the command was no louder than a whisper.

  Quincy lifts his palms. “Gabriel, take it easy.”

  “Are you giving me an order?”

  He backs down. “Of course not.”

  “Next time, follow instructions,” I snarl.

  I don’t care that Marie stops to look at us as I drag Valentina behind me through the kitchen. I don’t stop until I get to the gym. Shoving her inside, I lock the door and turn to face her. She wraps her arms around herself, regarding me calmly, but there’s wariness in her eyes.

  For a moment, I just look at her. The thought of anything happening to her leaves an acidic, bitter, fucking horrible taste in my mouth. The intensity of the notion shocks me to my core. I hate her for it. I hate her for the crippling anguish I suffered on her behalf. It’s a goddamn sick feeling, and it makes me fucking weak. I like my sex wild, and I love a woman’s tears, which is why I sleep with women who crave my money enough to take what comes with having sex with me. But Valentina? I never wanted to hurt her up to this moment. When I belted her, it was to prevent Magda from killing her. Yes, it turned me on, but I regretted it. Now, I want to paddle her ass until she screams. I want to punish her for what I feel.

  I undo the buttons of my shirt cuffs and fold them back twice. Her eyes follow the movement, but she says nothing. It’s only when I walk to the weight bench and sit down that she finds her voice.

  “Gabriel, please.”

  “Come here.”

  She doesn’t move.

  “If I have to come get you, you’re going to suffer double as much as what I’ve got planned for you.”

  Slowly, she moves to me, her eyes flittering between my face and lap.

  I point at my knees. “Bend over.”

  “Gabriel…” Her lip starts to tremble.

  “You endangered your life, and your life is mine, which means you put my property at risk.”

  “Nothing happened.”

  “Don’t make me tell you again.”

  She shuffles closer until her knees brush my thighs.

  “Bend over my lap and press your palms and feet flat on the floor. Keep your legs spread.”

  She lowers herself across my lap so that her head hangs down one side of my thighs and her legs down the other. The bench is low enough for her hands and feet to touch the ground.

  I pull her dress up to her waist and move her panties down to her thighs. “If you move, your punishment will be tripled.”

  Her smooth, golden ass and plump, pink pussy are exposed to me. I take my time to admire her perfect body, her unmarred beauty and unsoiled innocence. My cock stirs and grows impossibly hard. I lift my hand and take aim.

  Smack.

  My palm lands on the tight curve of her left ass cheek. She jerks in my lap, driving her belly into my hard cock.

  Smack.

  The second marks her other cheek. She sucks in a breath, but she doesn’t give in to me. Her silence is her defiance. Not giving her time to draw another breath, I land a succession of firm blows over her ass until I find my rhythm. I keep it light enough not to bruise, but hard enough to turn her skin pink. She squirms and whimpers, but she doesn’t break her stance. Her ass clenches with each slap. I keep going until not a patch of her skin is left unmarked. When I start to repeat the pattern on her inflamed skin, she finally breaks. A loud cry escapes her throat. I keep at it mercilessly, not giving her reprieve until her body goes slack.

  As she relaxes under my touch, her cries become different. The whimpers turn to moans. She mumbles my name and grinds her body down on my cock. I reward her by stopping the blows and reaching between her legs to cup her sex. She’s soaked. My cock rises against the constraint of my zipper in satisfaction. I didn’t plan on taking it here, but I can’t help myself. The fight has gone completely out of me. All that’s left is the gnawing lust. I pet her folds for a while, reveling in how they swell to my touch, before I rub my middle finger in circular movements over her clit. I like the vantage point I have on the view. When I bend my head, her pussy is so close I can smell her arousal. It drives me insane. Her beautiful female parts clench, and her lower body shakes. Her thighs and arms quiver as she screams out her orgasm. I let her have it and more. I carry on rubbing and pinching her clit until she begs me to stop, but I don’t let up until I’m certain she can’t take any more. Only then do I adjust her clothes, help her up, and pull her into my arms with her head cradled against my chest. While she’s sobbing it out, I caress her cheek, wiping the tears away as they fall. Every molecule in my body is aware of her. I’m intoxicated with the woman I hold in my arms, the woman I’ll eventually have to kill. It’s then that I acknowledge the truth. I’m not going to kill her. I was never going to. She’s meant to be mine.

&nb
sp; When she stops crying, I dry her tears with my palms. “Don’t ever do that to me again.”

  She blinks. She’s confused. Hell, so am I. Spanking her makes me hot. Holding her makes me forget why I spanked her in the first place. With her arms wrapped around my neck and her ass cushioning my dick, I can’t think straight. All I know, is that I can’t lose her.

  “From now on, I want Quincy to train you with Bruno.”

  She lifts her head to look at me.

  “You’re not allowed outside if he’s loose, unless you give me a demonstration that proves you can handle him.”

  “He won’t attack me.”

  “He’s bitten a trespasser before. Fuck, Valentina.” I drag a hand through my hair. “Not even Magda risks it out unless he’s closed in the back.”

  “Why do you keep a dog if he’s so dangerous, even to your own family?”

  “Protection. People who want to break in badly enough will eventually find a way.”

  “Bad people will also poison a dog.”

  “He’s trained not to take food from anyone but Quincy.” I study her tear-streaked eyes. “What did you do to him? How did you get him to heel?”

  “I removed a thorn from his paw.”

  “That’s it?”

  “It’s not hard at all. You just have to show him who has the authority. You can’t be frightened. Animals sense fear.”

  It sounds a lot like me. No surprises there. I’m an animal, at best. I brush my lips over her hair, inhaling her sweet, raspberry scent. “Was my lesson clear enough for you, or will you need a repeat?”

  “No,” she says quickly. “I get it.”

  “Do you fear me?”

  “Why? Do you sense it?”

  “Yes,” I say gravely. I do, and I’ll encourage it, even if it’s only to use her fear like a leash, holding her close to me.

  I lift her to her feet. “I’ll tell Quincy to set aside some time later today.”

  She brushes her hair behind her ear.

  “Do you need a moment?’

  She gives a grateful nod. “Please.”

  I give her the privacy she needs to gather herself. After arranging for dog training with Quincy, I distract myself by catching up on business, and then I access the financial records Anton emailed me. Valentina earned a salary from Rocky Street Veterinary Clinic. When she said she was an assistant, I assumed it was the secretarial type. That explains the white tunic the first night in Napoli’s. Debit orders went off from her account for water and electricity, which she stopped yesterday. Her credit card statements show the usual expenses for food and essentials. Other than that, Valentina isn’t a spender. Not that she had the means. There are no luxuries, nothing of the things women like, not even a tube of lipstick. Every month, she withdraws a substantial amount of cash, and it’s always the same amount, to the last cent.

  I call my private banker and arrange for twenty grand to be transferred to her account. Next, I get the agent on the line and offer him a five grand commission to transfer the Berea property to my name. He’s happy to oblige. Firstly, he knows who I am. Secondly, he knows he’ll otherwise not get a cent for the flat. I arrange for the necessary transfer of ownership documents to be delivered. For Valentina’s sake, the sale must look authentic.

  With the finances in place, I call the club manager at Napoli’s. I’d like to have a word with Valentina’s ex-neighbor about the burglary, and Jerry hasn’t been home since we took her and her brother. The manager assures me Jerry hasn’t been back, so I put word out that I’m looking for him. Whoever wrecked Valentina’s flat will pay. I leave the most unpleasant task for last, dialing Lambert Roos. The phone rings for a long time without going onto voicemail. Looks like I’ll have to pay Lambert a visit.

  It’s only when I grow more settled again and reflect on this afternoon’s episode that I recall the lunch Valentina never finished. On strict order from Magda, Marie won’t serve the food she prepares to the staff. Is Valentina eating our leftovers? Goddamn. An uncomfortable emotion lances into my heart. The pinch in my chest won’t let up. I pull our grocery order records. Valentina is living on Granny Smith apples and cheap Chinese noodles. I feel too many things to distinguish one from the other. There are pity, concern, and anger at myself for not discovering the truth earlier. She’s starving right under my nose.

  This won’t do. I need her healthy. I adjust the order and send Marie a note. From now on, Valentina will eat what I decide.

  * * *

  Valentina

  There’s a box with my name on it in the kitchen when I come in from washing the patio.

  “That’s for you,” Marie says, drying her hands on a dishcloth.

  “For me?” I lift the flaps to peer inside.

  There are meat, cheese, eggs, veggies, fruit, bottled water, and juice. In a smaller box, I find a variety of delicatessens, including olives, nuts, cold pressed cooking oil, and dark chocolate. There must be a mistake.

  “I didn’t order these.”

  “It’s from Mr. Louw.” She scrutinizes me. “Whatever you did, it made him very happy.”

  I shouldn’t feel guilty, but a flush warms my cheeks. I’m ashamed of my poverty. Always have been. Gabriel’s gesture only reminds me of the gap between us. The kindness makes me irrationally sad and inexplicably angry. I’m nobody’s charity case. I’ll return everything, but for now I unpack it in the fridge to prevent the expensive food from spoiling.

  When Gabriel comes to my room, I fight the orgasm he forces on me, doing everything in my power not to come, but it’s a losing battle. Eventually, the pleasure takes over. My body gives in and delivers what he wants. His power over the physical part of me is complete. He stripped me of my defenses. I can’t allow him to strip me of my pride.

  Afterward, he pulls me into his arms. His voice is gentle, but stern. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.”

  “The harder you fight me, the harder I’ll push.”

  I lower my eyes. “The food… I don’t appreciate the gesture.”

  “Ah.” He says it as if he suddenly understands everything that’s going on in my head. “Look at me.”

  I oblige. Grudgingly.

  “What are you to me, Valentina?”

  “An investment,” I bit out.

  “What do I do with my investments?”

  “Take care of them.”

  He brushes a thumb over my cheek. “I like to take care of you. Is that so bad?”

  Yes, dammit. I want to be more than someone’s investment. “You can’t force food on me.”

  “Yes, I can. You can eat what I tell you or be force-fed. It’s your choice, but it’ll please me if you accept it without arguing.”

  It shocks me how badly I want to please him. What the hell is wrong with me?

  “Whatever you need,” he continues, “I want you to tell me.”

  I can only stare at him, not sure what is changing between us, but the balance is shifting.

  He runs a forefinger over my lips. “Is there anything you’d like to tell me now?” The air of anticipation that hangs around him makes him seem vulnerable, as if he has more to lose than me in this strange game playing off between us.

  “No,” I croak, not sure what he wants from me.

  As I expected, my answer disappoints him, but he doesn’t pursue the matter. He simply kisses me until my desire spikes again before he gets to his feet and unbuckles his belt.

  * * *

  Gabriel

  What did I expect from Valentina? To open up to me? Why is it important to me that she tells me about her studies out of her own, free will? I don’t have an answer. I only know I want to hear it from her. Until she admits it, I won’t tell her I discovered the truth.

  Besides keeping an eye on Valentina’s eating habits, worry about Carly’s date dominates the rest of my week. On Friday night, I have men placed around the movie theatre. Discreetly, of course. Still, I don’t relax until my daughter is home safe and sound, bubbli
er than ever. If Sebastian put as much as a finger on her, my men would’ve acted, and I’m glad it didn’t come to that. Carly comes to my study to say goodnight. She surprises me with an uncharacteristic kiss on my cheek and a hug.

  When the house is quiet, I make my way to Valentina’s room. It’s a routine I look forward to, a fix to which I’m already addicted. My steps fall unevenly on the kitchen floor. My limp is heavier, tonight. There’s rain in the air. The humidity makes my joints ache.

  My breath catches when I open her door. She’s spread out on the bed, naked. Her golden skin is flawless, except for the tiny beauty spot under her left breast. The small mark of imperfection only adds to her allure. In her sleep, she looks more vulnerable and innocent than when she watches me with her big, frightened eyes. Her folds already glisten with the arousal I conditioned her to have. Walking to the bed, I stare down at her. Usually, my presence is enough to wake her, but she’s been tired, lately. Too tired. It doesn’t help that I steal an hour of her sleep time, but I have very little control where Valentina is concerned. I take another moment to study her body. I like looking at her when she’s sleeping. The voyeuristic act is invasive, but it turns me on and feeds a dark part of me.

  After a few seconds, she starts to stir. Her eyelids flutter, and her lashes lift. I read her expression as she rises from her sleep. First, there’s recognition and then desire. There’s no more fear or resistance. She’s ready for the next step.

  Keeping my clothes on, I stretch out next to her on the bed, lifting myself up on my elbow. Immediately, she spreads her legs. The submissive act makes me dizzy with desire. If I’d remained standing, she would’ve sat up on her knees for me, legs wide, just like I taught her. I reward her with a soft kiss, my tongue spearing through her lips and stroking hers while I’m playing with her breasts. I can get drunk on her moans. I want to drown in her arousal, but I have other plans for her pussy tonight.

  I run my hand down her stomach to her sex. I stroke the pad of my middle finger up and down her slit, working moisture to her clit. When she’s drenched in her own wetness, I clamp my mouth over hers and drive the first digit of my finger into her soaked channel. She’s soft like velvet and so fucking wet. So hot. Her eyes fly open, and she gasps into my mouth. I eat the sound like an addict, greedily swallowing the whimpers that follow when I twist my finger a few times. When Engelbrecht examined her he told me there’s no membrane––not an uncommon occurrence with virgins––so there shouldn’t be any bleeding, but goddammit she’s tight. Sucking her lips into my mouth, I drive home, burying my finger all the way inside, and then hold still while I stretch her. This time, she moans loudly into my mouth. I don’t mind if she screams. Her room is too far for anyone in the house to hear, but I want to eat her sounds of pleasure like I eat her orgasms. I want to swallow her essence in every sensory way possible to carry it inside of me. I want her to be a part of me in the most literal sense.