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These are not things I am supposed to think of. Confusion causes me to reach down and shove her face all the way onto my dick, choking her.

She coughs and sputters around me, drooling as I grip her hair and fuck her face like the toy she needs to be. I call her a filthy whore, and she does not flinch. She does not recoil or slow down but instead pulls me deeper.

It must be my imagination.

I tell her she needs to do better. That her only purpose now is to serve me and please me. I demand that she learn how to suck my cock and take me whenever I choose. I ask her if she can do these things, and she tries to nod. Then she murmurs yes around me, her voice vibrating against my dick. It sends me spinning out of control, and I pull away from the warmth of her mouth at the last moment to teach her one more lesson as I spill my come over her face and her lips.

I milk every last drop from my dick before I squeeze it back between her lips and tell her to clean me off.

She licks me clean.

Softly.

Gently.

Sweetly.

All while my come drips down her chin and her throat. When she is finished, she tries to wipe it away with her hand, and I stop her.

“No.”

She looks up at me, used and filthy and mine.

“Let it dry.”

The contempt flashes in her eyes again, but she only nods. And then a quiet question, spoken politely, the way a good girl should.

“May I have some food now?”

“When I have finished my dinner.”

She nods and remains on the floor between my legs while I eat the rest of my meal. And when I am done, I keep my word to her.

This time.

I allow her to make herself a tin of soup from the cupboard. She does not protest, and she eats too quickly, burning her tongue in the process.

I watch her eat like a wild animal, my dried come still on her face. Her body naked and available to me for whatever I may wish. And I feel the undesirable urge to hold her. To kiss her. To reward her in another way and tell her how good she is.

But I do not.

Instead, I wait until she is finished. And then I lead her back to the conservatory. Binding her to the bed for the rest of the night.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

WHEN HE COMES for me the next morning, I am exhausted. And emotional. The fear of the piano room still lingers, but my hostility cannot be contained.

"You can't leave me tied up like this," I tell him. "I'm not an animal. This isn't right, Javi. You have to know this isn't right."

He looks at me, but I can’t make him out from beneath the hood this time. It's pulled low over his eyes, and he has to tilt his head just to see out of it.

"Is that challenge I hear in your voice, Bella?"

Even though his voice is harsh, he sounds pleased. I don’t understand it.

I did not imagine the accent during my breakdown. It is still there. His words are not disjointed. They are eloquent and musical. And I think that his file was wrong. I think he has been speaking for many years without a hitch. It is perfectly natural to him.

"What do you want from me?" I ask. "You need to tell me, Javi. I can't do what you want if I don't know what it is."

“This is not your concern,” he says. “I will have what I want regardless, my Bella. You will stay here. And I will own you.”

I swallow and try not to lose it completely. I need to be calm. Freaking out will get me nowhere right now. Because if I'm calm, then maybe he will let his guard down and I can run.

"For how long?" I press. "How long do you want me to stay, Javi?"

His reply takes longer this time. The drawn-out silence only makes my anxiety worse. His voice is too quiet when he speaks. And this is how I know he means it.

"Forever," he answers.

Forever.

The word ricochets around my skull, obliterating what little hope I had left.

I can't breathe.

He really is going to kill me. Except, he's untying me now. Gently.

He's so much bigger than me. There's no way I will make it past him. There's no way I can fight him off. He removes the bonds from my ankles and wrists and then allows me to sit up, gesturing to a tray next to the bed.

Breakfast. He brought me breakfast.

I want to cry. I want to plead with him. But he doesn't let me do either of those things.

“Would you like to eat today, sweet Bella?”

I want more than anything to eat everything on the tray. But I am not naïve enough to believe that it will come for free. Everything with Javi will come at a cost. To my self-respect. My dignity. My humanity. And there’s a part of me that wants to pretend that there is still a fight left within. That I am stronger than him- at least mentally, and I can defeat him in that way.

But basic human needs are a motivation unlike any other. When you have gone without for so long, morals fall by the wayside. Everything else falls by the wayside.

“What do I need to do?” I ask.

He tilts his head down, giving me just a glimpse of his dark beard and a flash of gold eyes.

“Lay back,” he tells me. “On the bed.”

I do as he asks.

“Spread your legs.”

This time I don’t move. His voice grows harsher. Huskier.

“Spread your legs, Bella. Or I will spread them for you.”

I spread my legs and hate myself a little more. I can feel his eyes all over me. Assaulting me in the most intimate way possible. Visually penetrating the place I have never allowed a man to see before.

I am humiliated. Ashamed. Degraded. And he is turned on, evident by his heavy breathing.

“Play with yourself, beauty,” he says. “Show me how you like it.”

Again, I hesitate.

A low rumble thunders from his throat. And his next words remind me that I have no choice.

“Or perhaps you would like to play some more games with me, instead?”

I reach between my legs and touch myself. It is robotic. Stiff. Awkward. My eyes are squeezed shut.

I jump when his fingers find my breast, skimming over my nipple. My body responds to him, and a storm of emotions festers inside of me. I try to swallow them back down.

This monster is the worst kind of evil.

The kind that doesn’t feel like evil when he touches me. The kind that feels… good. And when his mouth captures the soft globe of flesh and he groans, I am wet for him. It is the worst kind of deception. The worst kind of betrayal from my own body.

There is the sound of a zipper, and I stop breathing. Waiting quietly for what comes next. I need to be mentally prepared. And I am not mentally prepared.

“Open your eyes,” he demands.

I open my eyes. Slowly. Hesitantly. He is right there. Solid cock in hand, next to my face. Swollen and throbbing with his want for me. I try to force my legs shut again, to prevent him from seeing the lie between my thighs. The arousal I don’t want or need.

I can’t control it.

His fingers grip my thigh and pinch.

“Don’t try to hide the truth,” he tells me. “I can smell how much you want me.”

I squeeze my eyes shut and shake my head.

“No.”

“You will take me, Bella.”

“No,” I say again.

“You will take me,” he repeats. “Or you will die.”

I glance up at him, so close I can almost make out the lines of his face. His mouth. He is rigid. So, so rigid.

And I don’t believe him.

Maybe I just don’t want to. But I don’t believe he will kill me. I sense the struggle within him. I just don’t yet know what that struggle is.

He watches me study him… and he doesn’t like it.

“Suck me like a good girl,” he tells me. “Get me nice and wet.”

I breathe out and do as he asks.

I draw him back into my mouth, sweeping over the velvet exterior of his heavy flesh. Th

e salty taste of his arousal coats my lips and tongue.

He doesn’t let me have control. The moment he’s inside, his restraint is gone.

He cups my head and thrusts deep, hitting the back of my throat and choking me. I gag around him, and he grunts out his satisfaction when spit drips over the sides of my lips and down my chin.

“Yes, my Bella,” he praises. “Good girl.”