She tried to speak, but most of her words never came out. Only one did. “No.”
My cock twitched in my trousers when I won the battle. Every war we fought was challenging, but that made my victory all the sweeter. I pressed my mouth to hers and gave her a soft kiss, a gift for her obedience. “Good girl.”
***
She sat across from me and ate her dinner quietly. She pulled her brown hair over one shoulder, revealing the slender neck I wanted to bite. The skin was so flawless, somehow escaping a scar from Bones. I wanted to make my mark on the virgin flesh, to scar her so every man would know where I’d been.
She kept her head down and didn’t make conversation. She was a sore loser. We went head-to-head, but she lost the battle. I went to her room, conquered it, and then dragged her back down with me.
The jar of buttons sat on the table, acting as a table setting. I waited for her to acknowledge it, to ask about the strange piece of decoration that clashed with everything else in the house. She seemed curious earlier that morning.
“I’m willing to let you go.” I finished my food and concentrated on my wine, the grapes that my company harvested and pressed. Nothing beat the exquisite quality of my harvest. I wasn’t the biggest winery in Italy without reason.
She stopped eating when she heard my words. In fact, her fork was dropped on the plate, making a distinct clatter. The words must have sounded too good to be true because she asked, “What did you say?”
“I’m willing to let you go.” I repeated my sentence word for word.
Her hand immediately went to her chest, right between her curvy tits. “You’ll let me leave? You’ll let me go home?” Her voice cracked in exasperation. Her desperation was heavy, and her true desires shined through. She wanted freedom more than anything else. She wanted it more than food or water. She wanted it more than good health.
“I’ll let you go. Whatever you decide to do with that freedom is at your discretion.”
Her eyes watered and her breathing increased. “Thank you. Thank you so much. I knew you were a good man. I knew you were—”
“I’m not finished.” There was nothing more insulting than telling me I was a good man. I knew exactly what I was—and an honorable person wasn’t one of my qualities. It rubbed me the wrong way, like the head of a toothbrush against carpet.
Her mouth immediately shut, and the tears in her eyes froze in place.
“I’m not giving you freedom. You’re working for it.”
Not understanding, she continued to stare.
“By letting you go, I’m losing something invaluable—my revenge. You can’t put a price on that. You can’t make up for that. I lost men when I captured you from Bones. I’ll lose the respect of my brother if I let you go. You need to pay me for that.”
“I...I have some money. But I need to—”
“I don’t want money.” Money meant nothing to me. I had more than I would ever need.
“Then what do you want?”
I grabbed the jar of buttons and turned it over, spilling every single one onto the table between us. I righted the empty jar and set it on the table. “I want you.”
She stared at the buttons between us before she reached out and grabbed one herself. She felt it between her fingers, sliding her thumb across the smooth surface. It was ivory with four open holes.
“Every time you please me, one goes in the jar.” I grabbed one off the table and dropped it in the vase. “When it’s full, your debt is repaid. And you’re free to go.” At least three hundred buttons fit within the jar. It would take her a long time to work it off, and it would be long enough for me to lose interest in her by the end.
She threw the button on the table. “And what if I say no?”
She wouldn’t say no. She loved it when I touched her. She loved it when I kissed her. She wanted me but refused to have me out of principle. I was giving her a way out, giving her a justification for the means. And it allowed me to control the situation at the exact same time. “Nothing will change.”
“Meaning?”
“You’ll live here indefinitely. I’ll put you to work around the house with the other maids. I’ll never take you against your will or let anyone else do the same. You’ll be comfortable, taken care of, and safe. But that’s all your life will ever be. You’ll never return home. You’ll live out the remainder of your days in this house. You’ll die here.”
She surveyed the buttons. “There must be hundreds...”
“Three hundred and sixty-five.” The exact number of days in a year. “That comes out to one year of servitude.” That was more than fair, if you asked me.