“Down.” He taps his foot on the pale blue rug.
Heat seeps up my neck and into my cheeks.
He must see it, because he smirks. “I’ve never had one who won’t do what she’s told.”
Shit. I can’t stand out. Fitting in with the other Maidens is the only way this can work.
Slowly, I sink to the floor and keep my gaze on the rug.
“Closer.” He reaches out and plucks a lock of my hair, rubbing it between his thumb and forefinger.
I scoot nearer. He spreads his knees wider and yanks on my hair. “Closer.”
I clench my teeth, but I obey, moving until I’m between his legs, my face level with his stomach. I don’t look down.
“What’s your name?”
“Delilah.” I flinch as he yanks my hair again.
“What’s your real name?”
I look up at him. “Delilah.”
His nostrils flare, and his eyes widen. I quickly drop my gaze.
“You’re different.” He uses both hands to stroke down my hair. “I mean, obviously you look different. Albino or something?”
I’d been called that by mean children since the first grade. His use of the term rolls off like water on a duck’s back. My skin and hair are the result of a genetic defect, a close cousin to albinism, but he doesn’t need to know that. I’ve dealt with rude comments on my odd looks my whole life. I could deal with his, too.
“So white.” He studies my hair. “Like a fairy.”
I remain still and silently hope that he will lose interest, that his perusal of my hair will be the end of the evening, and he’ll leave me in peace.
A few more moments pass, then he leans back. “Take your dress off.”
God, it had been so hard to do it the first time in a room full of gawking men. Now, in a quiet room with just one man, it seems infinitely more difficult.
He taps the small buckle at the front of his belt. “You’ll learn that you need to obey me. Every time. Immediately. I’ll give you a pass tonight since it’s our first time together, but from now on, when I tell you to do something, you do it. No hesitation. Now, take your dress off.”
My lip trembles as I reach down and pull the gold fabric from beneath my knees, then ease it over my head. Goosebumps race all over my body as the cool air hits me in secret places, but I won’t cry. I drop the fabric next to me, then resume staring at his stomach, though now my eyes are drawn down to the shiny silver buckle.
“Good lamb.” He presses his index finger under my chin and draws my gaze up to his face. Square jaw, sharp nose, full lips, dark hair, and those unreadable eyes—he is handsome. I assume Satan is, too.
“Whenever I come to visit, I expect you to strip and kneel before me immediately. You don’t ask questions. You don’t hesitate. Do you understand?” His gaze flickers to my lips.
“Yes.”
“Good.” He releases my chin, and I return my gaze to the floor.
He clucks his tongue. “Don’t hide from me. Always look me in the eye when I speak to you.”
“But the Spinners told us never to—”
“When we are in this room, we do it my way.” He shoots a glance to a vent in the ceiling, then refocuses on me. “I’m your Protector. I would never lead you astray.”
I meet his gaze again, feeling its weight settling all over me, pulling me down to an abyss full of dark shapes and moving shadows.
“Good lamb.” A smirk toys with the edge of his lips. “Now open your mouth.”
I will not cry. I will not cry. I open.
He frowns. “Faster next time. And wider.”
I spread my jaws, pulling my lips back from my teeth.
“Better.” He slides two fingers into my mouth, pressing down on my tongue. “Have you ever taken a man in your mouth before?”
I shake my head slightly.
His smirk blooms. “Liar.”
Panic threatens to constrict my throat. Getting into the Cloister required virginity. I had that in the technical sense, which was supposedly “confirmed” during the exam required for all applicants. A virgin? Yes. A saint? No.
“How many dicks have you sucked, little lamb?” He presses down harder, his fingers sliding closer to the back of my throat.
I gag, but he doesn’t remove his fingers. My gorge rises, more from a memory than anything he’s doing to me.
“How many?”
“One,” I say around his fingers.
“One?” Seemingly satisfied, he pulls back. “Leave your mouth open.”
Spit pools on my tongue, but I can’t swallow.
He gives me a hard look, one devoid of pity. “Do you have any idea what you’re in for? What a year in this place will do to you? What I will do to you?”
I can’t respond. But I want to tell him I’m not afraid. That I will do whatever is necessary.