“Yes,” I bite out. “And not to seem ungrateful, but what the hell is going on, Kaito?”
“Youareungrateful,” he laughs. “But Merry Christmas, anyway. The girl is my present to you.”
“I gathered that.Why?”
I can almost hear his shrug over the line. “I heard about how you disappeared after all that nasty business with the ballerina. Iactuallythought you might have died. How terrible would that have been? Who would buy all the garbage that I can’t find anyone else to take?” Kaito chuckles. “You needed something to bring you back to life, my friend. A pretty virgin pet is just the thing. Honestly, I don’t care what you do with her. Train her, fuck her, fall in love with her, whatever. Just hang on to this one. She was quite expensive.”
“I don’t want a woman.” There’s a growling, angry note in my voice. “I’m going to let her leave.”
“I wouldn’t do that.” Kaito’s voice has its own edge now, sharp as a blade. “I might find her and bring her back here. She would fit in my harem very nicely. Of course, if you don’t care, I can send someone to fetch her. She does have the prettiest cock-sucking lips. But—I will also remember that you refused my apology, Alexandre.”
An unexpected burn of jealousy washes over me at the thought of Kaito touching her, an unreasonable, possessive anger.I don’t even want her,I tell myself harshly, but the thought of her joining his gold-clad harem of women makes me feel physically ill. “Your apology?” I ask sharply, trying to ignore the welling feeling.
“For my part in the Irishman finding you, of course.” Kaito pauses. “Merry Christmas, Alexandre. Do enjoy your Noelle.”
The phone goes dead. With a howl of frustration, I throw it across the room, clutching my thighs as I rock forward.
I can’t do it.I’m going to hurt her.As much as I tell myself that I don’t want her, it’s a lie. The thought of Kaito having her was enough to show me that. I wanted her from the moment I saw her bound on my doorstep, and I hate myself for it. I hate myself for my weakness, my disloyalty. For wanting another woman when I promised myself I would love only Anastasia, the only woman who ever wanted me since Margot has been gone.
I’d told myself I wouldn’t touch her, that I’d train her and protect her. But I can’t even do that.I’m worthless. Nothing. And I will break if she stays here.
But I can’t send her back to Kaito. I can’t turn her out, only to have her fall back into his hands. Not yet. If I keep her long enough, he’ll likely forget about her—and me--when something else takes his interest.
My entire body aches. The cold from outside feels as if it’s crept in, settling into my bones, making the old gunshot wounds in my knees and left shoulder, and the unhealed wound in my right shoulder ache and throb, until all of me feels like nothing but stabbing, grinding pain.
I should go downstairs and make sure Noelle has cleaned the kitchen. I should have her kneel and drink her tea that will keep her from wandering at night and looking at things she shouldn’t, ensuring she stays in bed until the morning. But I can’t force myself to leave the room.
My nightly ritual is always the same. I feel my cock rising in anticipation of it, even though, by now, my body knows I won’t allow its release. Still, lust pulses through me, twining with the pain in my joints and bones until I’m nothing but a frustrated mess of arousal and hurt. I shove myself to my feet, fumbling with the button of my pants as I reach for the drawer containing Anastasia’s picture.
“I need you—” the words tumble from my lips as I fist my cock, leaning over the bed, the picture clutched in my other hand. But even as I say it, my mouth twisting with physical and emotional pain, Noelle’s face flashes into my mind. My cock throbs, wanting her. Wanting her red lips, her sweet slender body.
I’m terrified I’ll break her. Ruin her. That I won’t be able to stop myself as I keep sliding further into madness, the old compulsions and needs wrapping themselves around my mind with sticky, thorned tendrils. I try to refocus, staring down at the picture of Anastasia, but as I look at it, all I can see is her spread on the dining room table, crying out Liam’s name as he makes her come in front of me.
“Merde!”I scream the word, my hand clenching around my cock to the point of pain, throwing the picture across the bed. I sink onto the mattress, curling onto my side, my hands fisted together against my belly as I grit my teeth against the pain in my bones, my groin, my head,everywhere.It all hurts, inside and out, and I groan as my cock spasms, wanting a release I refuse to give it, especially when I can’t stop seeingthem.
Think of Noelle,that insidious voice whispers.Think of her all in red and green, tied up for you. Your gift to do with as you please. Think of her pretty red lips wrapped around your aching cockhead. It hurts, doesn’t it? Her warm tongue would feel so good. So soft, so wet, licking all your pain away. You could tell her to swallow it all, and she’d have to obey. She’s yours…yours…yours…
“No—no!” I cry out, nails biting into my palms, rocking back and forth to try to escape the voice, but the fantasy is too real. I canseeit, the picture it paints in my mind, and I moan, long and low and helpless, as my untouched cock starts to spasm, my cum spilling out over the blanket as my body shudders with involuntary release at the thought of Noelle’s tongue on my cock.
“No—” I whisper again, but it’s too late. I can see it pooling beneath my trembling shaft, another failure. Another piece chipped away from me.
One more step towards becoming the monster they all say I am.
No matter how badly I want not to be.
10
NOELLE
The next few days are some of the strangest of my life. The morning after that first almost-dinner, Alexandre arrives in my room, waking me abruptly with instructions to bathe and dress. He brings me food like before—more appropriate breakfast food this time, eggs and sausage links so good I nearly cry, despite the fact that I’m forced to eat it kneeling on the floor like before. He gives me instructions to do laundry first and then clean whatever else needs it—and disappears. In the evening, he reappears in silence to make dinner, leaves a plate on the floor for me, and then once again retreats upstairs with his own. Of course, as soon as I’m sure he’s gone, I eat at the table.
Each day following it, for the first week, is the same. Alexandre appears only to serve me my meals on the floor like a dog, and then he leaves. I wait for him to go, kneeling obediently, and then I pick up my plate and eat it like a normal person. Sometimes food appears in the kitchen later in the day, letting me know that he went out shopping, but the rest of the time, I simply don’t see him. It doesn’t take me long to figure out some semblance of what’s going on—that he sleeps a lot and that he’s clearly unwell…though not in the way I’d feared.
When I’d first seen his slightly sunken eyes, thin hands, and tired face, I’d been afraid he had cancer like my father, or some other kind of wasting disease. I hadn’t been sure I’d be able to bear that—even seeing someone I dislike going through that so closely after my father. But there are no signs of it anywhere. No pills, no doctors, no calls to the house for refills of medication. Within that first week, I figure out the plain truth.
Alexandre is depressed.Horriblyso.
It adds up when I think about it. The neglected house, his strange sleep schedule, his apparent disinterest in anything resembling a hobby or activity, his odd outbursts. He seems to possibly have some other sort of mental illness as well—I catch hints of strange compulsions, tics, and routines that he appears to have adopted. Still, none of it is as concerning as how deeply, painfully depressed he seems to be…and the guilt that I often see in his expression, particularly when he looks at me. That, combined with the clear evidence that a woman or women have lived here before, based on the clothing, makeup, and toiletries I find in my room and the lower bathroom, is terrifying.