Page 44 of To Hell

“But do I bother you?” My voice dips, nervousness crawling under my skin as he keeps his dark gaze on me, scrutinizing me under his microscopic, stern stare.

As with everything about him, the intensity of his gaze makes me tremble.

“Do you not want a more comfortable place to sew?” He is still scanning me, and like some heat-lasered censor, I burn under his gaze for different reasons mixed with my nervousness.

Ettore is breathtaking, and every day, I realize how much oxygen he siphons when he is in a room.

He could be mad at me, and I would be trembling with fear, but there is this other part of me coming alive, wanting him to take that anger and unleash it in deep thrusts inside of me.

I don’t know what that makes me. Sick. Twisted. Messed up. Or all of the above.

“I do,” I stutter and drop to my knees to continue with my work, shrouding the many things I would like right now. “Thank you for your thoughtfulness,” I add quickly, remembering my manners.

“Good.” He is giving me too much and I feel like I will never be able to pay him back. It’s scary. It feels like being thrown into a prison. One you cannot touch or see, but you can feel the bars closing in on you with every good deed handed to you.

“Thank you,” I nod, pull out a pin from the container, and start sewing the sleeve cutouts together. “Thank you,” I breathe, a gazillion thoughts racing through my mind. Why me? Of every girl that day in that club, why did he pick me?

Is this the part where the universe mocks me again with something good only to toss me back into a sea of sharks?

“Are you alright, Zoe?” He crouches behind me, and oh, dear heavens, please. I hadn’t noticed how hard I was gripping the pin until now.

“I’m alright,” I turn rickety and slip the pin into the fabric, distracted. The pin digs into the tip of my middle finger as it pushes out through the fabric, and I seethe, grinding my teeth at the sharp sting of pain shooting through me.

I instantly pull it out, impulsively flinging the fabric and the pin away from me. Blood seeps out of the spot, too much of it, dropping on the other fabric on the floor and my cream sweater.

“What did you…” Ettore motions toward me, and I crawl away from fear he is about to hit me and punish me for being messy.

“I’m sorry, Master,” I crawl farther under the stairs and bunch, clipping my bleeding finger to my chest, waiting for the first punch to slam me.

He will hit me. I’m such a clumsy slave.

My heart bangs against my chest, my blood rushes to my ears, making me lightheaded as I wait for his fist. Tears well up in my eyes.

No punch comes. Instead, a silence that is quickly soiled by heavy breathing from both him and me. I keep my eyes down as he glides towards me, my teeth clattering in my mouth from fear.

I do not want to see the other side of him.

I do not want to be responsible for letting the beast out. But it might be too late.

“Zoe,” his voice is gravelly and ice steel, “Look at me,” he croons, and I hold my shaky head afloat to stare at him because it’s a command and I dare not disobey my master’s command.

“Come here,” he crooks his index finger, beckoning. I’m shocked at how snappily I crawl over to him like a lost child finally finding a way back home. “Let me see,” he points at my hand.

It takes me a minute to understand that he is asking me to give him my hand. Confused by his demand, I give it to him, not missing the stain of crimson on my sweater and the ironized scent of blood making me sick and restless.

He takes my hand in his and my body burns like it’s too close to the sun. I agree. I’m sick. I’m messed up. I’m twisted.

He strokes the back of my hand with his thumb, then takes my bleeding finger between his fingers and takes it to his mouth.

I whimper at his warm mouth. A surge of incomparable heat shoots through my core. I close my eyes, a moan slipping past my lips as I shift closer to him.

It’s obscene.

The lines on his forehead, the fluttering of his lids, and the puckering of his mouth as he sucks on my finger.

He slows his sucking, leaving my finger hanging on his lip, “Be careful next time?”

“S… Sure,” I drop my hand and hug it to my chest, feeling the throbbing tingles on the finger that had just been in his mouth. “Thanks.” I drop my eyes to the floor, confusing thoughts weaving in my head.

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