Page 33 of To Hell

He is pissed about having had sex with me. The firm fastening of his fist and the stiffness of his shoulders, not to mention the low thrumming sound vibrating from him, all of which tell me he is mad at himself. And it rips me into pieces to know that he hates the idea of touching me so much he feels the need to pump his anger and disdain out.

It makes me… I draw in a deep, shaky breath, my chest screwing around my spine and my eyes burning from the tears crawling into them.

I’m a mistake.

Could he already be regretting buying me?

Am I making things worse for him?

I get fidgety as the fear of having him already bored with my presence snakes through my spine to keep twining around my already heavy-thumping heart.

I would normally be grateful if anyone took me home and refused to touch me. It was a wish that never came true as a sex slave for the Bratva, but a wish that I couldn’t stop making every single time I was picked like some item on a menu.

I hated having to surrender my body every single time. Every single night. Except for the nights when I was having my monthly circle, and even then, there were some brutal men whose fetishes were having sex with women on their period.

I shiver at the flashes of cruelty. How they overlooked the cramps and derived pleasure in my writhing and screeching.

I fight my mind to stay still. To stay here. My master might have rejected me, but the pain of his rejection is nothing compared to the agony I have had to survive. Still, I feel like, if allowed, I would choose the latter over the former.

It hurts. What he said hurts me so much that I am not even sure what I feel: anger, sadness, shame. Or maybe all of them at once.

I wriggle to get my dress to cover my half-naked body. For the first time in years, I feel ashamed of my body. I feel worthless. I hadn’t meant for him to think of my question like that. I just wanted to make conversation.

I swallow and feel my flaky throat expand as the air drops down to my stomach in a hollow with my heart.

He grips the speed bag, his muscles flexing with the move. I keep my eyes on the scars on his back. But the instant the first hard thump swooshes through the air and hits the bag, I cringe, feeling the hard blow in my guts.

“You can leave,” his voice thrums with another heavy blow, but I feign deafness. I wrap my arms around my knees and push them to my chest.

He stops for a second, a punch in the air, then shoots me a glare so intense I almost scurry under the bed for cover. It frightens me. And then it does something to me. It pulls me in. It pulls me in all the way.

With him, it is so easy to be tempted by the devil. Something about the fear is intriguing. It’s exciting, and it leaves you…

“Zoe, leave,” his tone is low but no less slithering. I meet his dark eyes and feel something else in them, something besides the darkness. For a quick second, he lets me hold his gaze before ripping it off and returning it to the speed bag.

Guilt.

He is not just mad about what happened between us; he feels guilty. I do not know why, but I try to push my luck.

He will turn me down. He might slash me with his words to remind me of my place because I’ve yet to earn anything from him.

I stagger to my feet, still exhausted from the orgasm. He lands a punch on the speed bag when he feels me move in his direction, but it does nothing to deter me.

I keep walking towards him, the stickiness of his cum between my legs a reminder that he has his weak moments too. That when he is inside of me, he is not so scary.

He slams another punch, and I hastily close the distance, coming to stand by the side of the speed bag as he is about to punch again. He holds his hand in the air but barely. His fist is hovering so close to my cheek, and I can feel the heat from the punch that would have slammed into my face.

“Have you lost your fucking mind?” He growls. The tremor turns my knees to jelly, and I keep my head down.

“I… I… W… wanted…” I gulp. “Please, will you accompany me to…” I whimper, “to… Valerie Moore’s fabric shop?”

“This is the reason that almost got you punched?”

“I need to shop for the fabrics I will use for your suits and…” I gulp. “She is my idol…” I know he doesn’t care about that much information about my life.

But he probably does care for me, just a little bit, since he did not end up punching me.

“Please, Master…”

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