Page 14 of Kristoff

Another thrust, more pain-sharp, unyielding, and he stills. My hands fist the bedding beneath me as he releases his cum into me, filling me. A new pain spreads through me, filling my chest. Rage. Pure raw rage, tampered with the idea that he’s still on top of me.

Insults, rants, threats all burn my tongue wanting to escape and fling at him, but I hold back. I bury my face into the covers, humiliated, worn out, used - fucked.

He slips out of me, stands up and rezips his jeans. “Get up.” He smacks my ass. “Stand up now,” he orders in that steel voice of his.

I want to tell him to fuck off again, but I think I’ve learned his punishment. He’ll just make me. He’ll always make me.

My feet find the floor and I manage to push myself to stand on shaky legs. I can’t see him well with my hair mangled in front of my face, but that’s fine. Looking at him will make me vomit.

“You will remain naked at all times.” He pushes my hair away from my face with a gentleness he did not afford me only moments before. “Do you understand me?”

I nod.

“Words, Magdalena. Always words,” he corrects me, but the steel has softened.

“Yes.”

“Yes, what?” he asks, and I chance to look up at him. Tears still linger on my lids, making his features blurry but I can see the wrinkled brow, the tense lips. He’s still teaching me.

“Yes, sir,” I whisper, not getting one ounce the satisfaction I’ve gotten in the past at using the phrase.

“Clean yourself up. I’ll have dinner sent up for you.” He looks me over with a blank expression. He’s hiding from me. Lucky him.

“Yes, sir,” I whisper and go back to looking at the floor. A drop of blood splatters at my feet, soaking into the carpet. It’s mine. I’m bleeding.

When a tear drips from my cheek and mingles with the crimson red droplets, I suck back a sob. I underestimated him. I forgot who he is, what he is.

Why won’t he leave, why is he still standing in front of me? I chanced another glance, expecting to find a smug asshole glaring down at me.

“I’ll be back,” he says and heads for the door. “I expect you to eat everything on your dinner tray.” He throws the dictate over his shoulder but doesn’t even look at me. It’s like he doesn’t want to see me any more than I want to see him.

Once the door is closed and I’m alone again, my legs stop pretending to work and I sink to the floor. His cum is slipping out of me, mixed with my blood, but I don’t care how messy it is.

The sobs come hard and fast now. No sense in trying to rein them in. Curling up with my knees pressed to my chest, I hug them and lean against the bed.

Accept my position, accept my situation.

That’s what he wants.

If this is my new life, I’d rather not have any at all.

7

Triciaignores me as I stomp around the kitchen. She knows enough to back off when needed. And right now - it’s needed.

“Where the fuck are all the apples?” I yell, slamming the refrigerator door. I like them cold. She knows this.

“We gave the last one to the new girl, this morning,” she reminds me in her soft-spoken way. She’s been under my father’s control for too long; she doesn’t even flinch when I slam my fist onto the counter near where she’s working on chopping onions. Sometimes my father makes her cook for him. And since the usual kitchen staff isn’t around, I assume he’s put her on KP duty for the night.

I need a tray of food brought up to Magdalena, but I don’t want to put that on Tricia since it looks like my father has put her to work. Taking her away from the duties he gave her could end up with her strapped up on the wall and taking a caning from him.

“Where’s Samantha?” I demand.

“She’s been given to Matvei for the evening,” Tricia says, but a drop of bitterness is laced in her tone. Not because she envies Samantha, but because she knows there’s nothing she can do to stop it. If my father’s given her to Matvei for the night, she’ll be out of sight for a full day or two until she’s able to move around enough to work.

I clench my teeth. “Why?”

She lifts a shoulder in a dainty shrug. “To make up for what you did to him.” My father speaks freely in front of her, which works in my favor more times than not. But she doesn’t glance at me when she tells me this news, knowing it won’t make me happy. Giving that asshole a reward after I beat him down for touching what’s mine doesn’t exactly show my father backs my decisions.

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