Page 15 of Kristoff

“Fine. Get someone to help in here then. I need a tray of food brought up to my room. Pasta, something comforting - and a dessert.” I drag my fingers through my hair. I need to get in a fucking shower.

Tricia stops chopping and looks sideways at me. “Is there something else I can give her?” The question is quiet, and she knows asking is a risk.

I nod. “Yeah. Give her three ibuprofen tablets and a glass of wine - red.” She’ll still hurt, but at least it will buffer the pain. “And get the carpet cleaned up there too.”

“Yes, sir.” She goes back to chopping her onions.

I leave the kitchen, knowing Tricia will get it all done and head to my workout room. There’s a full bathroom attached, and I can shower there without having to go back to my bedroom.

Because she’s in there and I can’t see her yet.

I can’t look at that wounded look on her face. I turn the hot water on and step inside, dunking my head under the stream. Blood washes off my cock and pools at my feet before it swirls down the drain. Her blood.

“Fuck!” I yell into the shower.

Nothing with this girl has gone the way it’s supposed to. I have a system. A very strict, easy system when I get a girl to train. I explain the situation. I set the rules. I show them what to expect and I teach them the shit they don’t already know about serving a man sexually. But none of that has gone right with her.

I’ve fucked unwilling women before, even harder than I fucked her, but I’d given them pleasure. They were high on orgasmic waves when I thrust my cock into them the first time.

This girl gets to me unlike any other I’ve trained. I haven’t even started the training!

I need to get my head out of my ass and get the situation under control. She’ll be pliable now. No more fighting me for control. Fuck, she doesn’t even want control. This woman is a natural, willing submissive and all I have to do is tap into that - but instead she fights me every fucking step.

But right now, she’s hurting. Not just from me forcing her, but she’s starting to understand the hopelessness of her struggle. She can’t win. She can’t run. She’ll just have to give in.

I turn off the water and dry off quickly. Right now, she’s soft, if I work with her tonight, maybe she’ll start to grasp the situation and work toward making the best of it. It doesn’t have to be all bad. If she learns quick and does what she’s told, I can get a good buyer for her. Someone who will at least take care of her - won’t just stick her in a cell and fuck her whenever the mood strikes him.

Like my father does.

Just thinking of him makes my stomach twist.

I grab a new pair of jeans, one without the stains of her blood on them, and yank them up.

After I finish dressing and comb back my wet hair, I make a call for the house physician to meet me at my apartment and head up to meet him. She’ll be scared to see another man entering the room, it’s best if I’m with him.

“Kristoff.” Dr. Morrow nods in greeting when I find him at my door.

“Hey, doc.” I shake his hand and snag the key from my pocket, letting us into the apartment. “She’s in the bedroom.” I consider going in first, to warn her about the exam - but disregard it. I can’t coddle her, not now. She’s had a shit day, and she needs to learn that shit days don’t mean you don’t have to follow rules and can decide what happens next. Going easy on her will only make things harder for her once she’s transported at the end of the week.

If the good doctor has any concerns about the bedroom being dead-bolted from the outside, he’s smart enough to keep them to himself. But he’s been the physician at my father’s estate for long enough to find very little about what goes on around here unusual.

Magdalena is sitting on the bed, blood stains her thighs and the bedding beneath her. She hasn’t washed, and by the look of the tray sitting on the end of the bed, she hasn’t eaten either.

“Magdalena.” I walk over to the bed. She doesn’t react. “Magdalena,” I say with more force. She looks up from her lap, streaks of dried tears stain her cheeks. Her eyes are bloodshot and puffy. “Magdalena, you were supposed to shower,” I remind her but soften my voice.

“I—” she blinks. “I’m sorry.” She unfolds her legs and scoots to the end of the bed. I help her stand and she gives me a wary look. She’s scared. I feel it in her trembling body. She’s frightened of me.

The dark pit in my stomach burns.

“Here, I’ll help you, then the doctor can look you over. Okay?” I scoop her up into my arms and carry her to the bathroom.

She’s stiff in my arms, doesn’t answer me or fight me. Like a sack of flour.

“Warm bath should help,” Dr. Morrow says as we pass him. “I’ll strip the bed and call for Tricia to come change the sheets.”

“She should have fucking done that when the food was brought up. I want to know why she didn’t tell me this was going on.” I nod toward my girl in my arms.

My girl.

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