Page 84 of Sin & Sapphire

Silence. Nobody came, nobody answered, and I couldn’t even hear a set of footsteps in the hallway to tell me that someone was there and listening.

I eyed the bucket in the corner with trepidation.

My bladder pressed against my insides, nudging me toward it.

No, I could resist. Iwouldresist.

I slid my back down the wall again and curled up in the corner, determined to think about anything but my desperate need to pee. It was useless.

Those fuckers. They wanted to humiliate me. They wanted me to feel like I was nothing.

Fuck them.

I tossed my head back and stood, then eased my way down onto the bucket, balancing carefully, and peed.

There was no toilet paper, nothing to clean myself with, so I sat there for a moment and let myself drip dry, before standing. With a grimace, I set the bucket in the furthest corner of the room. It wouldn’t take long for it, and me, to become absolutely disgusting.

Moments later, the door opened again. Angelo stood in the doorway, his arms crossed over his chest, the light from the hallway creating a silhouette of his figure, making him look powerful and almighty.

He ignored me as he strode into the room, grabbed the bucket, and spun on his heel to leave.

“Hey—” I said, trying to get his attention. “What the fuck is going on?”

He raised one eyebrow, irritation on his face. “What’s the second rule, angel?”

“Speak only when spoken to. But?—”

Angelo dropped a bottle of water on the floor and slammed the door shut.

I lost track of time, hungry, stressed, confused, lonely, unable to find a comfortable position to sleep in, naked on the cold tile floor.

The click of a key woke me, followed by the sight of Angelo’s imposing figure, haloed in the doorway again.

I scrambled to my feet, pressed against the back wall of the room, not sure what he wanted, and even less sure whatIwanted.

“Sit,” he said.

I dropped to my knees.

“I said, sit,” he repeated. Confused, I adjusted my posture until I sat cross-legged, blushing at how exposed the position left me.

“Good girl.”

I turned my face away, embarrassed at the warmth that spread through my chest at his praise.

He sat in front of me, cross-legged, facing me, and balanced the tray on his lap. An omelet, fruit, and toast, all neatly cut into small pieces. My mouth watered.

Angelo speared a piece of fruit. “Open,” he said.

I wasn’t a child! And unlike when I had knelt at his feet in Nice, this didn’t feel sexy at all. I pressed my lips together and shook my head.

“Open,” he repeated, his voice deepening with an emotion I couldn’t figure out.

I tried to reconcile the man I knew, fierce, unhinged, but absurdly content to have me at his knees, with the man who sat in front of me, on the floor, holding a fork to my lips, ordering me to eat. Confusion roiled in my gut. What was his game?

I refused, shaking my head again.

He looked at me for a long moment, his grey eyes unreadable, then stood. “Foolish child.”

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