Page 54 of The Way You Hurt Me

DIMITRI

Inever thought of myself as a man possessing much patience. The last two years proved otherwise. But after this weekend? I am fucking losing it.

I'm pretty certain letting her walk out of my room instead of dragging her to my bed right then was the single hardest thing I've done in my entire life. But if she can't even bring herself to ask me whether there's something between us when I've made it crystal clear, she's not ready for me to take her and shove her into a cage, forever ending her current life.

Soon.

As soon as she asks for it.

After she's up, showered, and ready, we eat breakfast on the veranda, enjoying the cool January sea air. It's…nice. Comfortable. Actually no, the word I'm looking for is normal. It feels completely ordinary, like we've been doing it for the last forever, and expect to do it the following weekend.

And then I have to drive her back home.

Fuck my life.

We're approaching the city when I realize I don't actually need to drop her off right away.

"Would you like to see Wolfie? The pet sitter should have left by now."

"Oh yes, please. That would be great. If you don't mind, of course."

"Do I seem like the kind of person who'd offer if Iminded?" I roll my eyes. "Besides, I have to show you around the building's security, if you were serious about wanting to keep the little monster."

So, I buy myself a little more time. A littletorture.

I give her a tour of the apartment, showing her the access codes, paying particular attention to the emergency buttons she can use to call for help.

"It's important," I stress. "Not all of my associates are of the nice variety."

"I figured." She shrugs, seemingly unbothered. "Imean, you do have two dozen ex-sex slaves that some of your associates rescued in the basement of your Hamptons house-palace-fortress thing."

"And you aren't scared," I note.

"I'm with you," she blurts out. Then she seems to realize what she just said. "I mean, you have a bunch of bodyguards who clearly know what they're doing."

"So do you." I lead her back to the lounge. "I noticed that about your sister and you. Not much seems to faze either of you."

"I guess," she says, heading straight for the playpen. "Back at home, we didn't grow up in the best part of town, you know. There were people involved in various dangerous things around us. Our mother had a dealer who popped by every other day. If I got scared at the slightest sign of danger, I would have had a heart attack by age six."

I think back to everything I know about Morgan, which admittedly, other than the size of her tits, isn't much.

But when she was in danger, about to be tortured, rape, killed, she kept it together. Not many girls could have.

It's hard to see the edge, now—in either of them, but Willow especially. She's all soft curves, pouty mouth, and pretty, preppy skater dresses. But she comes from a rough area. A dark past. I think I remember Cam mentioning Morgan went hungry a few times. Did Willow?

"Are you all right?"

She's staring at me, frowning, those big blue eyes full of concern.

I clear my throat. "Perfect."

"You don't have to lie, you know. You can tell me it's none of my business."

Now, I'm smiling. "You can tell when I'm lying?"

"Your eyes were practically shooting laser beams. I'm just glad I'm not the target."

She's brought Wolfie to her chest, and the lucky bitch is licking her entire face. Clever little thing.

---