Page 45 of Vows of Betrayal

“Christ, woman. When do you get a day off?” I asked, sounding astonishingly whiny to my ears. But I didn't care. I wanted her to stay home. With me.

Not go back to that shithole and deal with a bunch of disgusting, smelly, sick humans. My stomach churned just thinking about going to the hospital again. But it was something she looked forward to for some reason.

Francesca laughed as she sat down on the bed to pull her socks on. “There are no days off, Stefan. At least I hope there aren't.”

I frowned and asked, “What do you mean? You haven't had one day off since I got here. You must be due by now.”

She laughed again and stood. “How many days did I get off when you were in the hospital?” She hurried toward the kitchen.

I thought back. I wasn't completely coherent every day I was there, but from what I could remember, she was always there. “None?”

She opened the fridge. “Bingo,” was all she said before pulling shit out and closing the door. Then she started scooping food into a stupid empty margarine container.

“Why? They must owe you a ton of days off by now.” I scratched my head, and a sharp pain ran through me. My body felt like I'd run a goddamn marathon or something. A sudden flash of Francesca's naked body over top of me burst into my brain. And I grinned to myself.

Fuck.

That woman had come completely unglued as she rubbed her hot, wet pussy all over my hard cock.

Speaking of my cock—it just jumped, wanting her to come back over here and do the same thing she'd done last night.

“I don't get paid if I don't work. Overtime isn't much, but it's more. So, I take whatever extra shifts I can pick up,” she said like that was the most normal thing in the world—to work yourself to the bone every day without a break.

“You're going to kill yourself. You can't work every fuckin' day, Chesca. That's not good for you.”

She laughed and opened the bread that she'd brought home. “Yes, but paying rent and buying gas for my crappy car—is—good for me. Very good for me.” She pushed down the lever on the toaster and it lit up in the semi-darkness.

“How much is rent?” I asked, determined to pay it for her. Not that it would matter. As soon as I could walk down those steps outside, I was taking her to my place and forever removing Francesca from this horrible excuse for an apartment.

“It's enough that I have to work every day.”

Her answer pissed me off. I felt my anger boil down deep in my chest. Someone like her shouldn't have to work every goddamn day to pay rent. “I asked you how much rent was, Francesca. And I expect an answer.”

Her head turned to me, and she laughed.

Right in my fucking face.

My brain almost exploded from her defiance. Honest to fuck—if I didn't have a gaping wound in my chest, I'd walk over there, sling her over my shoulder and spank that perfect heart-shaped ass until she told me what I wanted to know.

“I'm not telling you.”

Jesus Christ.

This woman.

I didn't need the blood pressure monitor hooked up to me to know it had spiked.

“Since you won't go back to sleep, do you want toast before I leave?” she asked. I could hear her buttering the toast she'd just dropped on a plate.

“I'll eat later,” I mumbled, feeling more than dejected. I couldn't believe how fragrantly Francesca disregarded my questions. I had a strong feeling it was going to take a long time to rid her of this behavior. But a very large part of me was looking forward to training her.

My way.

Once my goddamn chest didn't feel like it was on fucking fire.

I heard her bite into her toast. It wasn't even dawn outside yet and she was eating. Last night she'd eaten twice what I did. And then she ate most of the microwave popcorn. And now—she was eating again.

My heart sank, now knowing full well that she had been hungry those days when all she had in the cupboard was one box of tasteless cereal and a few packs of stolen sugar.

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