Page 10 of Valentine's Slave

“Oh, but you will,” he says. “You’re craving it. Even now, you want to be dominated, owned,destroyed. You want to lose yourself completely and find yourself anew.”

“I don’t need you to destroy myself,” I say quietly. “I’ve done that plenty of times on my own.” Maybe that’s part of the reason I stayed with Shawn for so long. Hailey never liked him, and neither did Mom. I defended him because he made me feel good . . . sometimes, but never good enough.

“This isn’t mere senseless destruction, though,” Valentino goes on, and without letting go of my fingers, he takes his other hand and drags his index finger up my arm ever so slowly. His touch draws my attention to the point of contact, and my breathing and everything else slows around it. It’s gentle and tingly and erotic, and yet it’s as safe as a lullaby, as gentle as a song.

“This is about diving into the pain to find out what’s beneath it. This is conscious destruction.”

“No, this is about the money.” I glare into his eyes. He’s no psychologist, and he can’t tell me who I am or what I want. He has no idea of my life and what I’ve gone through. All he knows is that he’s horny, and he thinks I am, too. It has nothing to do with all this gobbledygook that he’s trying to tack onto it.

“Money is a means to an end,” Valentino says. He releases my hand, and I hesitate. His touch was strangely wonderful. I take another sip of wine with my lasagne and feel the alcohol blaze through me. I shouldn’t get drunk tonight. This could be a dangerous situation, and even if it’s not, I have to get up early tomorrow. Also, I need to be sharp for the contract.

Maybe Valentino is testing my self control, observing how far I go or how much I try to numb myself. Everyone knows that alcohol is a drug, to relax, to get high, to numb out, or all the above. But tonight, if I’m going to be signing away my soul, my dignity, my body, I don’t care. I’m going to get fucking wasted.

“What if your little monster comes out, on Saturday, and I find out I don’t like him?” I ask. “I’m starting to think you have bipolar disorder or schizophrenia or something. That should be explained in the contract. Informed consent, you know.”

He chuckles. “There is nothing clinically wrong with my mind. I take responsibility for every way it’s twisted. I did it all to myself.”

At least he doesn’t play the victim card—not yet, anyway.

“So, you’re a masochist, then,” I say.

His smile gets darker. “In some ways. In most other ways, however, I’m more of a sadist.”

That alarms me slightly, especially since I’ve never really gotten kinky in bed. Despite my curiosity, I never trusted anyone enough, not even Shawn.

“More likea sadist, orare youa sadist?” I ask. The subtle difference means a lot.

“I’ll let you judge that for yourself."

“But you still haven’t answered my question.” I feel the alcohol firing me up, ready to interrogate him until he gives up every dirty secret he has. I won’t let him hurt me. And I won’t sign myself into a risky situation, even for 50k. But I am tempted and strangely excited, in a dangerous kind of way. I am attracted to bad situations. That’s how I ended up with so many assholes—well, three.

“If you don’t like what you find,” he says quietly, his eyes roaming me, “then you’re in a very unfortunate situation.”

“No cancellation policy?” I ask.

He shakes his head. “You must understand, Ava, this event is monumental for me. You have no idea how much time, training, and planning has gone into it. If you’re not comfortable, I would never force you to be here, which is why I ask you to consider all parts of the contract deeply before signing. If you don’t want to be here,Idon’t want you here, either.”

Well, that’s harsh. But it makes sense. I let my gaze fall over him, from his wild dark hair to the tip of his red tie. I wish he would take it off and undo the top two buttons on his shirt. I want to see what’s underneath. I want to see what I’m getting myself into.

“If it would make you feel better, we can do a short test.” His voice is low. He’s obviously horny. “After going over the contract, if you would like, you may meet the beast, who would introduce himself asThe Master.”

“The Master . . .” I muse. “You mean like instead of a title like ‘Sir’.”

Valentino nods.

“I thought you could only have sex once a year or one week or whatever,” I say. “According to your rules, that is. This wouldn’t be cheating?”

“It would be very close to bending the rules,” he admits. “But I wouldn’t be having sex. I have other tools that can do the job.”

The hair rises on the back of my neck. “You mean like a sexual encounter,” I say, speaking formally, slowly, my intoxicated mind churning. I would be stupid to sign away my rights and my body for an entire week to a complete stranger without having at least sampled his style. I already know I’m going to say yes, because I have to, but I might as well see what kind of asshole he is. Only an asshole would make an official slave contract just to get laid for a week.

I hold up my glass for more wine.

He gives me a cautionary look and fills my cup halfway. “I want you to remember tonight, Ava. I’m not trying to get you wasted so I can go further than I normally would. I’m simply noting what kind of person you are and what you’re after.”

I’m after a wild ride. Aside from the money, of course. If I’m going to prostitute myself, I’m going to try to have as much fun as I can—if he doesn’t kill me, that is. Call it an early mid-life crisis.

I just stare him down as I take a long sip, as if daring him to tell me not to. I finish the lasagna and salad on my plate and grab another piece of bread. Now I feel perfectly satisfied but not overly full, just in case other things happen. Another kind of hunger is rising inside me, and the room slowly spins as Valentino gets up, and my eyes follow him across the room.

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