Page 31 of Valentine's Slave

Wife.The word rings in my mind.Why didn’t I say she was my girlfriend?I want nothing to do with Ava, permanently or romantically. This is a paid arrangement. This isn’t about love, and it definitely isn’t about marriage, but the voice of reason responds in my mind:Because the last time you went shopping with a woman, it was with Emilia.

Fuck, it’s true. Every other year before this one, I’ve invited a woman to my house, either made her a meal or ordered in, and fucked her in the comfort of my own home. Asides from the initial coffee meetup, I never took her out on a date. I never went anywhere with her, and I never saw her again. She was my sex toy, one of many, and I was more or less satisfied. Game over. But this time—what’s happened to me this time?

Trying to get my head back in the game, I catch sight of the door down the end of the changerooms that just closed, and rushing forward, I force it forwards, opening it just before Ava slides the lock into place.

I step inside the changeroom and shut the door behind me.

Ava gasps, and the terror in her eyes hits me right in the heart. But when she recognizes me, her shoulders relax, and she rolls her eyes at me again. I’m going to have to start punishing her for that.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” she whispers.

10

Ava

“Iwas curious as to why you wanted to buy more lingerie,” Valentino explains, after just havingbroken intomy changeroom, looking positively charming in dark pants and a cream-coloured long-sleeved V-neck under his coat.

“You were stalking me.” I’m seething, though hardly surprised.

“Keep your voice down or I’ll help you,” he warns in a low tone. I bite my lip, furious. Here I was, thinking we had dinner plans, when really, the psycho just wanted to follow me wherever and fuck me in public. I should have guessed that was his plan all along. He probably gets bored of his creepy sex-addict apartment.

“How did you get in here?” I demand.

“I told the lady at the front that you were my wife,” Valentino says, looking like a rugged model with his dark hair and beard and those piercing eyes.

“Yourwife?” I’m flabbergasted. “I’m your fuckingslave.”

“Exactly.”

He has the balls to smile—I should have kicked him harder this morning.

“So,” he says, “I suggest you shut your mouth and bend over so I can fuck you.”

I can’t believe he just said that. And yet, I can.

“We’re in a dressing room at a clothing store,” I explain as if he’s a child. “There’s a woman outside who will be very suspicious very soon.”

“Not if I gag you,” Valentino goes on. “Then my dirty little Valentine can’t make a sound.”

He takes off his jacket, draping it over the stool. I chose the very last changeroom because it’s bigger, but I wasn’t planning for guests.

“You will do no such thing,” I snap.

“If I remember correctly, I believeI’mthe one making the rules.” He smiles at me again and glances at the lingerie I selected. “But first, tell me the truth. Why are you here looking at lingerie?”

I glare at him, but the truth slips out anyway. “So, I don’t have to be naked all the time,” I admit, looking at the ground. Last night he stripped that little skimpy thing off me almost before we even started, and the rest was all in the nude, which is fine. But if we’re going to be banging for a week, I would rather have slightly more clothing, if at all possible.

He looks at me long and deep, his eyes full of something sad, and he reaches up and strokes his finger under my chin.

“Ava,” he murmurs, “you’re gorgeous—you know that, right?”

I am not having this conversation with this stranger, slave master or not.

“Shut up,” I murmur.

“I want you to look in the mirror and watch me fuck you,” he says. “With all the lights on. You’re going to see the goddess that you are.”

He takes my jacket off, and every cell in my body hates him right now.

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