Page 35 of Valentine's Slave

And yet, to make that kind of statement, one would have had to have matured already. So, maybe Valentino has changed over the years.

“But weren’t you happily married with a child?” I ask. That was the picture he seemed to have painted before, though he’d given next to no details, which wasn’t at all out of character for him.

“Married for a very short time, due to the child,” Valentino says. “I was selfish back then. I was lost in drugs and alcohol and my own desires.”

Valentino says the words as if to imply that he’snotselfish right now. I would have to disagree with that, though at least he cut the drugs and alcohol.

“Was it their deaths that turned you around?” I asked. I hope that question isn’t too personal, but he doesn’t seem to be very emotional about the topic.

“No,” Valentino says. “It was my Uncle Marco. He taught me to take responsibility for my actions and showed me that it’s never too late to learn and grow.” He says the words with finality, as if signalling that this conversation is over.

So, Valentino learned and grew, and he also began his ritual of fucking random women every year at the same time his family died? There seem to be missing pieces here. I just don’t get it.

Valentino watches me polish the last few crumbs off my plate. “Would you like dessert?” he asks.

The bagel was heavenly but much too small.

“Sure,” I reply. I’m going all in today. No holding back.

“I know you like chocolate.” Valentino smirks, getting up. “I’ll be back.”

As I glance out into the mall next to us, several women walk by, carrying bouquets of flowers. I’ve never been too into flowers, but now that I think of it, they wouldn’t be that bad. Shawn never really did anything to show his affection. He ‘wasn’t romantic’, as he often told me, since it wasn’t practical. He took care of me, he said, and that was what mattered. Except that being taken care of doesn’t really count if you don’tfeeltaken care of.

Valentino sets a place down in front of me. It’s a chocolate brownie shaped like a heart, complete with a dollop of strawberry ice cream next to it. I can’t help but smile when I see it.

This is just about sex, I remind myself before my heart takes the reins.This is a paid contract.

The brownie is soft, thick, and gooey, and I lose myself once more in my food haze. How does this sex-obsessed stranger sitting across from me seem to know exactly what I need? And why does he seem to want to do everything he can to make me happy?

I shake the feeling off again.

This is just about sex.

“So, what do we do after this?” I ask, resisting the urge to lick my plate when I’m done. That would probably get Valentino hard all over again, and I smirk at the thought.

“Anything you want.” Valentino’s voice is neutral. “You’re free until dinner, remember?”

I wouldn’t consider him cornering and fucking me in the changeroomfree—mind you, I was technically the one who fucked him.

“Will you be stalking me the entire time?” I narrow my eyes at him.

He just smiles. “If I like.”

That makes me uncomfortable.

“And what if you want to go for another romp? How can I do ‘anything I want’ when I’m afraid you’re going to show up at any second, demanding sex?”

“That’s the fun of the game.” That evil smile is still on his lips, his eyes flashing at me. “You don’t know.”

“What if I’m with friends or family?” I ask.

“I won’t reveal my presence to them,” Valentino says, and it sounds like a promise, though I hardly believe him. “Except for in the case of emergency,” he adds, and that doesn’t make me feel any better.

This morning I split my time between job hunting and working on a new blog series inspired by my . . . situation, but the real plan was to go see Mom after lunch. Victoria's Secret was supposed to be a pit stop, not a whole other destination, but now I’m not sure how I feel about going to see my family with this sexy hunter tracking my every move, waiting to pounce. My panties start to get slick again at the thought, and that concerns me.

Fuck Valentino. I won’t cower in fear of my own family because of my current ‘job’. He promised to keep our situationunder wraps, and I trust him to some degree. If I didn’t, I wouldn’t be here.

“Well, in that case, I have to get going,” I say. I’m not sure what this weird mix of a date or a hookup and a bite to eat is, but I have real things to do in my life, and I can’t let Valentino and sex and the kinky haze distract me.

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