Page 39 of Valentine's Slave

The lonely girls are the ones who go wild, and I wanted a freak in the sheets. And yet, somehow, Ava’s more than just a freak. There’s something magical about her, something pureand innocent. As sarcastic and wild-mouthed as she can be, she carries something precious within.

But I won’t let myself get carried away. This is just sex, and breaking the kiss, I quickly go back to fucking her. I finger her at the same time, and soon she’s screaming in my ear, her body pressed against mine, convulsing against me. I love watching how responsive she is, how every little thing I do drives her wild. I’d like to fuck her like this until we’re both ready to pass out. That’s the whole point of this week, to fuck myself numb, and when she comes, I come with her.

My little minx is exhausted but smiling. I have no idea what she was crying about, but there’s no more trace of it on her face. Maybe she just needed some good dick to make all the pain go away. And after washing up, I pull her close in my arms, cuddling her to sleep.

I stroke her hair, feeling more alive than I have in years, her warm body in my arms. I’m not falling for her. I’m just living vicariously through the sex. And that’s exactly what I do best.

* * *

The next morning, I’m awake at the crack of dawn. Even though I’m already hungry for more, the sex left me feeling light and free.

I carry out my normal morning routine: do yoga, work out, take a shower, trim my beard, make coffee. While watching the sun flit across the trees, I plan out the rest of our time together. It’s Saturday, February the 10th. This week will be a buildup to the finale, but tonight will be Ava’s initiation into the dirtiest part.

We're busy until lunchtime, wrapped up in each other's arms, taking our fill of each other on the bed, against the wall. Afterwards, while Ava's in the shower, I head out. I leave her a note on the kitchen table with the name of an Italian restaurant where we’ll be meeting for dinner at 6 p.m. She’s free until then,lest I find her first. But today, I don’t plan to. Today, I have another ritual to practice.

I walk instead of taking an Uber because I need the cold air and the sunlight. I know the way well, and in half an hour, I’m there.

The cemetery is looking rather scant this time of year, though I’m pleased to see that the autumn leaves have been disposed of. There’s no snow, though there might be a storm over the weekend.

I walk through the rows of headstones, and a quiet reverence fills me. When I get to the shiny black one, I pause. Emilia’s father paid for it since I couldn’t even afford to bury my own family at the time. That was before he disowned me, which was fully understandable, considering the circumstances.

It's hard to believe it’s been twenty years, but I’ve long since accepted it as my fate. This is who I am, strong, capable, alone. I don’t normally come here on the exact day, but I choose one day the week before and dedicate myself to their memories. Now, I let my gaze wash over their joint gravestone, a rosebush curling around it.

EMILIA ROSSI

1982–2001

Beloved wife, mother & daughter

MICHAEL ROSSI

August 19, 2000–February 14, 2001

Beloved son

I still remember everything as clear as day, but it doesn’t feel suffocating like it used to. I believe that everything happens for a reason. It’s what the Stoics always taught, and even if we never know that reason, we can know that no one suffers or dies for nothing. There is a greater plan. And my life, as well as myrituals and my commitment to them, is just as much a part of that plan.

Emotions have long since left these visits, but I still kneel at the grave, paying them their rightful reverence. Emilia deserved to watch her son grow up. Michael deserved to have a childhood. But what’s done is done, and I have learned not to wish I could change the past.

When I get up, I feel new energy and resolve sizzle through my veins. I’m a changed man. I’ve lived out Socrates’ words, ‘It is not difficult to avoid death. It is much more difficult to avoid wickedness, for it runs faster than death.’I’m the best version of myself that I’ve ever been, and nothing can addict or break me anymore, not even my sexual beast.

I head to a café to work for a while, leaving Ava in peace, for now.

At 6 p.m. on the dot, I’m at Da Andrea, and I’m surprised to see Ava, already outside the door, and wearing new clothes. Those knee-high black boots catch my eye, along with a warm yet flattering winter coat and a blood-red dress beneath.

“Hello, Ava,” I say, greeting her at the door with a warm hug but no kiss. She won’t be getting accustomed to that. It was a one-time thing, and from here on out, it’s all rough and tumble.

“Hi,” she says, smiling at me, looking flustered. I open the door for her, and we head inside.

Da Andrea has a homey feel, with its wood tables and chairs and the old paintings hung on the mustard walls, lit with warm lights. They usually have plants on the bar and along the back wall, and according to the season, this time they have roses.

Ava takes off her coat and leaves it on the back of her chair. The neckline of her dress is a deep V, and I can tell she dressed up for me. She must have enjoyed the sex last night to an exceptional degree. Wait until she finds out what’s coming next.

I get pasta, and she gets pizza. While I drink non-alcoholic beer, she orders a few glasses of wine over the course of dinner. I make sure to sit beside her, not across from her, so that I can both look into her eyes and feel her close. She may not be mine officially, but I’m going to use every last second that I have her. That’s what this deal is. That’s my ritual, to fulfil every dark fantasy, to keep my ravaging beast sated for another year.

Except that this time, it’s not sated. It’s only gotten hungrier. I feast my eyes on Ava as she opens her mouth to take a bite of that pizza, and I want to wrap my arms around her waist and press myself into her. Despite my rules, she has her own magic, a magic that I want to break open and shatter all over the floor. I’ll show her just how dark and controlling I am, how much pleasure she’ll reap from her servitude.

“Did you have a good afternoon?” I ask her.

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