Page 41 of Valentine's Slave

I slide a little bit closer. She’s looking ravishing in that dress. I wonder if she fought herself over buying it for the sole purpose of looking especially delectable for me.

“I’ve been through many things in my life,” I say quietly, “and rather than become bitter, I’ve chosen to learn and grow from everything. In doing so, I move forwards, and I find out what works the best. And what I’m currently doing is exactly what works best for me.”

Ava starts to respond and then abruptly shuts her lips. I could kiss her against the seat right now, press my tongue into that pretty mouth and steal her breath.

“You’re not afraid to die alone?” Her voice is careful now, hardly above a whisper, and I gather that that’s one ofherfears. I am a few years older than she is, but that also means I’ve had more time to come to peace with my demons. Most of them, at least.

“No,” I say simply. “Things beyond my control are also beyond my realm of worry.”

Her eyebrows crinkle in confusion, as if I’d just quizzed her on the laws of physics. And then I take the offensive.

“What are you most afraid of?” I ask.

Ava hesitates, and I know she won’t admit it.

“Being stuck with the wrong person,” she murmurs. That might be true, but I don’t think she’s aware of everything else connected.

“The most important person you should be worried about is yourself,” I tell her. “Neglectthatrelationship, and you’ll die alone, no matter who you’re with.”

She looks confused again, and I’m distracted, now. My eyes slip to her perfect, round breasts, pressing up against the hem of her neckline.

“Loving yourself is a cliché topic, twisted and taken advantage of by many in the self-help industry,” I tell her. “As I like to say, how can you love someone you don’t know?” I slip my hand under the table, trailing it along her thigh, sliding under her dress. “Have you ever tried to get to know and connect with yourself like you have with a past date or boyfriend? Have you chosen yourself first, always, even above the person you wanted because they neglected your values and how you knew you deserved to be treated?”

“What the fuck are you doing?” Ava snaps, slapping at my hand under the table.

“Put both your hands on the table,” I command.

“I thought Master shit only counted in the bedroom,” she says.

“‘Master shit’ applies to all sexual scenarios,” I clarify. “And sexual scenarios may happen inside or outside the bedroom.”

“Fuck you,” she murmurs, narrowing her eyes as she puts both hands on the table.

“Good girl.” I feel my cock stir as I slide my hand up her thigh until I reach the lacy panties beneath. “You dressed up for me,” I murmur. “Were you looking to impress me?”

Her eyes spit fire. “I dressed up forme.”

Liar. But I’ll give it to her.

“Excellent,” I praise. “You need to do what you want, what you like.”

“Don’t tell me what to do,” she snaps, and I chuckle as she grabs her pizza and stuffs it between those pink lips, washing it down with a large gulp of red wine. “I still don’t get why youenjoy celebrating the anniversary of the death of your family with kinky sex with strangers. Do you even know how psycho that sounds?”

She’s on the attack again, but anger is an emotion just as strong as attraction, and she’s pinballing from one to the other. Meanwhile, my fingers caress her inner thigh, moving north.

“'He is a wise man who does not grieve for the things which he has not, but rejoices for those which he has',” I say quietly. “It’s one of Epictetus’s most meaningful quotes to me, and I’ve repeated it to myself often.”

“I don’t know who Epi-whatever-his-name is,” Ava says, balling her hands on the table into fists, “and while you may have cash, you don’t seem to have much else. You fuck a girl, or a few girls, for a week, and then you’re alone for a year. What good is that?”

For trying to act like she doesn’t care, she seems to be very concerned for my happiness.

“Epictetus was a Greek Stoic philosopher,” I explain. “And as for me, I have everything I need.” I swipe my finger back and forth across her panties, pushing them to the side so I can slide a finger inside. “My peace of mind. My work. And right now—I have you.”

I thrust a finger inside her, and she grits her teeth, fighting a moan as she shoves more pizza into her mouth.

Curling my finger, I vibrate it inside her, thrusting hard, my knuckle pressing up against her clit.

“You’re such a control freeeeeak,” she says, her last word catching on a moan, stretching out as she clenches the table.

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