Page 7 of Valentine's Slave

As soon as the door closes behind us, I sense a change in the air. This is his territory. This is where he lets the monster out, why he’s so determined to find a slave.

This is where he’s going to do unspeakable things to me. If I agree, that is.

My heart begins to thump as I scan the room. It looks like a normal enough place—open concept living room and kitchen redone with homey wood tones and hardwood floors. There’s a black L-shaped sofa, and I notice there’s no TV.

After watching Valentino remove his shoes, I do the same, and he gives me the tour. He takes me to the bedroom first, a queen bed in the middle of the room and a dresser by the window, with an in-suite bathroom. Next is the smallest room, where he works, I assume, with a desk in front of the window and a yoga mat next to some weights on the floor. And then, he leads me to the third and final room.

When he opens the door, I feel like I’ve just been transported to a sex club, though I’ve never actually been to one. Shawn wanted to go, but I shut down the idea. Who knows if he went by himself or with that nineteen-year-old. One of those X-shaped wooden crosses sits in one corner. There’s a sex swing hung up behind the door, as well as a huge mirror covering an entire wall.

In the other corner, by the window, is what looks like a small massage table, complete with a spot to rest your head facedown. It’s made of wood, topped with soft leather, except that it’s much smaller, and it has four smaller platforms as well, two near the head and two more lower down, at the foot of the table. Each small platform has a black strap.

Holy shit, I think.Is it a spanking contraption? A torture table?

There’s a wicker box in the corner, where I assume the toys are, and on the dresser are some candles waiting to be lit.

I ogle the room for a good few seconds.

“Does it turn you on?” Valentino murmurs, and if I weren’t already pulsing down there, his tone of voice definitely would have done the trick.

“You’re telling me that all this is just for once a year?” I ask, whirling around to face him. I feel naked already, and he’s looking at me as if he’s already fucking me against every piece of equipment in his mind. I’m not sure if I should take that as a compliment or not.

“Once a year, yes,” he says. “I prepare in advance for the occasion.”

He seems to be into vague responses. Not that it matters to me how many times he’s done this or who he’s fucked before. I’m just here for the cash.

“Would you like to see the toys?” he asks. There’s authority in his voice, a simmering darkness. He’s been polite and gentlemanly to a T, but I have a sense it’s mostly a mask, that there’s a lot of dark shit down there waiting to break free and devour something.

That shouldn’t excite me. Danger, especially in the form of a dirty-minded, hulky stranger, shouldn’t get me going. I’m more mature than this.

“Yes,” I say, trying to channel the same authority into my voice.

A smile curves Valentino’s lips. He brings over the wicker box and takes out a black ribbon. A blindfold. A whip. Handcuffs. A glass dildo-like thing with three circles, starting smaller and getting bigger. No, wait, it’s a butt plug. Holy shit—it has to be five inches long. A more normal looking tear-shaped butt plug with a brown and black tail coming out the end. A ball gag with two little metal clamps suspended by chains. A dog collar. My breath catches at the back of my throat, and I swear Valentino hears it.

He could destroy me with all this, and it terrifies me. And yet, I’m exhilarated. I seem to have frozen in place, because when I finally come back to the present, he’s looking right at me.

“Too much for you?” His voice has a taunting edge, and I see even more clearly how the gentleman act is only one of his personas.

“That depends on what the limits are,” I say. “Do you use safe words?”

“Always.”

“Okay then . . . let’s talk about an agreement.” I take a deep breath. Am I actually doing this? Seems like it. I already decided when I saw him at the café. The money was too good to pass up. And sex with a chiselled hulk like him—how bad could it possibly be?

Valentino's gaze seems to pulse with sex, and heat flickers through me. “I knew you could take it,” he praises. “I knew that beneath all that attitude, there was a good girl waiting to come out.”

Someone’s ready to jump the gun. He’s already dirty talking, and we haven’t even started the sex yet.

“I’m not agood girl,” I snap. It’s such a submissive term, and I’m not submissive. I’m not a slave, either. I’m just being paid to be one. I’m acting.

“Are you trying to tell me that you’re a bad girl?” He chuckles, the rumble coming from deep in his chest. “A brat?” He looks right at me when he says the word, and I know he wants a brat. I know he wants someone who will fight back so he can let loose on her and bring her to her knees. This man wants a challenge.

I just stare him down without giving him the satisfaction of an answer.

“I think you’re hungry,” he goes on. “Would you like some dinner? We don’t have to be strangers anymore.”

“What’s on the menu?” I ask, following him out of the room.

“Spinach and mushroom lasagna with cheese.”

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