Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 94829 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 474(@200wpm)___ 379(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94829 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 474(@200wpm)___ 379(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
“I’m not interested,” she snaps at me.
“If you change your mind, all you have to do is knock on that door. Middle of the night and feeling lonely? Go ahead and summon me.” I stop and look back at her, licking my lips. “I’ll come when you call, my little doll.”
“Asshole,” she barks, picking up a book and flinging it at me.
I dodge, grinning to myself.
There’s the little spirit I’ve been missing.
Now we’ll see how long it takes before she comes begging for me to slip myself deep inside of her.
Chapter 9
Dasha
His freaking doll.
I roll that thought around in my head for the next few days. While I’m cleaning, while I’m lounging, while I’m alone in the steam-filled shower.
His little doll.
It repulses me. But I keep coming back to it. Over and over, I think about what it means.
Submissive. Quiet. Obedient.
Everything I’ve tried to be for years, thinking that if I could only act right, I’d somehow be exempt from this exact scenario.
But the best I’ve felt since coming here was when I was tearing this room to pieces and when I threw that book at Tigran’s head.
He doesn’t bother me for a couple of days after that one visit. I stew for a while, but eventually, I take him up on his offer. Vito’s more than happy to provide me with a black American Express in my name. “No limit, of course,” he says happily. “Order anything you like and have it sent to the house. And if you need furniture delivered, just inform a member of the staff or flag me down personally.”
Dad was generous, but he was never no limit generous.
I’m a little giddy at first, looking over all my options online. Until I realize that the second I start spending Tigran’s money is the second I owe him something.
I agonize. For two days, I obsess and worry, with one eye on that locked door.
I don’t go near it except when I hurry to my bedroom.
But the door’s always in the back of my head.
What would happen if he came in through there? And what does it mean that I’ve been tempted to knock?
Just to get it over with, of course.
Except I can’t bring myself to do it. Not just because I find Tigran to be so terrifying.
But also because I’ve never been touched by a man like that.
I became a recluse at the age of thirteen, which means I’ve barely been around men who aren’t related to me since then, much less actually had sex with one.
The idea of touching him is overwhelming, both because it scares me and because I want it.
Which is definitely wrong and something I need to suppress.
Instead of giving in to my filthy, dirty needs, I touch myself at night in bed. I’ve gotten pretty good at taking care of my needs through a generous application of fingers, spit, and porn.
But these last couple of nights, I haven’t needed my usual favorite videos.
Closing my eyes and thinking about Tigran has been more than enough.
What the hell is wrong with me?
“Good morning, Dasha,” Vito says on the morning of the third day after my husband’s abrupt visit. My rooms are cleaned and straightened, though pretty barren now. Vito sweeps in with a tray of coffee and French toast.
The man is a wizard when it comes to sweet breakfast foods.
“You do realize you’re my favorite man in the world, right?” I ask as I sit down greedily in front of my breakfast.
“Don’t tell Tigran that, please. My employer can be rather jealous.” Vito’s eyes sparkle with amusement. He’s a jolly old man, and I’ve really grown to like him despite myself. “Unfortunately, I have some bad news for you.”
“You waited until I started eating on purpose,” I mumble at him around a mouth filled with the most amazing French toast I’ve ever tasted. Buttery, sweet, rich, divine. I could die right now, and I’d ascend to breakfast food heaven where the angels live on fluffy pancake clouds.
“I most certainly did,” Vito admits. He disappears into the hall before returning a moment later, pushing a clothing rack.
Several different dresses sway from side to side.
I sit back in horror.
“What are those?” I gasp, raising an accusatory fork. Syrup drips into my lap. I scoop it up with a finger and pop it into my mouth. Delicious. I’m a freak for this stuff.
“Your husband wishes you to know that the meeting is tonight. He says you are to pick one of these and have it on by six this evening.” Vito clears his throat, clearly uncomfortable, but he holds his composure. “Your husband also wishes me to convey the importance of this request, and that your failure to follow through will result in—” He clears his throat awkwardly. “A punishment.”
My eyebrows shoot up and my heart skitters in my chest. The memory of last night’s fantasy flits through my brain. Tigran lifting my conservative skirt up over my ass, only to find I’m not wearing any panties. “You filthy fucking girl,” he purrs as he spanks me raw. “You’ll need a punishment now. Open your mouth and take my cock once there’s a bruise the shape of my hand on your bare ass.”