Chapter 13: Ava

I’m not stupid…

I may make stupid decisions sometimes, like deciding to drop my guard and allowing him in, but I’m far from stupid.

I know it’s because of the way we were on Friday why Vincent’s staying away. It got too real.

It got too real for me too.

I never really felt like I was a slut when I was with him until I woke up that morning and saw that he was gone.

It was just a feeling that came over me, and as the days went by, the feeling stuck, reminding me that I’m his whore so he can pick me up when he wants to fuck me and toss me to the side when he’s done with me.

I wonder if it was because he could sense that I’m damaged and broken. Like he knew there was something that wasn’t quite right about me.

He’s avoided me for the last few days, and today looks like it’s going to be the same.

I’ve pretty much stayed in my room watching day turn to night like a prisoner would.

I’ve barely been eating, and last night, I cried myself to sleep when images of the past came back to haunt me. It was that thought of being damaged that made the memories flow back, and I couldn’t stop crying. Then I was crying for everything and wishing life could have been better.

It nearly was with work at least.

I barely ate anything again today.

I felt bad for poor Marguerite doing her best to try and make me feel welcome, but to no avail. There’s only so much she can do with the little information she probably gets from Vincent.

There’s only so much I can do, and I wish to God none of this happened.

Maybe I should be more grateful for the days when I’m not a whore. Then I’m just a prisoner.

It’s watching and waiting that makes me more in tune with my surroundings. So, I’m more inclined to hear what’s happening around me.

It’s extremely late when the front door creaks open. I just know it’s him. He’s been coming in around this time the last few days.

I get out of the bed, careful as I pad across the floor, and open the door. The lights are off. I know I shouldn’t be roaming around the house at this hour, but I’ve decided I no longer care.

I no longer care about Friday or his stupid rules. It’s almost Friday again, and last week will be just a memory to file to the back of the shelf.

I want answers. That’s what I want.

All Vincent has told me is that Dad is at the clinic. I need more information than that. And I need to know when I’m leaving here. It’s not good for me emotionally and mentally to be in this house. It never was.

I step out into the passageway at the end of my corridor and see him across on the other set of stairs.

He’s about thirty feet away from me, so he can’t see me.

I was about to call to him, but I stop myself when the dim stair lights come on and I catch a glimpse of his face before he proceeds up to the third floor.

He doesn’t look like himself. He looks drained.

It’s curiosity that makes me follow.

Carefully and cautiously, I follow him up the stairs, keeping to the shadows and making my steps light.

When I get to the top of the stairs, I stop and hide in between the crevice as he enters a room. He leans against the mantel piece of a wall-mounted fireplace and rests his head against it.

I watch him and wonder what could have happened today, then I look up as he does at a painting of a very beautiful woman.

She has long brown hair and is wearing a wedding dress. There’s a hint of a smile on her face that reflects in her bright brown eyes.

Vincent gazes at the painting. His stare lingering on it, on her. It’s then I realize the woman meant something to him.

I’ve been so caught up in being here and Dad that I haven’t thought of the glaring questions.

Vincent has a son, and the only women I’ve seen around the house are Marguerite and Lydia. No one else.

Was the woman in the painting his wife? An old girlfriend? Is she his son’s mother? I feel she is, so what happened to her?

Vincent continues to stare up at her, then he shakes his head.

“It’s not right, baby,” he says. His voice is just above a whisper, fueling my curiosity. “It’s not right that you aren’t here. I can’t forget you.”

I can literally feel the love rippling from him. Something happened to her. I can sense it. Something bad.

I shrink away when he looks over his shoulder, probably sensing my presence.

He closes the door, and I take the moment to leave and go back to my room.

I think of the woman in the painting.

It was strange to see Vincent so …different when he looked at her. That was definitely love I sensed in him.

What would it feel like to be loved by a man like that? A man so full of mystery and danger.

The mystery and danger is all there with enough warning to stay away. At the same time, there’s a side to him I’m drawn to. Maybe it was the same part of him that drew her in too. That woman.

In my case, that’s the part I need to be careful of. It wears me down and I can’t allow that to happen. That opens the door for confusion.

I need a reality check. I’m a debt repayment. Here for sex.

I need to remember that. I’ll do what I’m told and pray for freedom. I’ll do it, and I’ll try to feel nothing, no matter how real I think it is.

I’ve come too far in my life to mess everything up. When bad things happen to you that you can’t even speak of or think about, and you can rise above them, there’s definitely a sense of accomplishment in it.

I worked hard to rebuild myself and have some sort of a normal life after the nightmares of the past. It was years ago, but to me, it will always feel like yesterday.

I sound like I faced my fears, but it wasn’t that. What I did was move them out of my mind. Maybe that was wrong. The shrinks tell the broken and damaged to face their fears and problems. I didn’t think that advice applied to people like me. So, I took my fears and problems out of my consciousness and locked them away somewhere.

My mind is filled instead with my dreams to write.

That’s why I can’t throw away my future.

I won’t allow the mafia to take everything away from me. Again.

***

The strong scent of smoke burns my nose.

Cigar smoke, like the ones grandfather used to use. And him, that man. No, that monster… Even as I stir from my sleep, I know not to think of his name. I think of him only as one of the shadows in the dark I don’t want to remember.

It’s the smoke that conjures up the memory in my mind of the large Cuban cigar dangling between thick fingers.

I roll onto my back and turn my gaze to the man standing by my window, basking in the morning sunlight.

Vincent.

He’s standing there smoking a cigar. He’s wearing a tank top that shows off his massive biceps and thick tattooed forearms. His hair is ruffled like he just got of bed, but the alert look in his eyes suggests he’s been up for a while.

The sight of him startles me and makes my heart flutter at the same time. This is the first I’ve seen of him since Friday. I sit up straight away.

We’re staring at each other. Seconds pass, and I think back to last night. Normally, he would have said something to me by now, so I wonder if he knows I was watching him in that room before he closed the door.

He puts out the cigar and leaves it on the side plate Marguerite left me yesterday with cookies.

“We’re making an early start,” he announces. There’s an edge of annoyance in his voice that suggests I’m right. He might not have seen me, but he sensed my presence last night, and he’s not happy about it.

“Does that mean I get to ask you if I can call my father?” I’m pushing my luck, but I want to get in my request before something happens to piss him off more than he looks.

“No. It doesn’t mean that. You won't be speaking to him today.”

“Why not? Why can’t I speak to him for a minute just to see if he’s okay?” I bite the inside of my lip, but then a dark thought hits me. What if he’s so adamant that I don’t speak to Dad because something bad happened? It’s not impossible.

Vincent is a mobster. He’s a mafia boss, and I’ve been here spreading my legs for him, trusting that he was going to keep his end of the deal.

“You hurt him, didn’t you?” I ask, unable to keep the shaking out of my voice.

“No.” He eyes me dangerously.

“How do I know you’re telling the truth if I have no proof?”

“Bellezza, it’s wise not to push me this morning. Not when I’m already pissed.”

I hold my tongue on my next words.

“Take your clothes off,” he husks, and I narrow my eyes.

“I didn't know we'd be starting the morning like this.”

He comes over to me and lowers to sit on the bed next to me. He reaches forward and fills his palm with my right breast, feeling me up through the silky camisole top Lydia bought for me.

He keeps eye contact when he moves away the cloth and lowers his mouth to suck on my nipple. It’s brief but effective. The pull between my thighs makes my pussy clench with the anticipation of having him inside me.

Heat climbs down my neck and spreads over my body as he continues to suck.

When he pulls away, it’s like that heat leaves my body.

There’s a devilish grin on his face. Today, it has an air of menace in it that shows he knows how helpless I am.

“As long as you’re here, you belong to me. Mine. If I want to start my day with your tits in my mouth and my cock in your pussy, I will.”

The crassness in his words makes my cheeks sting, and I have to remind myself of the strategy I came up with last night.

Do as I’m told. Do it to keep the peace with the hope that I get what I want, which is to get out of here.

He gives my breasts a gentle squeeze, and his smile widens. “Take your clothes off.

I lift the hem of the top and pull it over my head, showing him what he wants: my naked breasts. I then slide my panties down my legs.

The second I do, the door pushes open and Marguerite comes in, stopping at the entrance when she sees she’s intruded on us. I grab the sheet and shield myself.

“Come back in twenty minutes,” Vincent says to her. His expression is the same. Stern.

“Of course, I’m so sorry,” she apologizes. I don’t look at her as she leaves.

Vincent turns his attention back to me and moves the sheet away from my breasts. “Get on your hands and knees.”

I do as he says, watch him as he gets on the bed behind me and takes out his cock.

He runs his fingers over my ass and gives the cheeks a firm squeeze before tracing a line down to my pussy. Of course, just like all the other times I’ve been in the presence of this man, my body reacts to him, betraying me.

Wanting him.

“Naughty Bellezza, always wet for me…” he taunts, sliding two fingers into my passage.

My traitorous body loves it, awakening at the memory of us at The Dark Odyssey.

I turn my gaze forward when his tongue licks over my pussy lips and then over my clit. He holds my ass firm so he can press his tongue right into me. I moan from the pleasure. The sound of me moaning seems to encourage him to give me more.

He does, licking and sucking over the hard nub of my clit. I already feel close to orgasm. When the fat head of his cock presses against my entrance, I’m there.

He plunges in, and I come straightaway, feeling the gush of wetness flow from me and coat the thick length of his cock as he claims me. I’m not given any time to catch my breath or recover. He just keeps going.

The grip he has on my hips tightens painfully when my passage adjusts to take the magnitude of his cock and he speeds up, fucking me hard. Fucking me so hard our skin slaps together and the sound of flesh hitting flesh fills the room. That and us. The sounds of us. I felt the moment when his control slipped and his body took over. It was the same time mine gave in to him. The moment primal instinct took over and surpassed whatever it is I want to tell myself about this crazy relationship we have. It took precedent and took over, making me move against him too.

Damn it, I can’t control myself. It’s just like the other night. There was a moment when it all became so raw and greedy, like we’d both been starving for each other. I’m sure that’s not true for him though. It can’t be. I’m sure he has his harem of women at his beck and call. The power of who he is, is one thing, but the man is gorgeous.

“Fuck,” he groans as his cock tenses inside me. It came as a response to me grinding back against him.

He catches my waist and holds me, so I stop, and he pounds harder, taking back control. It’s too much. Much too much. Worse than Friday. It’s like our bodies missed each other and this reunion is an explosive blast of ecstasy and passion.

I’m not surprised by the force of pure scandalous pleasure that takes me moments later that has me screaming. Not even just simply crying out. I scream, and I hope like hell Marguerite isn’t anywhere near the door or on the floor near the door outside.

Anyone out there would definitely hear us. My screams are filled with the kind of pleasure a woman would feel from a man who wants to possess her and make her his for real and not this… not this façade of what we’re doing.

He grunts his release, filling me with hot cum that feels so damn good as it sprays up into me. It feels good, and I’m so upset with myself for the thought and the moment I actually allowed myself to savor it.

I can’t want this… I can’t want him. I can’t allow myself to think this is anything other than fucking, no matter how my body responds to this man who is my enemy.

The reaction I’m having to him is not normal, not for someone like me, and as my hand smooths over my stomach while we calm, I know as bad as he is. He wouldn’t want me if he truly knew what happened to me.

I can’t give him control over me like that. I’ve never given it to anyone. As he pulls out of me, I harden my heart, the same way he does.

He slides off the bed, and I roll over and watch him move to the bathroom. He comes back with a wad of tissues seconds later, his pants pulled up, his face unchanged and emotionless. My gaze follows him as he sets the tissue down on the bed next to me to wipe off his cum.

I do, pull my clothes back on, and chance looking at him.

He looks like it was nothing. He looks like it was all nothing while I’m left with this clash of emotions that’s threatening to push me over the fucking edge.

Since I’m not the kind of person who has sex on the regular, I’m not sure if this is a situation I’ll get used to until it will eventually be as meaningless as he treats it, or if it will be more for me.

That can’t happen.

He straightens and tenses his jaw.

“I’m going to be away all day. You are to keep to your quarters,” he says. It’s confirmation enough that he knows it was me who was watching last night.

“I–”

He holds up a hand to wave me off, so I stop talking.

“You’re not a guest here, Ava, and you won’t do yourself any favors with me if you go snooping around the house at night, or any other time.”

I barely did anything for him to be so worked up. My first thoughts are that there’s something in the room he doesn’t want me to see. But the look in his eyes suggests it might not exactly be a thing. It’s more to do with how he was last night. I remember the way he looked as he gazed up at the painting of the woman. This is about the significance. It’s personal. That’s why he seems meaner.

“I was just looking around. I couldn’t sleep,” I explain.

“You are not here to look around. You’re paying a debt. That’s why you’re here in my house.”

To be his whore.

I ball my fists, and my chest constricts. The reminder of what I am makes me sick, especially with the way I just gave myself to him.

I can’t do it. I can’t just do as I’m told to keep the peace. When you allow people to treat you a certain way and you say nothing, they keep doing it.

He turns to leave, but I stand up and steel my spine. “I’m not a whore,” I call out, and he stops midstride.

Turning back to me, he cocks a brow. “You'll be whatever I want you to be.”

I must have some type of death wish because I shake my head and say, “no, I won’t.”

That did it. It snaps the tension that already existed in the room from the moment I woke up and saw him.

He rushes over to me, but unlike the other times, I don’t back away.

I stand up to him and shock him.

“What did you say to me?” he barks.

This is about money and whatever trouble Dad caused. It’s not about me, and I’ve done what I can to fix it. I can’t allow him to take the last part of me.

Standing a little taller, I lift my head and gaze straight at him, a challenge I know I won’t win.

“I’m not a whore,” I repeat.

“I'll be the judge of that. I—”

I don’t give him a chance to finish. Red flashes in front of me, and it’s like I’m transported right back to the last time I was made to feel like a whore. As rage fills me, my hand lifts, takes on a life of its own, and slaps him straight across his face.

The feral look in his eyes is all I get to register before he lunges for me. This time, I decide not to be stupid and stand up to him. Him with his six-foot-six stature, and me the little woman at five four.

I try to run, and I scream, but he reaches for me, and we fall back onto the bed.

“Let me go!” I wail, thrashing beneath his heavy frame.

He has me pinned, and the growl that tears from him is so animalistic it makes my soul shudder with pure fear. We couldn’t be the same people who were having sex on this very bed not five minutes ago.

Tears run down my cheeks. I cry not knowing what he’s going to do to me.

Is he going to kill me?

Did I just fuck things up completely for myself and Dad?

“Let me go,” I squeak.

He raises my hands over my head and holds me down scowling.

“Don’t you ever hit me again,” he says, getting right up in my face.

Through the blindness of tears, I try to see him.

“Vincent. You’re a monster!” I sob, and he seems to still. “You’re a monster if you think I’m a whore because my father owes you money. It doesn’t matter how much it is. I gave you my body, and now you want to steal my soul. Monster… I hate you.”

God and all his angels must be watching over me because in that moment, my words, spoken straight from the agony of my heart, seem to reach him, and he stops.

His grip loosens, and he releases me.

I shuffle up to my elbow and watch him walk out, slamming the door.