Within forty-five minutes of his text to Elsa, he heard her key in the front door and a spark of excitement ignited within him. She was proving this time around that she could follow his rules. Speaking of which, he would present her with the official list after their little intermezzo. He would make this little encounter a pleasurable one in order to dull her defenses; mixed in with his brand of lesson teaching, of course.

The lesson: never turn her back on him again.

As she stepped into the entryway and her scent tickled his nose, he wondered what she had kept herself busy with the past forty-eight hours. No doubt, fucking her fiancé and putting that perfect mouth all over him. He bristled at the thought.

Two days previous, he had contemplated whether or not to keep surveillance on her, but opted not to. Seeing her with that piece of shit would completely ruin the game for him. He would simply have to try his best to put it out of his mind. Though, he knew that would be impossible to do. Mr. Black was too adept at pointing out his failures to allow that to happen, and there would be no escaping his constant reminders that she was spending her free time with the very man he was responsible for having sent her way.

Without anything said, he slipped the strap of her bag off her shoulder, set it aside and led her by the hand up the stairs, making a pit stop in the office to turn the cameras on. As he punched a few buttons on the console, Elsa stood in the doorway watching him, obviously surprised that he wasn’t hiding his voyeuristic tendencies anymore. What was the point?

If he was honest with himself, it was liberating to be able to indulge in his devious proclivities without having the nuisance or pretense of normality.

“You’re still recording everything?” he heard over his shoulder as he focused the lens of the bedroom camera on the spot of their upcoming scene.

“Of course,” he touched a knob and twisted slowly, “my methods haven’t change all that much. I still intend on learning from you.”

Next he heard an irritated sigh and paused to glance in her direction and see a look of agitation being thrown his way. Being more open was definitely paying off, he smiled. “If you’re a good girl, maybe I’ll let you watch our interactions with me later.”

“No thanks. Seeing myself get fucked isn’t on any of my to-do lists,” she wrinkled her nose.

With the lens now properly focused, he moved towards her, gripping her by the elbow and leading her toward the master suite. “How presumptuous of you to think I’m going to fuck you. Is that really what you think I have you here for? Just sex?”

“That and to torture me.”

“I wouldn’t consider what I plan on doing to you, torture. Your pain and discomfort will just be a pleasant side effect of my actions.”

“Pleasant?” she huffed, then whispered under her breath, “I doubt that.”

Her tone irritated him – bold, brave, bitchy. “No more speaking unless you’re asked a question, Eight,” he growled.

His statement made her wince. Or maybe it wasn’t the statement so much as it was the fact that he called her Eight. She hated that, but she brought it on herself. If she would simply do as she was told, he wouldn’t have to resort to name calling.

Swiftly, he undressed her, still irritated with her smart-ass attitude. When she was naked before him, he stepped back to take all of her in, reaching a hand out to glide his fingers over the lines of her curves.

The tattoo. It was different somehow. She had more work done to it, but he couldn’t quite place it. When he skimmed the details, she cringed and her pale complexion flushed.

Gazing into her eyes, he expected to see fear, but instead saw concern. But for what? Childlike, she wrapped her arms around her body, suddenly abashed and stared at the floor. It was heartbreaking and a voice that had been suppressed long ago screamed inside his head that something was wrong and to show her some compassion.

Backing up two steps, he gave her room to breathe. He had seen her nude before, had taken her in ways that most people only read or fantasized about. She stated she had expected to be fucked, so what was her hesitation?

“I thought you wanted this?” he whispered, confused by her physical withdrawal.

“I’m only here because of your promise,” her voice cracked.

“Is this because of your fiancé?” his words came out contemptuously.

She glared up at him and dropped her arms to her sides. “No,” she gritted her teeth, “It’s because of this,” she turned away from him, exposing her bare back that bore the scars of a masochist.

But she was no masochist.

Victor felt the blood drain from his face while he stumbled backwards to the bed and sank onto it. As his eyes roamed over her once flawless form, a wave of regret crashed against him when he saw three raised welts across her shoulder blades, bright pink in comparison to her milky flesh. By brutally wielding his belt against her, he had marred her perfect physique.

It was no wonder she loathed him. He hated himself for being the failure that his mother always said he was; abhorred himself for not being able to restrain Mr. Black; detested himself torturing her the way his father had done to his victims before killing them. Most of all, he despised himself for having become a monster like his parents.

Sitting silently for nearly a minute, Elsa hugged her body once more before turning to face him, revealing her glassy eyes.

“Elsa,” he croaked out, his dismal apology on the tip of his tongue, “I’m…”

“Don’t,” she snapped, straightening up and pushing her chin out. “Let’s get this over with.”

The unfamiliarity of remorse made him vacillate. He wanted her, but… he met her eyes once again and saw a fierce sparkling in her eyes that made him unable to resist. She was here. Playing his game. There would be no regret today; he would save that for later – when she couldn’t bear witness to his grief.

Standing and slowing his breathing, he allowed the aura of strength to overtake him as he prepared to make Elsa submit. Willingly.

Guiding her to the area near the window, he motioned for her and gathered his equipment. He moved quickly with not a moment or movement wasted as he prepared her.

With her arms fastened over her head and her legs now immovable from the spreader bar, he circled around her. The memory of the first time he had her hanging from this hook filled his thoughts. She was afraid then, but not now. Now the look on her face was one of waywardness and curiosity. Her dark eyes illuminated the room with her light. For a brief time, he worried he had stolen her inner light, but seeing her now, the way she was trying to stand her ground and be strong - he knew it couldn’t be taken from her. Nor did he want it to be. It was her spirit, after all, that drew him back to her.

Sweeping her hair off her shoulders, he knotted it into a bun at the back of her head.

What should he do to her? A little pain? A little pleasure? A lot of both…

“Goddamn, you’re stunning,” his admission came unsolicited. “Submission suits you well, Elsa,” and then Mr. Black reared his antagonistic head. “It’s too bad for your fiancé that he hasn’t figured that out. Or has he?” his left brow rose only the slightest as he stood in front of her.

She didn’t respond to his question, but it made no difference. He already knew the answer. That man didn’t have a dominant bone in his body. It was part of the reason he pointed him in Elsa’s direction.

Pushing his index and middle fingers past her lips, she sucked at them as her eyes grew languid. Slowly he eased them in and out while imaging it was his cock in her mouth and not his digits. Her perfect mouth and taut fuckable body… his eyes scanned her naked form as it swayed hypnotically before him. She was meant to be used like this. Any man in his right mind could see that. To hell with that douchebag. Elsa belonged to him.