Yes. She would.

“Don’t respond to that,” he cut her nod short. “It’s best I don’t know the reason. It keeps my fantasy of that memory intact. Those tears can remain a mystery to me. They can be for any reason I want,” a gloomy sigh. “Like all good things in my life: another fleeting moment.”

He moved away from her again, to the kitchen where she heard the clink of glass and liquid being poured. He was taking too long. He had left her dangling off a cliff as she waited to hear more about how he really felt about her.

When he returned, he loosed the gag at the back of her head and cleaned the drool from her chin and chest.

“Drink,” he ordered as he pressed a glass against her lips.

Slowly he tipped a glass of wine until it poured onto her tongue. Sweet. Bitter. Fruity. She loved that he had to gauge how far the glass needed to be angled. Carefully. Methodically. His full attention on her mouth.

When she was done, she leaned her head onto the back of the chaise, basking in her surrender and his domination. He lifted her head for one more drink.

“Two questions for the price of one, Peach,” he murmured against her mouth as he licked off the drops of Dom Perignon that had fallen onto her chin. “Now you’ll learn why I love your tears so much…” He strapped the gag behind her head. “And then you’ll give them to me. Again. And again. And…”

She moaned and writhed against the velvet. Yes, anything, she would do it, just as long as he kept doing this thing to her and giving her what he had never given any other woman – pieces of his soul.

*

Victor casually walked to the bar to order him and Elsa a drink as she rubbed her tender wrists. His words from an hour earlier still lingered in her thoughts; his warm caresses and deep thrusts still felt between her legs as he pinned her shackled hands high above her head. She plucked a hand mirror from her purse and eyed the dark circles under her eyes. She had given him the tears that he so desperately wanted and kept her reasons for them to herself.

His words swirled around and around in her head as she watched him lean over the bar and order their drinks.

Tears got him nowhere. Crying was for the weak. The first woman he had made cry made him feel powerful. So many women. So many tears. He craved them because he lacked the ability to shed them. Her tears were different. She had given them willingly and not out of hatred or fear. Her tears were full of passion and emotion. The things he lacked. Her tears had affected him the deepest…

He swung his head around, met her gaze and winked at her. Victor.

She shook her head to clear her thoughts. Mr. Black. He was still there; just underneath the surface of those tortured, beautiful eyes. She was romanticizing again. Forgetting what this was all about. Ignoring how deep his cruelty ran. Goddamn her.

She watched him closely as he briefly chatted to the man standing next to him at the bar. He was attractive. Very attractive. Older. Brown hair styled much like Victor’s. Built much like Victor. Wide-shouldered. Solid. Business casual.

"Do you find him attractive?" she asked when Victor sat down next to her.

One side of his mouth lifted into a wry smirk. "What's your obsession with me being with a man?"

"It's not an obsession; it's a fascination.”

The edge of his glass touched his lips. “You never cease to surprise the fuck out of me.”

She couldn’t help but feel proud. Though she may not win the game in the end, at least she had earned the title of Most Shocking Chapter in his book.

“I seriously don’t get you,” his eyes roamed the length of her body as he set his goblet back down. “Any other woman would be horrified at the things I’ve done and with whom I’ve done them. Not to mention offended and threatened by my extracurricular activities with the same sex. But not you. You’ve read my journals and the shit I’ve done, and instead of running the other way, you ask questions. You demand information and answers in all their gory details. And still, you want to know more.”

A slow shake of his head revealed his confusion with her as his analytical stare bore into her. She stood motionless with no response as she sipped on her virgin sangria. What else was she going to do? It’s not like running the other way was an option. How easily Victor had forgotten about his threats and the fact that he was essentially forcing her to play his game.

“Jesus, you’re even aroused by it,” he scoffed.

He was right; sort of. “I’m not aroused by all of it; just certain aspects,” she clarified.

He stared at her with the unblinking gaze of a hawk focused on its prey. “Like the fact that I fucked a man?”

He had fucked a man. His unapologetic tone was arousing. She casually shrugged and glanced over his shoulder at the good-looking man. “We all have our turn-ons.”

“We certainly do,” he agreed, the desire evident in his deep voice.

The man at the bar caught her staring and she turned her attention back to Victor. “Would you do it again? Be with a man?”

“Do you want me to?” He lifted an eyebrow.

“Only if you let me watch.”

He rolled his eyes and looked away, directing his focus onto the older gentleman who was now watching them both. Victor scanned the stranger head-to-toe and gave a quick nod in his direction, shooting him a flirty smile in the process.

"Yes, he's good-looking, but he's not really my type,” his eyes met hers, dashing her hopes of seeing some male-on-male action.

"What is your type?" she swirled the alcohol-free beverage around in the glass.

He swept the hair off her forehead. "You."

"I mean in a man,” she pressed as she brought her drink to her lips.

"Holy fuck, I don't know,” he sighed loudly. “I never know until I see it. The same goes for women. It's not like I have a checklist."

"You know. You’re too systematic in your ways not to have some kind of mental catalog of qualities you seek in a Chapter. "

His expression and tone became exasperated as if he was irritated that she knew him so well. "Fine. If you must know: I like someone who's easily manipulated. A person in denial about who they are. Someone who needs rescuing from themselves."

"So someone like you."

Suddenly defensive, his response came out clipped, "You think I’m easily manipulated?”

She stuttered, “I didn’t mean…” but he angrily cut her off before she could retract her statement.

“When did you get a psychology degree?"

"I don't need a degree to see what’s blatantly obvious,” she spoke softly but with purpose.

His stance shifted into one of a man going into battle and Elsa knew she had pushed a hot button. "One round with me and a peek inside my brain, and you think you have what it takes to dissect someone?"

"I would never presume to know all that you do about the human psyche, but if you can't recognize your own flaws and issues, then that PhD of yours isn't doing you a whole helluva lot of good."

"My issues, as you call them, are only blatantly obvious to you because you stuck your nose in shit you shouldn’t have and asked questions that were better left unsaid. As far as me and everyone else is concerned, I’m just a high-functioning asshole with a degree in criminal psychology.”

Her jaw gaped as she stared at him. His arrogance and denial about himself was physically painful and repugnant to watch.

“You think you can do my job?” his eyes raked over her body. “Then by all means, do it."

"Stop assuming you know my intentions. I never said I could do your job. Not many can. The awful things you've seen, the terrible sadness you've had to deal with... I could never... It takes a special person to take on that responsibility. "