When his eyes reopened, Victor was gone, his sad, bright-green eyes now a dull shade of jade. “You’re free to leave,” his mouth twitched with agitation as he pushed her off his lap.

And just like that, their moment was over and there was nothing more she could say or do.

“I can’t drive in this weather. The snow…”

Victor rose slowly. “Fine, but leave me the hell alone.”

She heard his footsteps on the stairs and the door to his office quietly shut.

She placed what she had made in the microwave and set the timer. When it was finished, she set the plate on the floor in front of his office and knocked once before withdrawing to his bedroom. She hoped the roads would be clear soon.

Half the day passed in silence and the plate of food sat untouched. Her thoughts kept returning to what had happened with the man in the alley. She was damned lucky to be alive. Facing her own possible demise was a slap across the face and a harsh reminder that life is short. Too short to spend time with people who aren’t genuine. Too short to surround herself with negativity when there was nothing to be gained. And too damned short to waste her time in a loveless relationship. Yes, she had made the right decision.

Late in the afternoon after the roads had cleared, the police department had been kind enough to have her car towed to Victor’s house. With the light of day diminishing, she knew it was time to leave.

After gathering her belongings and a quick text message to Nick, she descended the stairs and waited by the door for Victor to see her out as he had always done. She stood alone for nearly five minutes before accepting that he wasn’t coming. He had retreated, too beaten down by his recollection of ghastly memories, and she had no one to blame but herself.

Her body began to shake when she realized that Mr. Black would never forgive her for having instated her own rules and demanding that Victor reveal his secrets.

Tomorrow or the next, she would pay for having put them both through hell.

***

The sound of Elsa’s footsteps on the stairs and the front door closing brought Victor out of his haze. He heard the rev of her engine and bolted, barefoot, out the front door, to her car. When she saw him, she rolled down her window.

“Don’t leave. The roads are still shitty and…”

The roads and weather had nothing to do with the reason he wanted her to stay, but he couldn’t bring himself to admit he needed her. Not after what had happened.

She wavered and he could see the indecision written on her sullen face. He reached into her window and across her body, turning the ignition off. Reaching into her back seat, he retrieved her bag and led her back inside.

The silence between them should’ve been awkward, but too much had transpired between the two of them for anything to be uncomfortable anymore. She knew everything about him. Absolutely. Everything. And she had stayed. For hours. Listening and waiting for him to come out of his office. He had watched her during that time, unable to face her out of shame for what he had done to her.

Once inside, all he wanted was to bind her and remove the burdens of everyday life. He didn’t know why. He didn’t even want to try and figure it out. She had tried to do the same for him, but Mr. Black didn’t allow it. It spoke to the depth of her compassion when she held him and said the things she did.

Guiding her to the chaise, he brought down the treasure chest from the mantel.

Her eyes widened and she shook her head. “No, Victor,” she put her hands up in protest.

“Shhh,” he whispered and pulled her close. “It’s not what you think.”

Her eyes shined with distrust. Could he blame her?

“I know it’s hard to trust me, but I’m asking you, Elsa, begging you, to believe me when I say I will never, ever, do to you what my mother did to me. That’s not the man I ever want to be.”

“What does Mr. Black want?”

Her question lacerated his heart. “Mr. Black isn’t here.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

All he could do was shake his head. He knew what Mr. Black wanted. To see her in pain. To hurt her physically under the guise of helping her, and to injure her heart for being so Goddamn resilient.

Trust. Such a powerful thing and something he had taken for granted with her.

It would take a lot for her to trust him fully again. It would take baby steps. Small moments and kind acts. Repeated over and over. And time. Something he hoped she would invest in him.

She watched him as his thoughts ran wild in his head with ways to prove himself.

“Mr. Black isn’t here,” he repeated.

He didn’t know what else to say. Her eyes shimmered knowingly and the brightest he had ever seen. There was no way around what was happening between them, despite both of their denials. Why else would she stay? But for how long would she stay? Another day? If he was lucky, maybe just a little longer. He hoped at least long enough for him to make up for what he had done.

A crackle of energy passed between them, hot and raw, as he undressed her and placed her back into her shackles. This time, he left the gag out. He lifted her off her feet and placed her down onto the floor at the foot of the dining room table, and went to warm up the food she had prepared for him.

When he returned to her, he began feeding her. He planned to not only appease her sexual hunger for domination, but her physical hunger as well. He gently touched the fork of vegetable and pasta to her lips. When she opened her mouth to accept his gift, a spike of heat caught him low in the gut.

Trust.

It continued this way, bite after bite, sip of wine after sip of wine, with no protest from her. She rested at his feet and allowed him to provide for her needs, satiating that primitive desire within him to be her one and only source of nourishment.

When a drop of wine would dribble down her chest, he was there to lick it and clean it for her. When a crumb of food would escape her lips, he was there to catch it. They fell into a comfortable routine within a short time, but there was still the smallest bit of apprehension in her, as if she was waiting for Mr. Black to make an appearance.

He would just have to try harder and keep trying.

When he dipped his pasta sauce covered thumb into her mouth, a low moan slipped past her lips. The husky helpless sound of want made the blood in his veins hot and molten.

Everything she did in those few precious moments made him feel alive and made him forget about the ugly memories of what he had recalled. The sway of her body… The tilt of her head to silently request another bite… The tip of her tongue moistening her lips…

Once finished with her meal, he carried her to the chaise lounge and stroked her hair while music filled the air with sensual and erotic melodies. Hours passed with no words spoken between them. None were needed.

That night, he did the only thing he knew how to do: tend to her physical needs. Ironically, he learned those skills by taking care of the woman who had destroyed his life – his mother.

And so, he bathed her. Washed her hair. Dried her. Brushed her hair. Washed the clothes that she had worn. Placed the jewelry he had bought for her onto her nipples and labia. Dressed her, only to undress her slowly and watch her pose for him. A giggle. A smile. She slowly revealed her vulnerability. He read out loud the details of his current case, her gasps of disgust and horror escaping her perfectly shaped mouth.

When he finally removed the blindfold, he reveled at the joy in her eyes and watched with adoration, the expression on her face when her fingertips stroked his lips.

The words he had written on her birthday gift note were true. She was more than a chapter to him. She always would be. And he was grateful for having been allowed to make up, in the tiniest way, for having struck her.