He’s silent. I haven’t talked much about my past. He saw me at the beginning, so he knows how sheltered I was, how warped. But he doesn’t know the details. “Because of the Bible verses.”

“Yes, and I need to go. I already planned on leaving, but it’s even more important that I go now. Before he… before he hurts anyone.”

Ivan’s hands tighten on me. “Let’s get one thing straight. You’re not going anywhere. Not out of Tanglewood. And I might not even let you out of this house.”

“You don’t know what he’s capable of,” I whisper.

Ivan makes a low sound of disbelief—disbelief that I’d think he could be scared. “Whatever he’s done, I’ve done worse. And I’ll do worse if he’s the one behind this. But you know, the Bible’s kind of a popular book. Just because you knew some religious fuckhead before, doesn’t mean he’s here now.”

That makes me laugh, despite myself. Ivan is always like this, irreverent. He doesn’t give a shit about politeness. I wanted to be like him from the beginning. I never quite succeeded, could never quite lose the sense of wonder and fear that marks me as a sheep.

“They’re both about the flock,” I say. “And the shepherd.”

Ivan tucks me against his chest, his chin on top of my head. “More than one man has delusions of grandeur. In fact, pretty much all of them do.”

The thump of his heart in his chest is making me sleepy. “Even you?”

A huff of laughter. “Especially me. Why do you think I haven’t touched you?”

I’m too tired, too broken to be anything but honest. “Because I’m dirty,” I whisper.

It’s what Leader Allen always said about my mother. She has demons inside her. They drive men to sin. You won’t let them in, will you, Candace? You’ll be a good girl.

Tension runs through Ivan’s body in waves. His voice is even when he speaks. “I don’t know who made you believe that. But I’d love five minutes in a room with him.”

“Then why?” I ask, my voice sluggish in sleep. Why haven’t you touched me?

“I’m not sure it matters anymore.”

Chapter Eleven

He carries me upstairs. I’m drifting on the shore between sleep and waking, content to remain here as long as I feel his arms around me. As long as I can smell his musk. As long as I’m safe.

The sheets are cold against my heated skin, and I make a negative sound.

He starts to pull away, and I grab on to him. It’s so cold in this room. So colorless. “Please,” I beg.

He stares down at me in the dark, more shadow than man. “Go to sleep.”

“I won’t,” I say, but that’s a lie. I’m already half-asleep even while we talk, pulled further out on every wave—and he’s sand between my fingers. Even knowing that, I hold him tighter. “I’ll have nightmares.”

“Shhh,” he says, and relief fills me.

“You’ll stay?”

“Shhh,” he says again, and I know the answer is no.

The bed shifts as he sits on the edge. He strokes my temple, my cheek. “So pretty,” he says, and I shiver. I never wanted to be pretty. I never wanted to drive men to sin—until that was all I had left.

His hand strokes lower, down my neck, and over the swell of my breasts. I suck in a breath. This is the most he’s ever touched me. His fingers are light, barely a caress. It’s more like he’s tracing me under my clothes. This is as far as he’s ever gone with me. That may sound strange considering I’ve had my panties down while he spanked me, but nothing else ever happened. Now we’re in a bed and he’s touching my body. My hands lie on the bed, not stopping him.

When he reaches my panties, he slips his hand inside.

My whole body flushes hot and then prickles with goose bumps. I bow up off the bed, a soft sound escaping me. “Ivan? What are you—”

“No, Candy. You know better than that.”

The thud of my heart almost drowns out his words. Almost. I know what he wants from me. I just don’t know if I can give it to him. I move to push him away.

He presses one wrist down on the bed. “Don’t fight me, little one.”

I close my eyes on a deep breath. No, I can do this. God, I’ve practically begged him for this. Now that he’s finally giving it to me, I’m afraid. It’s too much, his calluses on my bare flesh, the contrast of my pale peach panties stretched taut over his large hand.

He seems to be resting there, not moving. I push my hips into his touch, but he squeezes my wrist and lets it go. “No,” he says gently. “You need to be a good girl now.”

My mouth forms the words without making a sound. “Yes, Daddy.”

The shift is subtle, just a twist of corded muscles. Then his fingers are on my clit, around my clit, forefinger and middle finger sliding on either side. Exactly how I touch myself. He’s watched me do it in that basement. He’s studied me, and now he uses that knowledge against me.

Pleasure pours through my body, molten hot, and I moan softly.

It’s more than the way he touches me. It’s how hard he presses, how fast he goes. Every second I spent under him, obeying him, he knew exactly what I was doing. And I know that he was telling the truth down in the dining room. He never did ignore me. Of all the things he did to me, he never did that.

I’m flat on my back, hands bound at my sides because he told me to. My legs are spread just enough for him to touch me. Completely at his mercy.

He rubs faster, and I can’t help myself now. I squirm against his touch, trying to get myself off. “Does it feel good?” he murmurs.

Of course he knows the answer, and even more so when I pant, “Yes, Daddy. Please.”

“You’ll get there, little one. I’m going to help you.”

I don’t know what that means until I feel cool air over my tummy. He lifts my tank top higher until my breasts are exposed. My breasts aren’t small, but his hand covers one completely, plumping it and caressing me until I’m shaking. I’m on fire both inside and out, the flames of my arousal licking me inside, his hands like a brand on my pussy and breasts.

“I feel funny, Daddy,” I say, my voice trembling. “I feel…”

“I know. That’s your body’s way of helping you relax.”

“I don’t—I don’t feel relaxed.” I feel strung up tight, every muscle in my body hard and tense. I know what an orgasm is, I’ve given myself plenty of them, but this is different. Those were stars in the sky, far away and almost invisible. This is like the sun, making me burn. I’m sweating, panting. Begging. “Help me. I can’t…”

“Shh. I am helping you. But you have to let it happen. You have to give in.”

He pinches my clit at the same time as he pinches my nipple, and the heat consumes me completely. I cry out as my climax overtakes me, scorching me, hurting me more than anything, until my body douses the fire, gushing my release over his hand and drenching my panties.

I’m still gasping for breath when he pulls away.

Two fingers push at my mouth, and I open for him instinctively. “Clean them,” he says softly, and I taste the musk of my own release. He rests his palm on my chin, keeping his fingers inside me. I slide my tongue over him, the ridges of his calluses sending sparks through my body.

“Good little girls like to suck, don’t they?”

I nod without releasing him, my eyes wide. I would suck more than his fingers, and he must know that. He makes no move to undo his pants—to fuck me or to let me suck him. He just keeps his fingers in my mouth, casual and perverse, letting me take comfort from the fullness.

There are questions I want to ask him. Things I need to say.

But I don’t want him to move his hand, so I continue sucking, taking my reward for being such a good girl. I let him touch me. You have to give in. And I do that, if only for one night. That’s how I fall asleep, with his steady breathing as my lullaby, his thumb caressing my cheek, his fingers resting on my tongue.