It wasn't the words that scared me the most, though they were definitely filthy and aimed to demean me. It was the expression in his eyes that convinced me that I was facing a monster. His eyes were the coldest pair I had ever seen, and I knew he was 100% capable of what he had declared he would do to me and much, much worse, too. Suddenly, my legs shook like they were made of jelly, and I felt like I would fall over flat on my face because this was the end. All the adrenaline rush that had filled my bloodstream, the courage that had disappeared now, along with the belief that I could escape this hell unscathed, was gone.

My parents were dead. Geoffrey had sold me to a human trafficker, and suddenly, the stark realization of what my life would look like here, as a sex slave to a depraved mafia, filled me with bitterness and contempt. Because all my life, all I have ever felt, all I have ever been allowed to feel, has been fear: fear of being an orphan, fear of losing my only family, Geoffrey, however depraved he may seem at the time. The fear of being sent to foster care, the fear of being homeless, nameless, familyless, and yet, I was all of those today, and something worse.

"I wonder why my mother ever thought that you would be a good addition to my harem. You are gauche, awkward, and completely inexperienced as a sexual partner." He tilted his head in amusement as he made that comment. " I was ready to send you back to whatever hellhole you had crawled out of, and yet now I can't let you, because....." he had moved away from me and had poured himself a drink from a cabinet above.

"Because you like to force yourself upon someone who doesn't want you? Because you are that kind of a monster who would enjoy that sensation?" I screamed the pain inside me, finally bursting forth.

Fire, red, glowing fire. There was no other way to describe what I saw in his eyes as I said those words. His head had snapped towards me as if I had tried killing him again, and this time succeeded far better than that stupid nick on his arm. He was just standing there, a glass of scotch in his hands, filled with such rage that I was sure he was thinking of the fastest way of killing me, and then he looked away as if telling himself for knowing better. "I was thinking of summoning Gerard right here and telling him to shoot you in the head, would have made such a satisfactory sight." He shook his head, pouring the glass of scotch all over the wound on his arm.

"But not as much satisfaction as I would get from you now." He declared, his dark eyes glinting, and I took another step back, even though there was nowhere to go. "A little prideful virgin, aren't you?" He mocked, step-by-step walking towards me with the same look in his eyes that I am sure every predator gets right before it rips apart its prey, limb from limb. "No, please." Suddenly, I was begging again, my back literally against the wall.

"Let's play a little game, shall we?" He murmured when he was standing so close to me that not a wisp of air could pass between us without touching us both. My heart was pounding so loud in my chest that I was sure he could hear it, and the expression in his eyes was so intense, so burning, that I wanted to close my eyes against the onslaught. It was like..... he was touching me even without laying a single finger on me.

"I-I don't want to play any games," I stuttered. "What if you win and I let you go?" he asked with the strangest glint in his eyes as his breath fanned my face.

But the shock to my system was instant. "You'd let me go-go home?" I asked, just to make sure, not being able to believe my ears. "Yes, but only if you win." He half-smirked, and I had this weird sensation that I had stepped right into a trap. But what choice did I have? "Wha-what is the game?" I asked at long last, since it seemed to be the only way to escape this hellhole, and he smiled, the perfect white pearly teeth an inch from me, and just for an instant that cold, cutting monster seemed to have developed a soul. I shook my head to clear it. Just because he looked handsome doesn't mean he has a heart.

"You think I'm the monster who forces himself on poor, innocent souls like you, isn't that right? That I rape virgins every night as a hobby." The cruel, cold edge was back in his eyes, and this time with the promise of vengeance. I couldn't breathe. "So here's your chance to prove it." He bared his teeth, but this time it seemed less like a smile and more like a snarl.

"What do you mean?" 'I've never met a female that I wanted who didn't want me back. So here's your chance, piccola." He flicked a finger to remove a lock of stray hair from my face, and I couldn't breathe. "I'm going to fuck you on that bed and make you my woman, unless you can prove to me that you really don't want me, unless your body doesn't react to my touch. Then, and only then, I shall let you go." My eyes widened. I wanted to scream. What kind of cruel, nasty game was this? And yet I couldn't because he was suddenly kissing me. Kissing me with the most gentle lips that I've ever felt. It was a shock to my system, to be kissed like that, I raised my hands to push him away; his hand grabbed them, his fingers intertwining with mine, interlocking them, only to pull me close. I moved my head away. He didn't care.

His mouth left mine, but only to trail a path of soft, devastating kisses down the column of my throat. A desperate sound escaped me, a sob tangled with a moan, to my shame. He used our intertwined hands to pull me more firmly against him, arching my body so my breasts pressed against the unyielding wall of his chest.

"This is where you prove it, piccola," he murmured against my skin, his voice a dark, vibrating hum. "Show me you don't want me."NOOO....My mind cried, I couldn't lose. Because, giving into this...into his dirty demands would mean...to become his slave!

And I wouldn't! I don't want him! I don't want this! I repeated in my head, freezing my body.

One of his hands released mine and slid down my back, over the curve of my hip, his touch possessive and deliberate. His palm was scorching through the thin fabric of my dress. When his fingers found the hem, they didn't hesitate, sliding beneath to grip the bare flesh of my thigh.

I gasped, my free hand flying to his shoulder, to clutch at him as my knees went weak. I cried out then, a sharp, involuntary sound as his fingertips brushed through the damp silk of my panties. He stilled, his whole body tensing with predatory focus.

I didn't want him. I didn't want this. It was my only shield. My plan was simple: I would not react. I would be still and quiet, nothing he did could affect me. And if I gave him nothing, no sound, no shudder, no sign that his touch affected me, he would would let me go, like he promised. It was the only logical outcome.

Yes, I told myself, taking a slow, steadying breath. That's how this will end. It was the best possible scenario.

And suddenly it was all chaos. His lips were suddenly no longer gentle; his manner no longer soft. In fact, it felt like I was under attack through all my senses. His lips were ravishing me, forcing me to open up, only to slide his tongue in, and his fingers were on the juncture between my legs.

I closed them together, only for him to laugh at me, since it increased the burning contact between his fingers and my core. I opened my legs again, and this time not one but two large fingers pressed against my core. I gasped, despite the thousand promises of not reacting, despite my fear and hatred for him, and, to my utter shame, I moaned. As one of the fingers stayed clamped on the pulsating nub and the other started to slowly move through the swollen folds, suddenly, I couldn't take it. I clamped my mouth shut, and yet I couldn't take it. My knees bent as I almost fell over him. I felt like I was going to cry now, the overwhelming sensations running havoc in my body as my eyes turned to him. I was ready to see him gloating, to have the last laugh, since he seemed to win despite all my efforts.

Shockingly, though, he wasn't laughing; he wasn't even smiling or gloating. In fact, his face looked like something had shocked him, too. His breath, heavy and warm, fell against my shoulders. His knuckles, gripping the wall beside me, had turned white for some reason. His jaw was tight. The veins on his forehead were visible like lines, and suddenly, with a loud bang, his fist banged the wall beside me, loud enough to wake the dead.

He was breathing so heavily now, I could hear his heartbeat, too. He closed his eyes and then opened them again as if he was trying to fight with himself. Beads of sweat were visible on his forehead now, like morning dew. "It was supposed to be a game," I heard him mumble like it was a curse, holding his body stiff and unmoving, "and you were the one supposed to be my toy. Not the other way around." And then he met my eyes, scorching, hot. Heat flayed my skin in hot red bands. I couldn't move, I couldn't speak. I felt like I was hypnotized into being a statue, a burning hot statue, that couldn't remove its eyes from his.

"Don't look at me like that, you little fool!" He growled, almost in warning, his teeth bared, his white shoulders coming up and down with every deep breath he took. "Tell me to stop and move away from me," he demanded, his voice hoarse, as if he was forcing the words out. "Tell me to stop, you stupid woman!" He growled again as he looked at me.

"It wasn't supposed to go this far." His dark eyes seemed to have developed souls of their own. And I still couldn't move, even when he specifically told me to.

"I warned you, dear God, but I warned you!" he suddenly snapped, once again falling over me, kissing me like there was no tomorrow. "Get on the bed, piccola," he breathed when he finally let my lips go. "Your chance to escape is gone, the game is over. Now we get down to business." He began to unbuckle his belt.