Brienne’s POV

He let go of my hair and stepped back, taking his time removing his rings. They bore the emblem of the Vasari mafia. A skull sitting on roses, with a hat and crosses in place of it’s eye sockets. He placed them neatly on the table, the rings glinting under the low lights. I could feel the air shift, thick with anticipation. My skin tingled. My knees trembled.

“I’ve killed men for less,” he said, pulling his wooden chair closer and sitting across from me, legs spread like he sat on a throne. “But I don’t want you dead, Brienne. I want you broken. Bent to my will. And you will be.”

I clenched my jaw, willing myself not to cry. He didn’t deserve tears. He didn’t deserve the power. My silence was my rebellion, but if anything, he only seemed to enjoy it.

He pulled the folded sleeves of his shirt higher up his forearms and smoothed his pants. I watched every movement like a trapped rabbit. Then he pulled me forward by the arm, dragging me across his lap before I could resist.

“No!” I kicked, squirming. His hand gripped the back of my neck and pressed me down. I felt the hardness in his trousers pushing against my thighs and I froze, assaulted by an onslaught of foreign emotions. We were so close, if I wriggled just a little more, we’d be aligned in the most primal of human ways.

“Look at me” he commanded in a gravelly voice forced me to obey. I craned my neck to face him. “You had your chance to comply. Now you learn.”

The first slap landed hard, from nowhere, right on my ass. Sharp and echoing through the stuffy room. My body jerked, and a cry escaped me, from the raw pain, and the shock. I’d never been touched like this. I’d never been punished.

His eyes stayed locked with mine and I couldn’t bring myself to pull away. Like a vampire compelling his victim while he drained their blood. The silent command in his eyes held me in place, relishing my pain as my scream exhausted itself in a gasp. Then he did it again, before my mouth closed.

He slapped the same cheek, this time cupping it after he was done. His fingers grazed me firmly, brushing my swollen clit through my panties. It sent a bolt of electricity through me, locking my legs and pulling a moan out of me before I could stop it.

I pulled away, fixing my eyes on the floor, but it was too late. He’d seen it in my eyes, the disgusting part of me that craved what he was doing. The next slap was harder, punishment for looking away. It said “embrace your desires”.

I didn’t know what to do. I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to ignore the fact that the bulge in his trousers was coming dangerously close to aligning with me. Trying to breathe through the pain, and pretend it wasn’t morphing into something else.

Another slap followed, scattering my thoughts. Then another. Each one landing on the same spot, building fire on my skin. Shame heated my cheeks. My eyes blurred. I hated him. I hated that I could feel my panties getting wet. I hated that a part of me wanted more.

He continued until I was begging him with my body for some reprieve. I twisted and wriggled, trying to position the other cheek before him but he held me down in his vice-like grip. The pain became a heat, bathing me from head to my curled toes. My skin got so sensitive I could feel wind before the smack came, reverberating through my thighs.

My nipples and my clit begged for friction but all I got was the “whack”. I didn’t realize the tiny voice going “please, please, please…” was mine until he paused. I didn’t know what I was begging for either. Was I begging him to stop? Or for him to go to my other cheek, and everywhere else.

His hand cupped my sore cheek, rubbing it tenderly. “Your body knows who owns it.” He cooed, like he could hear my thoughts “Your body already calls me Master. It’s only your pride that’s left.”

I bit my lip to stop the sob. He shifted, lifting me up and placing me on the table. My skirt had bunched at my waist and my panties were soaked, dripping down my inner thighs. I turned away, mortified.

I used to believe I was hard. Years of scraped knuckles, late rent, and whispered prayers in empty bathrooms. But tonight, I felt hollow. Not just used, but cracked open. Eladio hadn’t stolen my body; he’d taken my control, and with it, some part of my fire. I curled tighter into myself, wishing I could melt into the table for shame.

The worst part? Some traitorous sliver of me felt something worse than the fear and despair drowning me, it was curious. About him. About the things he did to me. It terrified me more than anything else.

He leaned close, mouth brushing my ear. “Say it. Say, ‘Yes, Master.’ Just once, and I’ll stop. I’ll let you sleep in a bed, eat a hot meal.”

I summoned what courage I had and turned to look at him, still bent over the table, a traitorous tear slipping free as I gritted with all the venom I could muster. “Go to hell.”

His grin returned, the mocking expression somehow still managing to make my heart skip. “Oh, I will. And you’re coming with me.”

Eladio’s POV

She was fire and thorns and unbroken soul, and she was mine. Her ass bore my handprints. Her eyes, though watery, were not yet broken. That would take time. And I had time. One year to make her what I am.

She would be the hardest challenge I’d ever taken. I knew it because I’d never felt for anyone of my pets what I felt for her.

I lifted her into my arms and carried her to the bedroom in the east wing. My room.

She was going to sleep in my bed tonight. Not because she’d earned it, but because I wanted her close. I wanted her scent on my sheets. Her tears, her sweat, the coconut of her hair conditioner and the lilac of her juices. She’d miss the comfort when I sent her to the dungeons, and I’d torture myself with the memory of her in my bed until she climbed back in of her own accord.

I laid her down and covered her with a blanket. She was silent, her breaths shallow. I brushed a strand of hair from her flushed cheek.

“You’ll scream for me soon, Brienne. Scream my name, beg for mercy, then beg for more.”

I kissed her forehead like in a twisted lullaby and she turned her head away, letting her hair cascade over her face in a flimsy, beautiful shield.

Good. Let her hate me. That is how this game begins.