Because she was pliable. And she was playing right into his hands again by doing as she was told. As she stood, staring at the strange, blonde version of herself in the mirror, sadness filled her gut. All the promises she had made to herself had been broken. Not just the one about never allowing Victor back into her life, but the promises she had made as a young girl and young adult. The one about never allowing anyone to change who she was. The one about never settling for anything less than true love. She had done those things with Patrick and with Nate, and now she was doing it again with Victor. Over and over, she kept repeating the same mistakes. When would she learn? Would she ever learn?
She wasn’t strong. She wasn’t resilient. She was Chapter Eight.
Blinking back the tears that had gathered on her lashes, she slammed her hand onto the counter and cursed herself.
Fuck that.
She was strong. She was resilient. And yes, she was Chapter Eight, but Chapter Eight was the very one who was making Mr. Black play by a whole new set of rules. She was the Chapter who he had come back to because she had walked away.
Mr. Black was not going to break her. Maybe she would feel differently later, but for right now, she wasn’t going to give into that sinking feeling.
She reached for the make-up and applied it liberally. Her foundation was smeared on heavier than she would normally wear it, her cheeks pinker, her lips redder, her lids caked in glittering blue eye shadow, and her lashes covered with gobs of mascara. If Mr. Black wanted trashy, then she would give it to him.
She slipped on the only thing in the ensemble worth keeping - a pair of Louboutin gold studded, python, peep toe platforms. They too carried a hefty price tag. It seemed Mr. Black had not only a taste for the sleazy, but for the extravagant.
She rode the elevator down to the lobby with a lump in her throat. The quick up and down looks and the pucker of women’s mouths didn’t go unnoticed. Like a good pliable girl, she swallowed the pill of degradation Mr. Black had handed her and walked to the lounge, ignoring the judgmental stares she was attracting.
Seated at the bar, she ordered a strong drink. She would need one if she was going to sit there any longer than a few minutes.
Thirty minutes passed, every second ticking by slowly. She kept her eyes trained on her second drink the entire time and pretended the men’s whispers next to her weren’t about what they thought her profession was.
“Can I get you another drink?” The unfamiliar voice next to her was rich with a thick lilting accent.
She kept her eyes forward. “I’m good.”
“Are you now?” He moistened his lips. “How good are you?”
The man’s voice oozed sexual overtones and made her want to bolt from the hotel, but she couldn’t. Not in the middle of a winter afternoon the way she was dressed. All she could do was sit there, red-faced, humiliated, acting as if she didn’t hear his suggestive question.
Hot breath on her ear made her shiver with disgust. “How much, Sweetie?”
The taste of bile and rum made her swallow loudly. “More than you can afford,” she finally found the courage to face him.
The dark-haired man wearing a tailored suit chuckled and sipped on his drink. “I doubt it,” he smiled amiably as if unaffected.
The bartender slid a note across the bar toward her.
Wait for me in the room.
-V.
Elsa rolled her eyes and climbed off the stool. Always waiting. That’s all this damned game was - a waiting game. Waiting to find out her next punishment; waiting to learn his secrets; waiting until the day her heart was shredded… Nothing but fucking waiting.
She marched toward the elevator and punched the button when a woman’s snobbish whisper was heard next to her.
“Nice look. Westtown Road is on the other side of town.”
The woman, referring to the seedy part of Richmond where prostitution was commonplace, didn’t even have the nerve to look Elsa in the eyes when she made the shitty statement. By the look on her pompous face, she probably didn’t know the first thing about good sex or how to pleasure a man.
Irritated with the bitch’s presumptuousness and the sudden urge to thrust her spiked heel down the woman’s throat, Elsa shot back. “You don’t know the first thing about me Little Miss Missionary Position, so take that condescending tone and shove it up your ass,” she whisper yelled as she climbed onto the elevator.
The woman’s face paled and she blinked rapidly, too stunned to move or respond. Just before the doors closed, Elsa flipped her the middle finger.
With her heart beating rapidly against her ribcage, she inhaled deeply and closed her eyes. She needed to get her shit together before facing Mr. Black.
Entering the room, she found it empty. Music was playing on a nearby Bluetooth stereo that looked out of place, and there was a new set of instructions lying on the bed next to a black satin scarf. He was close. Of course he was. But she hadn’t seen him in the bar. Not that she looked all that closely. She was too damned mortified.
Picking up the handwritten note she quickly read it.
Secure the scarf over your eyes. Lie back on the bed. Wait.
-V.
Consistent and right to the fucking point. This was getting absurd. All this waiting was making her impatient to get her punishment over with. No matter what it was. Without wasting another minute, she placed the soft fabric over her eyes, tying it tightly at the back of her head, and spread out on the oversized bed.
A song straight from her own music selection was playing, Beloved by Say Lou Lou. The heater kicked on nearby. With the words to the song filling her head and the plush bedding below her and warm air comforting her, she allowed herself a semblance of relaxation. Several minutes passed as she drifted in and out of deep thought, her mind always fixating on something she remembered Victor had said or the pained expression on his face when she had held him after his horrible confession.
Another song from her playlist came over the stereo, You Could be Happy by Snow Patrol and another, Embrace by Goldroom. It was too much to be a coincidence for that many of her favorite songs to be playing. Victor had access to every part of her life, including the seemingly menial things like what kind of music she was feeding her soul. While a part of her was creeped out about by that knowledge, a small part of her also found it strangely romantic that he was curious about her musical tastes.
The door opened and a keen sense of awareness washed over her.
Movement of the air around her and the dip of the bed next to her sent a chill of eagerness through her. The hot fire of desire built rapidly within her when demanding hands stroked her calves and pulled her heels off.
What next? She began to pant as she tried to anticipate Victor’s next move.
A palm skimmed up her thigh, and fingertips slipped under her skirt and across her mound. Nearly overcome with arousal, she groaned. The bed dipped again, but something felt off. Victor felt heavier than usual. The first trace of nervousness flitted over her, making her body tense, but when she felt the urgency of his touch on her breasts, she ignored the quick twist in her gut. A mouth pressed against hers and the faintest whiff of unknown cologne hit her with a nauseating wave.