Chapter 7
Eddie
“D-D-D-D-Daddy,” I stutter, my fingers clasped around my nipples and stretching them, pulling them into the perfect realm of pleasure and pain. “Hurt me. Make me suffer. Put your cock inside my…”
I let go of my nipples and move my hands over the neat pubic hair that leads down to my stiff dick. I can’t quite believe that I’m lying on the guest bed with my pajamas crumpled on the floor while Viktor is downstairs and thinking that I’m in the shower.
I mean, I did turn the shower on at least…
And I guess it will be perfectly hot when I finish myself off…
“Make me swallow you,” I gasp, my hands pumping on my dick and squeezing rhythmically as my imagination runs wild. “Make me gag and choke on your thick, angry Daddy dick…”
I raise my hips and use on hand to work my cock while my other teases and pulls on my balls. God, I’d do anything to have Viktor here right now. Maybe he’d be on the bed with me. Or maybe he’d simply be towering over me, his ruthless eyes glowering down on me as I pleasure myself for his amusement?
Either way, I’m close to cumming. I can feel it rising up inside me. There’s no stopping it now…
“Hurry up!” Viktor calls out from downstairs, his bellowing voice carrying to the bedroom loud and clear, even with the sound of the shower in the bathroom.
“Coming!” I reply, stifling a giggle as my hips buck hard and I cross beyond the point of no return, my entire body spasming in orgasm as I work my hand frantically to give myself the biggest climax I can under the circumstances.
Barely able to stand let alone run, my wobbly legs just about manage to get me off the bed and rush along the hallway toward the shower room.
I need to get myself cleaned up, and fast.
As hot as that was, I’m determined to wash it all away and get my ass out of here ASAP. Nothing has changed as far as that is concerned. And while Viktor might think he’s some kind of criminal mastermind, he’s about to find out that this sculptor can create a few illusions of his own too…
The hot water cascades over me, washing away the evidence of my little solo adventure on the bed. I lather up with some fancy-smelling soap—lavender and something woody, probably Viktor's stash—and let the steam fill my lungs.
My skin tingles, not just from the heat, but from the afterglow.
Holy hell, what was that all about? Fantasizing about him like some desperate Little? He's my captor, for crying out loud. But those hands... that voice...
Urgh, snap out of it, Eddie.
Focus on the plan… escape. Today.
I rinse off quickly, towel dry my hair into something resembling neat, and slip back into my rumpled clothes. No clean ones—another reason to get the hell out.
My darling stuffie Goldie waits on the bed, his golden mane fluffed from where I hugged him too tight. "We're busting out soon, buddy," I whisper, tucking him under my arm.
Okay, I’ve got this. Deep breath.
Act normal. Innocent. Don't let him suspect anything.
Downstairs, the kitchen smells like heaven—toast browning, avocado too by the looks of things. Viktor's at the stove, broad back to me, stirring a pan. He's in a black tee that hugs his muscles, jeans slung low.
But something's different this morning.
Mr. Sexy Asshole isn’t barking orders or glaring like last night. His shoulders are looser, his movements smoother. Calmer. Yes, he’s intense still—always intense—but there's a relaxed vibe humming in the air, like the nightmare storm passed.
I stand as Viktor turns, spots me, and his mouth quirks in a half-smile. "Showered? Good. Sit."
I slide onto a stool at the island, Goldie on my lap.
The table is set just right: bowls of cereal, the healthy kind with dried berries, toast slices golden and buttered, a dish of smashed avocado flecked with herbs and lemon.
My stomach growls loud enough to echo. I haven't eaten properly since.
.. well, before the gallery chaos and everything that followed.
"Looks yummy," I say, trying to sound casual.
But am I so eager I could eat ten meals? Hell yes.
I grab a spoon and dive into the cereal, crunching happily…
“Mmmm-hmmm,” I enthuse in between mouthfuls. “I’m so freakin’ hungry.”
Viktor pours fresh orange juice—pulpy, squeezed this morning by the looks—and slides the glass over.
As he does, his eyes linger on me a second too long.
"Finally figured where I know you from," he says, casual as anything.
"Café Collage. You're the juice boy, right? I know you’re not the barista, so you must be the juicer with a side hustle in art. "
I nearly choke on a berry.
Play coy, Eddie.
"Uh... what? Me? Nah, must be someone else." I force a laugh, but it sounds fake even to me. My cheeks heat.
Of course he remembers. He’s exactly the kind of man who never forgets a detail. He’s probably a total control freak too. And I know from experience how he doesn’t like anyone deviating from his rules. In other words, he’s a total nightmare.
Viktor arches a brow, not buying it. "The flyer… Eddie Luck. Yeah, it's you."
Busted. It’s pointless denying it.
I sigh, set the spoon down. "Fine. Yeah, I work there. Part-time. Juices and promo pushes."
I shrug like it's no big deal, but inside, wheels turn.
He was there before the gallery? Watching? Coincidence? Or... something more?
Viktor nods, satisfied, and tops off his coffee. "Good place. Strong brew."
Speaking of connections... I sip the OJ—tart and sweet—and muster my best innocent eyes.
"Um, about work... Can I message my friend? Robbie. He’s my coworker.
He’s totally cool. But it might be a good idea just to say I won't be in today or tomorrow?
So no one freaks out or calls the cops or anything.
" I bat my lashes a bit. "Please? It'll keep things quiet. No suspicious stuff."
Viktor pauses, mug halfway to his lips.
His eyes narrow, calculating. Weighing risks.
My heart thuds—will he buy it? It's half-true… Robbie probably is worried. But mostly, it's a test. Get my phone back, then sneak a real SOS later.
After a long beat, he sets the mug down. "Fine. But I watch you type. And after…" He holds out his hand. "I keep the phone. For safety."
"What? That's not fair!" The words burst out before I can stop them. "It's my phone! I need—"
His demeanor shifts lightning-fast from calm to incoming storm. Viktor’s eyes harden, and his jaw clenches. That Daddy glare pins me like a butterfly.
"Fair? This isn't a game, malysh,” Viktor warns. “You message. I supervise. Phone stays with me. Argue again, and no message. Keep arguing, and you know what happens next. Understand?"
I swallow hard, my defiance wilting under that intensity.
Back down, Eddie.
Live to fight another day.
Keep him onside for now.
"Okay. Fine."
He pulls my phone from his pocket—he’s had it ever since we got in the car on the ride here—and hands it over. I unlock it, open my messages to Robbie. All the while, Viktor’s strong frame looms behind me, breath warm on my neck as he peers over my shoulder.
I begin to type…
Eddie: Hey Robbie, feeling super sick—flu or something. Won't be in today or tomorrow. Cover for me? Sorry! Xoxo.
Simple. No codes. No hints. He'd spot it. I’m playing this perfectly.
He reads, nods once. "Send it, boy."
I hit the button. The message whooshes off. Then, reluctantly, I hand the phone back. He pockets it, satisfied. "Good boy."
The praise hits low in my belly—like a traitorous warmth I try to resist it but it’s no good. It’s like I’m yearning for compliments and praise from a man who I hate. I need to focus, damn it.
We finish breakfast in semi-silence. The avocado on toast is the bomb—creamy, zesty, just how I love it. I scarf it down, my energy surging as I finally feel like I’m eating like normal. And that’s a good job too as I’m gonna need all the energy I can get for my escape.
Viktor clears the plates, then nods toward the hall.
"I prepared something for you,” he says. “Come to the living room after your done with your breakfast."
And sure enough, once I’m done I pad into the living room—in daylight it’s a big space, leather couches, floor-to-ceiling windows on the lake. It’s actually totally dreamy and I could see myself using it as an art room. I mean, if it wasn’t for the fact that it was Viktor’s house.
And there, on the rug… a colorful play mat spread out, wooden toys scattered, blocks, a train set, animal figures. A stack of cute picture books beside the toys… stories of fluffy animals, fairy tales, the kind with big illustrations and simple words.
Kid stuff. But also Little stuff.
My heart flips—equal parts thrilled and suspicious. He did this? For me?
I turn, and Viktor is in the doorway, arms crossed, pride gleaming in his eyes. Like a Daddy showing off.
Then I realize and my joy turns to something I can’t quite explain and barely want to admit to.
These were his ex-Little’s things.
And I feel jealous of whoever he was…