7.
How do you feel?
His question hung in the humid air, heavier than the tropical heat.
I looked at him. I looked at the man who had bought me from a coward, who had watched me choke on his mentor’s cock in a private jet, who had handed me over to three college athletes to be used until I was broken and weeping on the floor.
I set my champagne flute down. The crystal clinked softly against the linen tablecloth.
I didn't lie. I didn't try to sugarcoat it to protect whatever shred of dignity society said I should still have. I had left my dignity on the coffee table in his penthouse two years ago.
"I feel empty," I said, my voice steady, surprising even myself.
Richard didn't flinch. He just watched me, waiting.
"When DeMarcus pushed that toy into my ass," I continued, the memory bringing a fresh, phantom sting to my rim, "and when they all broke inside me at the same time ... my brain just stopped working. I forgot my name. Forgot my degree. I was just ... flesh. Just holes."
I looked down at the white lace covering my lap, then back up into his dark, expectant eyes.
"It was the most humiliating, painful, degrading thing I have ever experienced in my life," I admitted, my breath hitching slightly. "They looked at me like I was garbage. They treated me like a fucking toilet, for fuck’s sake."
Richard leaned forward slightly, resting his forearms on the table. "And?"
"And," I whispered, the terrifying truth finally spilling over my lips, "I loved it."
A single tear escaped my eye, tracing a hot path down my cheek, but I didn't wipe it away.
"I loved being nothing, Richard," I confessed, my voice gaining strength, fueled by the sheer relief of absolute honesty.
"I loved that I didn't have to think, or worry, or pretend to be anything other than a fucking slit.
Tyler made me feel like shit. Poverty made me feel like a failure. But you ..."
I reached across the table, my hand trembling slightly, and covered his hand with mine.
"You make me feel necessary," I said. "You stripped away everything I thought made me 'Sloane Daniels,' and you showed me the truth.
“Knowing that I belong to you, knowing that I can endure whatever nightmare you design for me just to see that look of pride on your face ... it anchors me. I have never felt more alive, or safer, than when I am completely, utterly ruined for you."
The silence on the terrace returned, absolute and ringing.
I held my breath. I had laid my entire corrupted soul bare on the table. I was waiting for the verdict.
Richard looked at my hand resting on his. Then, he slowly looked up at my face.
And he smiled.
It was the smile of an artist admiring a finished masterpiece.
"You're a brilliant girl, Sloane," Richard said softly. "The university gave you a piece of paper on Friday to prove it. But this weekend ..."
He turned his hand over, lacing his fingers through mine, his grip firm and possessive.
"... this weekend was your true final exam. You proved that you understand your true value. You proved that you understand your place."
He pushed his chair back and stood up.
I looked up at him, suddenly nervous. Was the conversation over? Was it time to pack and fly back to the penthouse?
Richard didn't walk toward the villa. He walked around the table, stopping right next to my chair.
"Stand up," he said softly.
I stood. The delicate white lace brushed against my thighs. I was inches away from him, close enough to smell his cologne.
Richard took a step back.
He reached into the breast pocket of his linen shirt and pulled out a small, square, black velvet box.
My heart stopped. The world seemed to drop out from underneath me.
And then Richard Davies, a man who bowed to no one, slowly lowered himself down onto one knee.
I gasped, my hands flying to cover my mouth.
He opened the box.
An impossibly heavy, radiant-cut diamond flanked by two flawless baguettes lay snuggled in a nest of black satin. It caught the harsh tropical sunlight, fracturing it into blinding shards of light. It looked less like jewelry and more like a visible, million-dollar brand.
"You have graduated, Sloane," Richard said, looking up at me from his knee. He reached out and took my left hand, pulling it gently away from my face.
"You have proven that you have no limits," he continued, his thumb stroking my bare ring finger. "And I want the world to know I own you."
He held the ring up.
"Be my wife, Sloane."
Tears streamed down my face, hot and fast, blurring the massive diamond.
This was the final lock on my gilded cage. Richard was offering me permanent security, permanent wealth, and a lifetime of degradation.
I didn't hesitate. I didn't think about the other girls from the cheer squad, or the normal life I was leaving behind. I only thought about the man on his knee, the man who had broken me into a million pieces just so he could glue me back together in a shape that fit him perfectly.
I dropped to my knees on the hard teak deck, letting out a gasp of pain as my bruised and carpet-burned knees hit the wood. The impact sent a jarring shockwave straight up into my raw, aching holes, but I didn't care. I needed to be at his level.
"Yes," I sobbed, throwing my arms around his neck, burying my face in his shoulder. "Yes, Richard. I'm yours. I'll be whatever you want me to be."
He wrapped his strong arms around me, holding me tight, and slipped the ring onto my finger. It slid perfectly into place.