Chapter Six
Viktor
Valentina Blackwood is the most peculiar woman I’ve ever met. And for the next three months, she’s my owner.
It’s hard to wrap my head around it. After these three months are over, I’m going to be a millionaire.
Even with the vultures at the auction taking their massive cut, the amount wired into my name will be more than the value of every life I’ve seen snuffed out in the pits.
I expected to work my ass off to be worthy of ten million.
I thought she’d have me tied up in the middle of her living room, pumped full of drugs, ready to go again and again until my heart gave out.
I expected her to hit me when she was frustrated with her business, or use me as a footstool while she made her phone calls.
So far? It seems like all she wants me to do is eat and sleep.
I’m not used to this. Leisure feels empty. I wouldn’t even mind pleasuring her. She’s pretty, and she smells like expensive soap and citrus. But she’s also so petite. Looking at her makes my hands feel like sledgehammers; I’m terrified I’d break her in half without meaning to.
Maybe that’s why she doesn’t want to fuck me? I’d try to be gentle. I wouldn’t do anything to put this opportunity at risk. I can’t believe it was this simple to escape—just selling myself one last time.
I’m not an idiot, though. I know Valentina and the others at that auction are powerful people.
You don't get that kind of money by being ‘good’. I need to watch myself, need to make sure I don’t piss her off.
Part of me keeps waiting for the catch. Is she just giving me time to get healthy before she fucks me over?
I try to imagine her hurting me, but no image gets conjured up.
She could slap me, but her hands are so small they’d probably feel like a caress against my jaw.
She could bite, but those little teeth wouldn't even leave an indent on my shoulder.
She could drain me with sex after sex, and I wouldn't mind. For ten million dollars, she could cut off my cock afterwards and keep it as a dildo if she wanted. I’d still be the one who won.
Should I be doing more? Should I be showing her that I’m worth the hefty price tag she put on me?
When the time is over and the money is wired... I have no idea what I’ll do. Maybe I’ll buy a small studio apartment. Live normally for the first time in a long time.
There are so many things I can do. I just have to survive Valentina Blackwood first.
The dinner tonight was a disaster. I could feel the tension radiating off her even from four chairs away. She picked at her salad, gave me a polite nod, and then vanished into her bedroom before I had even finished my second glass of water.
Am I making her feel awkward in her own home?
Fuck. That was the last thing I wanted. If she realizes she bought a broken toy that doesn't know how to act, she’s going to get rid of me.
She’ll send me back to the auction block, or worse, just toss me out into the street. I need to be worth the ten million.
An invisible force drags me out of that cloud-like bed. I creep into the lobby, my bare feet silent on the marble. I wouldn’t dare knock on her bedroom door, and thankfully I find her in the living room, curled up with a pint of ice cream and some flickering show on the screen.
Ice cream…
I hover by the doorway. "Valentina?"
She looks up, startled, but doesn't shoo me away. "Viktor. Can't sleep?"
"No," I answer. I move closer, focused on the spoon in her hand. Is that really ice cream? It’s been years. She notices, a small smile touching her lips.
"Want some?" she asks, extending the spoon. "Go grab your own from the kitchen."
I take a step forward and take the spoon right from her hand, my mouth closing over the metal. My eyes roll back in my head at the taste. Is it the sugar? Or is it the fact that her saliva is on the silver? Either way, it’s delicious.
A stray drop falls, landing on the hollow of her throat.
It’s like a demon has taken hold of my lungs.
I don’t think; my tongue catches the drop, tracing the line of her skin.
The silk of her pajamas is barely there, a thin layer of satin clinging to her small breasts.
I’m breathing hard, my vision narrowing down to the way her skin flushes under my touch.
For the first time since I was a boy, I have a hard-on that isn't chemically induced. It’s her.
I let more ice cream fall, dabbing it onto her chest, my hands shaking as I trace the path of the cream down to the edge of her breast. I want to see the nipple pebble beneath the cold, sweet melt. I want to lick it off.
She grabs my wrist, breaking me out of my trance. "Viktor, stop."
I freeze. I’m not thinking with my head. I’m hungry, but not for the food.
I scramble back, trying to rationalize the insanity, trying to find a reason that won't get me thrown out.
"I... I’m showing you," I stammer. "Showing you I’m worth the ten million.
Anything you want, Valentina. Anything. I can do it.
You don't even have to look at me if you don't want to.
I can pleasure you for days, for nights. Just... let me be worthy. Please."
She’s too occupied to look at me, adjusting the thin strap of her pajamas as she puts distance between us.
"Go to bed, Viktor," she says, her voice flat.
I walk away, feeling shame crawl into my veins. I turn back toward the hallway, but I can’t leave it like this. I stop, my hand gripping the doorframe until the wood groans.
"Valentina," I rasp, staring at the carpet beneath my bare feet. "I am sorry. If I... if I made you uncomfortable."
I wait for her to scream at me. Or maybe punish me.
The only sound is the faint hum of the television before she sighs. "It’s okay, Viktor. I’m just not into... whatever this is. Go to sleep. Forget all about it."
I nod and retreat to the guest wing.
The door to my room clicks shut, but sleep is impossible. Not into this.
What things does she not like? Has she never had someone between her legs that showed her why people liked sex? Maybe she’s only ever had men who were selfish, men who never bothered to stop and taste her.
Anger flares in my chest. I don’t like that.
At all.