6. Zoe
Chapter Six
ZOE
S omething feels off.
The mattress is soft under my skin and different from the lean mattress I normally sleep on. The warmth from the comforter, the tenderness of the pillow, and the caressing feeling of the smooth sheets.
My eyes shoot open, and I spring up from the bed.
My eyes dart around, the subtle line of the morning sun through the tinted floor-to-ceiling window in front of me making me flinch and drop my head.
Oh.
It’s not a dream.
I continue to move my eyes around my room.
It’s not a dream at all. I’m here now. I have been bought by a new master who has allowed me to sleep the entire night.
He didn’t come banging on my door for sex. He didn’t ask me to be between his legs playing with his cock all night as he tried to sleep. He didn’t use my body.
He allowed me to sleep.
I drag the black comforter up my slightly naked body. I’m still wearing my costume. I stand carefully, as if the sound of my footsteps will end this dream. Like anything I do from now on will wake me from this dream.
I stride carefully to the sliding doors that seem to be mirrored but aren’t. They are as black as everything else in here, only showing shadows of my frame.
I read the white note on stuck on them.
Wear something and come down for breakfast.
With an arrow that is pointing in the direction of the wardrobe.
I spin and scuttle over to the wardrobe. I look through the clothes, letting the scent of new fabrics and better garments permeate my nostrils. They are so new that the price tags are still on them.
He got them for me.
I pick up a black dress that I’m sure he would love to see me in. I stroke the label on it. It’s a designer dress, something I will spend years slaving for and will still never be able to afford.
So are all the other clothes he has gotten me.
Does he have plans to keep me trapped because I need to pay for the luxury he is giving me?
I lift the black dress and strut over to the doors. I dangle the outfit before me, trying to catch myself in the dark glass frames and see what I would look like in a dress as fancy as this one.
The doors open, and I jump back, my heart leaping to my mouth. I’m not sure what I did to open it, but soon enough, my heart plops back into my chest, leaving my mouth agape.
Shoes, bags, and jewelry.
For me?
It can’t be.
I shake my head, refusing to go closer to them.
They are too precious. Too pristine for someone like me. I will ruin them if I get into them. And even this dress. I toss the dress away like it’s hot metal.
But this… I adjust the skimpy fabric of my costume from the Bratva’s club. I deserve this. I button up his black dress shirt, then tie it.
Breakfast I will have, as he has commanded, but I will not let myself get swayed and put on things I do not deserve.
I rumple the note in my grip, and my mind conjures that same familiarity I had sensed when looking into his eyes as the handwriting on the note lingers in my mind.
It looks familiar. Like I. once knew it. But somehow, it’s missing something.
I step out of my room and gingerly strut down the dark hallway, careful not to miss my step as my eyes still have to adjust to the stark darkness.
As I approach the staircase, I catch a glimmer of whiskey-gold light on its rail, and then the entire ground floor pops dimly into view.
I search with my eyes but do not see anything, so I step down, placing my bare feet on the cold floor, and then strutting towards the kitchen with my hands planted by my sides.
I stop by the entrance of the breakfast room, also black, with white furnishing to enhance the stark contrast, except for the gold dishes and cutlery.
And there he is, sitting majestically by the table, dressed in his black regalia of dress shirt and pants, with black-stoned cufflinks, his eyes drilling holes into me.
The sun is peeking through the open window behind him.
“Good morning,” I mumble and drop my head to my bare feet. I clear my throat, my mouth watering at the sight of food spread out for me. It’s like a buffet.
“Good morning,” that iciness in his voice cuts like glacial boomerangs in my head, “What are you wearing?”
He has yet to show any signs of violence, and I want to keep it that way.
But he must be pissed that I disobeyed him and refused to wear the clothes he bought me.
He stands, the sound of the chair creaking as he pushes out of it and looms in my direction. I fight the urge to shrink visibly as he stops before me.
“Why are you not wearing any of the clothes I got you?” He doesn’t wait for my answer. Instead, his hand wraps around my wrist. He leads me hastily back up the stairs, graciously skating through the dark hallway and stepping into my room.
He lets go of my wrists, and I don’t miss the way he flexes his hand like I might have an infection. Or the way he scrunches his nose like I irritate him.
Is that why he wants me all dressed up? He wants me to look presentable to him.
“Why, Zoe?” He gallantly struts over to the still-open wardrobe and picks up the black dress I left on the pile of other clothes. " Do you like this one?”
I nod but keep my head down.
“Wear it,” he says, stretching the dress towards me. I shake my head, refusing to collect it from him.
He observes me for a while, then swallows loudly. He huffs, and I see I might be provoking him. But the last thing I want is to upset him.
“They are all beautiful, Zoe, and quite expensive,” he breathes. “But none of them compares to your beauty or your worth.” He closes the inch of space between us. “Take it.”
He is not a man of too many words. And yet, he has managed to say words that my soul has longed to hear for many years.
I take the dress and slip past him. I unbutton his shirt first and let it drop to the floor. Then I go in next to unclasp the tiny costume bra. I tilt my head to see if he is watching me, but he has given me his back.
If he says I’m worth so much, why does he not want to look at me?
I glide in his direction, then hook my thumb around my underwear to be rid of it. Stripping like this feels significant in a way. It feels like finally taking off the life I thought would be the only life for me until he showed up.
Someday, I will have the courage to ask him why me.
I take quiet steps toward him, stopping behind him. I don’t know him at all. He was never a regular, so I can’t say if he likes to be touched. I keep my hands to myself but push my breasts against the part of his back that I can reach.
“I’m done,” I fidget with my fingers, waiting for him to face me.
He glides, his upper arm brushing past my breasts as he faces me, “What the…”
I stop him by taking his hands and covering my bare breasts with them. “You bought me for a reason, yeah?”
“Zoe,” he clears his throat, shaking his head weakly, but with the way his eyes are hooded and his jaw tightening, I know I affect him.
“I do not know your name,” I step in closer, making sure to leave no space between my breasts and his body, “Will you tell me, or should I call you master?” I squeeze his hand around my breasts, and I suck in a deep breath, shocked at the effect he has on me.
“Ettore,” he husks. “And…” he makes the mistake of peering down through hooded lashes at where his hands are covering my breasts. “You don’t have to do this,” he whispers, and the warm breath pricks my senses.
“Tell me to stop,” I let go of him to show him he is the one now massaging my nipples and move my hands to gently palm his growing erection through his pants.
He makes a deep guttural sound that reverberates in my stomach, making my pussy clench.
“I can’t have you if you are not willing,” he retrieves his hands and steps back. “This is not transactional. I don’t need to fuck you to care for you. You don’t have to let me fuck you, Zoe. You have a voice. You have a will. You make the call.”
Fuck. The way he says the word makes it so erotic I cannot help but want him to do just that.
I might not have allowed myself to think deeply about it, but he is striking. There is a beauty he possesses that is unbelievable regardless of his scars. I’m drawn to him in a way I have never felt drawn to anyone before.
And all I have to do is show him.
I slip my hand between my legs, slipping my fingers into my pussy and then pulling them out to lift them, showing him the dampness he has managed to sap out of me.
It’s another first.
The only time I get wet is when they feed us with aphrodisiacs to make the clients feel satisfied.
I wait to see what he'll do now.
It’s a quick slip, and before I register that his restraints are shattered, my back is on the mattress, and he is hovering between my legs.
He doesn’t kiss me as I’m longing for him to, but very snappily, he is undoing his belt and pulling out his cock.
“You want me?” He groans into my opened mouth, never pressing enough to kiss me, and I nod, gulping down his warm breath. “Then open up.”
Oh.
The way he talks.
I open my legs as wide as I can for him, planting my feet on the mattress.
He holds my gaze like I mean the world to him as he slips into me, my pussy enveloping him, gripping him, which tells me he is big. Then, his eyes close very quickly, and his nose flares as he shoves in.
He drops his head to the side of my face and grates my cheek with his teeth in the most pleasure-arousing way. He starts to move inside of me. He is fully clothed, and I’m naked, but I don’t mind. I feel seen. He sees me.
It’s like he has the power to somehow make me forget every bad experience I have had by allowing me to want this. By asking me if I wanted him.
I slip my arms to hook my hand on his shoulder blade and bury my face in his chest, stifling my moans as he awakens my body. As he remakes me.
Thrust after thrust. Groans toppling after moans.
“Your orgasm is yours, Zoe…” His hand grips my thigh, and he hooks my leg around his waist, “but if you may, give it to me…”
Yes.