16. Sonnet Ellison
SONNET ELLISON
Iwas happier than I should’ve been when I heard Vega return. The first few nights after he brought me there, he hadn’t stayed. He appeared with food and left me alone behind the locked bedroom door. Lately, he slept in the house every night, though.
I had started listening for him. His footsteps in the hallway, the low sound of his voice on the phone, or a cabinet closing downstairs made the house feel less empty. Even when a locked door separated us, knowing he was nearby settled me.
Now, the door wasn’t locked. While he’d been gone, I had finally explored the house.
It was easily one of the nicest homes I had ever been in.
The home was enormous, with dark ceiling beams, leaded-glass windows, wide archways, and an iron staircase that looked like it belonged in an old Chicago mansion.
A sitting room near the front had tall arched windows that filled it with natural light, while another room had dark wood-paneled walls, built-in shelves, and a large fireplace that I imagined reading in front of during winter.
The kitchen was beautiful too. Natural wood cabinets stretched toward the ceiling, stone covered the counters, and a butler’s pantry connected it to a smaller breakfast room.
Still, the house barely looked lived in. There was furniture, but not enough of it. There were no photographs, mail, blankets tossed over couches, or shoes left near the door. It felt staged, like somebody could put a sign in the yard and host an open house tomorrow.
By the time Vega returned, I had completed another puzzle, DNF’d a book before chapter four, and beat every game on the laptop.
I wandered through the house and found him in the kitchen heating the leftover omelet I had made that morning.
“I was going to cook dinner,” I told him. “Can you wait?”
He looked at the plate, then back at me. “Hell yeah, if it tastes anything like breakfast.”
His answer pleased me more than it should’ve. “Sit down. I’ll have it ready in about an hour.”
I expected him to leave the kitchen, but, instead, he sat at the island.
I opened the refrigerator and began gathering ingredients.
“You really like cooking,” he said.
“I do.”
I placed the ingredients on the counter near the sink. I planned to make creamy Cajun chicken over parmesan grits with roasted asparagus.
I put some oil into a skillet on the stove and turned the fire on medium to heat it.
As I started to season the chicken, I told him, “When I was in the home, food was just something they gave us because legally they had to. Nobody cared whether it tasted good. Half the time it was cold or overcooked.”
Vega stayed quiet, listening.
“When I left, I couldn’t afford good food. College meal plans helped, but once those dining halls closed, I had a microwave, a mini refrigerator, a hot plate, and whatever I could stretch until payday.”
I added the chicken to the pan, and the kitchen filled with the sound of sizzling.
“I started watching cooking videos and figuring out what I could make in the dorm. Once I got a good job, I started buying ingredients I used to think were too expensive, like real parmesan, fresh herbs, and better cuts of meat.” I smiled to myself.
“Cooking became one of the ways I took care of myself.”
When I glanced up, Vega was still watching me.
He listened as if he wanted to engrave each word into his memory.
Suddenly, I became aware of how I looked.
I wore loose lounge pants and an oversized shirt.
My hair was pulled back without much effort.
I hadn’t curled my bundles, worn makeup, or even put on lip gloss since he took me.
I didn’t feel it necessary to get pretty for my captor.
Still, under his stare, I felt exposed.
I turned back to the stove. “Were you jealous earlier?”
“Huh?” He deeply chuckled. “Jealous?”
“You seemed irritated when Prodigy was flirting with me.”
“I don’t get jealous.”
I snorted playfully. “Of course not.”
I heard the stool shift.
A second later, Vega stood behind me. He was close enough that the warmth of his body settled against my back before he touched me.
His cologne wrapped around me, mixed with the clean scent of soap and something warmer that belonged only to him.
Every nerve in my body became aware of the space he occupied.
I could feel him without looking. The width of his chest. The quiet strength in the way he stood.
The faint brush of his breath near my hair when he leaned closer.
My fingers tightened around the spoon. The kitchen suddenly felt too small, the stove too hot, and my clothes too thin.
He hadn’t placed a hand on me, yet my body reacted like he had. He stepped into my space until the heat from his body competed with the stove. “Prodigy doesn’t need to enjoy your smile.”
I swallowed hard, fighting to keep my composure in his shadow.
I looked up at him, amazed at the sight.
He was breathtaking. “My smile doesn’t belong to you.
” I tried to be witty, but my words came out soft and flirty.
“I’m not your property. Even though you stole me and keep me locked away like art you snatched from a museum. ”
Vega’s eyes moved down my body excruciatingly slowly before returning to my face. “That’s exactly what you are.”
My mouth went dry.
“A piece of art.” He returned to the stool before I forgot the chicken and burned his expensive kitchen down.
I faced the stove so he wouldn’t see the warmth spreading across my cheeks.
“You and your brothers are close,” I said, needing safer ground.
I turned the chicken, then lowered the heat.
“In the system, close relationships never felt permanent. You could finally start trusting somebody, then wake up and learn they had been moved to another home. Even the other kids learned not to get too attached because everybody was always leaving.” I stirred the sauce slowly, keeping my eyes on the pan.
“There wasn’t anybody who had known me since I was little.
Nobody who remembered my first day of school, the things I was afraid of, or what I looked like before.
I never had people I could argue with and still know they would be there the next morning.
” I finally looked at him. “So, watching all of you feels strange. Not bad. Just… like seeing a language everybody else learned at home, and realizing nobody ever taught it to me.”
Vega’s expression softened. “You ever want a family of your own?”
The question made my movements slow down. “I think so.”
“You think?”
I added cream and parmesan to the skillet, watching the sauce thicken around the chicken.
“I’m scared I wouldn’t know how to do it.”
“Do what?”
“Be a mother. Be somebody’s wife. Love people on that level.”
His brows pulled together. “Why wouldn’t you?”
“Because I’ve never had it. What if everybody else learned something growing up that I missed?” I looked at him. “What if I don’t know how to make a child feel safe because nobody made me feel that way?”
Vega stood again. This time, he approached without teasing in his eyes. “You know what it feels like to need safety. That probably means you’d make damn sure your child never had to ask for it.”
I swallowed.
“You’re worried about not knowing how to love because nobody showed you how,” he said. “But you care about Dior. You protected him by keeping him out of this, even when you needed somebody. And you still worry about becoming the kind of mother who makes her child feel safe.”
His thumb moved lightly across my cheek.
“That doesn’t sound like somebody who can’t love. It sounds like somebody scared of doing it wrong.”
He reached up and touched my cheek.
I should’ve moved. But, instead, I leaned into his palm.
His thumb brushed beneath my glasses.
My heartbeat changed.
“Vega.” The word slipped out soft, almost pleading.
He lowered his face, pausing close enough for me to decide.
I closed the distance. The first touch of his mouth was softer than I expected, lips parting mine with a slow hunger.
Then his hand slid behind my neck, and the kiss deepened into something feverish.
I gripped the front of his shirt, pulling him in as our bodies aligned.
His chest pressed firm against my breasts and the heat of him seeped through my oversized shirt.
I felt the hard line of his dick nudge against my thigh.
It was thick and hard even through his pants.
Every thought about captivity vanished beneath the feel of his lips and the power in the hand holding me close. My virgin pussy clenched involuntarily, and a fresh ache built low in my belly as I leaned harder into him.
When he started to pull away, I followed, chasing his mouth with mine. I didn't want him to stop. The realization shocked me more than the kiss itself.
His free hand dropped to my waist, fingers digging in as he backed me against the counter.
The spoon clattered from my grip. I arched into him, feeling that dick twitch in response, my loose pants doing nothing to hide how my body responded.
His tongue swept in, tasting me deeply while his grip tightened.
I moaned into the kiss, hips shifting just enough to grind lightly against his length, the friction sending sparks up my spine.
Vega growled low, the sound vibrating through our connected mouths as he held me pinned there, bodies flush and burning.
Vega broke the kiss just as my body quivered against the counter.
I glanced down to see the hard outline of his dick straining against his pants, clear evidence of his desire. I ached for him to give me everything, but he drew his hand away, stepped back, and adjusted himself with a quiet breath.
"I’m sorry," he roughly murmured, leaving me exposed and longing against the counter.
Embarrassment rushed into my face. A few seconds earlier, I had been ready to let him spread me across the counter and take something I had protected for twenty-three years.
Now he was apologizing as if touching me had been a mistake, as if he had gotten close enough to realize he didn’t want me after all.
I looked away and reached for the spoon with an unsteady hand. My legs still felt weak, and embarrassment made every movement clumsy.
“It’s fine.”
“Sonnet—”
“I need to finish dinner before the sauce burns.”
I turned toward the stove, but Vega caught my wrist before I could pretend the moment hadn’t happened. “I’m not apologizing because I regret it or because I don’t want you.”
I kept my eyes on the skillet. “You don’t have to explain.”
“Yes, I do.”
His grip loosened, but he didn’t release me. “I lost control.”
I finally looked at him.
“I told myself I wouldn’t touch you like that while you were trapped here, then you kissed me, and every good intention I had disappeared.”
My body reacted to that, despite feeling so embarrassed.
“You’re stuck in my house. I control whether the doors open, where you go, and when this ends.
I don’t ever want you wondering whether you gave yourself to me because you thought you had to.
I also don’t want you making a decision that big under these circumstances because I’m scared you’d regret it.
” He stepped closer again, though he kept his hands to himself.
“You waited for a reason. I respect that.”
My throat tightened.
“What you’re giving the first man you choose isn’t something small. It’s a gift, and I want you to be sure I deserve it before you hand it to me.”
That should’ve helped calm me down. Instead, it made me want to give it to him even more. No man had ever spoken about my virginity like it was precious instead of evidence that I was inexperienced, awkward, or behind everyone else.
“Thank you,” I slowly smiled.
Vega studied me for several seconds. “I have feelings for you.”
My heartbeat stumbled.
“I don’t understand them yet,” he continued. “I don’t know how they got this deep this fast, but they’re there.”
I didn’t know what to say. A man like Vega had options.
He had money, power, confidence, and access to women who understood his world.
Women who knew how to touch him without trembling, how to satisfy him without needing guidance, and how to exist beside danger without questioning every decision.
I was inexperienced, overly analytical, and so nerdy that I found comfort in spreadsheets and books.
Yet he looked at me as if none of that made me less desirable.
I knew I felt something for him too. I simply didn’t feel entitled to those emotions. He had kidnapped me. He controlled my freedom. No matter how safe I sometimes felt with him, the situation remained wrong and complicated.
I opened my mouth to admit that I felt something for him that I couldn’t explain but he told me, “You don’t have to say anything.”
I paused.
Vega released my wrist. “I know what I did to you. I know this situation is toxic, no matter how either of us feels inside this house.”
His honesty surprised me.
“I’m going to kill Roman, open those doors, and give you your life back,” he said. “Then, if you still want to get to know me better when you’re free to walk away, you can choose that on your own.”
I stared at him. He wasn’t asking me to promise anything. He wasn’t demanding that I repay his protection with affection. He was offering me a choice.
The one thing I had been begging for since I arrived.
I turned fully toward him and smiled. “I’d like that.”
His usual control softened in his face. Then his eyes dropped toward the stove.
“Your sauce is burning.”
I gasped and spun around.
Behind me, Vega laughed while I snatched the skillet from the heat and tried to rescue dinner with weak legs, swollen lips, and a heart that no longer understood which parts of him it was supposed to fear.