"This is it," I say, pushing open the door.
Oliver steps inside, his eyes scanning the space. I can see him cataloging everything: the window, the door, potential weapons, escape routes. Always thinking, always planning.
"The door locks from the outside," I tell him. "For your safety as much as mine."
"My safety." He turns to face me, and there's that bitter laugh again. "You're so full of shit."
My patience, already worn thin, snaps.
I cross the space between us in three strides and grab his jaw, forcing him to meet my eyes. He tenses, muscles coiling, but he doesn't pull away.
"Listen very carefully, bull," I say, my voice low. "I have been patient with you tonight. I have allowed your disrespect, your cursing, your defiance. But my patience is not infinite, Oliver. I am your owner. Your Mistress. And you will learn to show respect, or there will be consequences."
His eyes flash. "What are you going to do? Beat me? Starve me? I've already lost everything. What more can you take?"
"Your pride," I say. "Your dignity. Your sense of self." My thumb brushes across his lower lip, still slightly swollen from where the handler struck him. "I can break you in ways you can't even imagine. Or..." My voice softens slightly. "You can make this easier on yourself. Accept your place. Find whatever peace you can in your new life."
"Never," he breathes.
I release his jaw and step back. "We'll see."
I move toward the door, needing distance before I do something foolish. Like kiss him. Like push him down on hte bed and take what I bought him for.
"Mistress."
I pause, surprised he used the title.
"Why didn't you?" His voice is rough, confused.
"Why didn't I what?"
"Back in the bathing chamber. You could have...you could have done whatever you wanted. Why didn't you?"
I look back at him over my shoulder. "Because when I finally take you, Oliver, when I finally milk you and feed from you, I want you to be aware and present. I want you to feel every second of it. And I want you to admit, even if only to yourself, that you want it too."
His throat works as he swallows hard.
"Sleep well," I say, and close the door behind me.
The lock clicks into place. Final. Absolute.
I lean against the wall outside his room, my hands trembling. What am I doing? This human is supposed to be food, nothing more. A means to an end.
But the way he looked at me in that bathing chamber, the way his body responded despite his protests, the way my own body aches now with unfulfilled need...
This is dangerous. This is more than I bargained for.
CHAPTER THREE
OLIVER
Idon't sleep.
How the fuck am I supposed to sleep when my mind won't stop replaying every moment of the last few hours? The auction. The carriage ride. Her hands on my skin in the bathing chamber.
Her.
Primsyn.
