I swear I thought I was going to die. It was just pure sensory overload. But somehow, I took it. And now, lying here alone, I feel hollow.
I’d hoped I’d wake in his arms, cradled like a treasure. But I woke alone. I checked the house, but Amon was gone. I guess he went to work.
And the longer I lie here, the more alone I feel. The more my body yearns for his affection—for the firm grip of his big, strong hands on my wrists.
I called him Daddy, and he didn’t even flinch.
It wasn’t planned. The name just simply fell from my lips naturally, as if calling upon something deep inside of me I wasn’t aware of until that moment.
And it felt so right.
Taking another deep breath, I think back to the moment he summoned me.“Unzip my fly,”he’d told me. And I obeyed.
The bath water is hot, but my body starts to warm as I replay our encounter. Slowly, I reach down between my legs, remembering the way he touched me…
…the way he used his thumb on me while inside me and sent me over the edge.
“No,” I snap, snatching my hand back and opening my eyes. This is wrong. What Amon and I did waswrong.
The nuns—I can’t even imagine what they’d say. And Momma wouldkillme if she knew.
“I knew it. Satan has his hold on you!”
She’s said it before, and she’ll say it again if she ever finds out about Amon and me.
Head spinning, I stand up and grab a towel. I took my cross off to bathe, but I quickly snatch it up from the vanity and slip it over my neck.
I’d hoped it would give me strength, comfort. Instead, it feels heavy, like God himself is accusing me of being a bad person.
I dress quickly and go downstairs. Maybe some breakfast will fill this emptiness in me. To my surprise, Amon’s in the living room reading some documents. He glances at me briefly, then returns to his papers.
“Hey!” I stutter, shocked. “W-when did you come home?”
He shouldn’t scare me. Not after what we did together. But something about his posture, the way he regards me so casually, makes me feel small.
Without looking up, he says, “Making brunch? I’ll take an omelet.”
A shiver runs through me.
“An omelet?” I ask, waiting for more. But he gives me nothing. “So…I’m still your housemaid?”
Finally, he looks up at me. His eyes aresostrong as he scrutinizes me. And after what feels like the longest moment ever, he nods. “And a pretty good one at that.”
My stomach flips, and I take a step back. As he looks back at his work, I catch a glimpse of what might be a smile on his lips.
Slowly, I turn and move into the kitchen, feeling small beneath the enormity of the Bleakson mansion—of Amon himself.
I switch into auto-pilot mode as I cook. He wanted an omelet, so I make one for him and one for me. But when I go back to the living room to bring it to him, I find it empty.
I set it on the coffee table where he’ll find it, and on my way back up the stairs, I hear his voice from outside. As usual, he’s talking business. Something about shorting a stock that will make them millions.
Maybe it’s just work distracting him, I think as I sit cross-legged on my bed and fork a slice of my omelet. But just like the bath, it does nothing to distract me from the urges steadily rising within.
My inner thighs are tickling as I think back to his touch.
Maybe I should go back downstairs and smash his plate or scatter the chess board. Then he would have to punish me. Give me his attention.
It’s cold in the house today, and I don’t even have socks on, yet my body is on fire. I can barely finish my meal before I’mback in bed, twisting and turning,yearningfor something from him. Even if it’s only his presence.
