But I can’t even do that.
My mind is spinning. My tummy muscles are taut like the rope around my wrists as aftershocks of my first climax skate through me.
Amon squats down and unties my ankles. I’m not sure how I feel as the pressure subsides, but I shake my legs and try to stand as he reaches up to my wrists.
My legs wobble, and I almost fall, but he catches me. “Whoa, there. Take some breaths. You just went through a lot.”
That’s one way of putting it.
He undoes the bindings on my wrists, and although my first instinct is to flee—shoulder my way past him and run—I stay where I am.
There’s no way I could escape him. Not if he truly wanted to catch me. And after what he just did, I know there’s no way he would ever let me get away.
And honestly, I don’t know how I feel about that.
“Now you know,” he says, his lips close to mine.
“Know what?”
His voice is cocky and confident as he looks back at me. “That I’m a serious man. And the next time you screw up, you know what will happen.”
4
JOAN
I wake up sore,disoriented, with images from last night still haunting my mind.
I glance at the red marks on my wrists left from the rope Amon tied me with and feel something stir inside me. My hips move on their own, swaying against the mattress—
No. It’s time to pray.
I brush the sheets aside and fall to my knees, clasp my hands together, and close my eyes.
This has been my routine for months now. I know what to do.
“O God, I find myself at the start of a new day…please give me the strength to be ready for whatever might come…”
My voice gives out. It’s no use. My thoughts are elsewhere. Not on God—onhim.
Amon.
I take a deep breath and try again. I can do this. It’s just about having faith. Being devoted.
“O God, I find myself lost at the start of a new day. Please…help me find the strength to…to…”
My voice falters. I fail again. Try as I might, I can’t do it.
I shower, hoping the warm water will wash away the guilt, but no matter how hard I try, I can’t stop thinking about it…
…my punishment.
Stomach rumbling, I throw on some sweats and a loose T-shirt and head downstairs to the kitchen, only to find him sitting at the table already eating. He’s on the phone, laughing about making tons of money.
“Two hundred and twenty-five million? Hope you bought that Porsche for yourself!”
He’s wearing nothing but a pair of tight, black briefs.
I try to avert my gaze, but my eyes move on their own, pulling me back to his sculpted physique—broad shoulders, bulging biceps, and of course…those ripped abs.
