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But decadence meant nothing without freedom.

Every door was locked. I had access only to the bedroom, its en suite, and occasionally the dining and living rooms—if Pavel felt generous and no visitors were expected. The moment his brothers arrived, I wasshuffled back to the bedroom with threats of handcuffs and the hood.

I had even tried picking a lock once, only to meet the judgmental scowl of a massive armed guard who growled at me in Russian. His meaning was clear: I was far safer in my tower.

Pavel had transformed me from Cinderella into Rapunzel, locked away and forced to watch the world through glass.

The days blended together in monotonous routine. I'd wake to Pavel's hands on my body, his mouth between my thighs, or his fingers tangled in my hair, guiding me toward his hard shaft. He'd leave after breakfast and return at night. The splatters of blood on his clothes serving as silent reminders of the monster beneath the expensive suits.

I started counting sunsets to stay sane.

More than once, I wondered if I'd stumbled into the fantasy life some girls at the club dreamed about—being a kept woman, free from bills and responsibilities, ravaged by a well-endowed, rich, and powerful man obsessed with pleasure.

If I closed my eyes and forgot about the guards outside, about wearing only sheer Agent Provocateur pieces, maybe I could understand the appeal. In their dreams, those women could leave their towers. They chose their captors. They had friends, social engagements, freedom disguised as luxury.

For a moment, I gave in to the illusion. Maybe it was self-preservation, Stockholm syndrome taking root, or daytimetelevision finally killing my last brain cell. I began seeing this situation from the perspective of some kind of twisted version of a 1950s housewife—taking care of my jailer, waiting for him to come home where I'd be useful again.

Was it so different from being a cleaning lady? Either way, despite the hints of deeper emotions I thought I’d glimpsed in him last week, he basically saw me as an appliance. At least this way, I was left in a sex-induced haze, endorphins flooding my brain instead of my back aching and my hands raw from bleach.

The illusion shattered each night when Pavel returned, knuckles bloodied, violence clinging to him like expensive cologne.

Tonight was no different.

I said nothing as he entered, shedding his jacket and kicking off his shoes. The metallic scent of blood made my stomach clench.

"Get on your knees," he commanded, pointing to a spot on the carpet.

Heat flooded my cheeks as I obeyed. Pavel didn't look at me, focused instead on his phone as he disappeared into the bathroom. He emerged moments later, shirt unbuttoned, belt undone but still hanging from the loops of his pants. His muscled abs were covered in tattoos I’d long since memorized but had not gotten the courage to ask the meaning behind.

It wasn't fair that someone so evil could be devastatingly beautiful.

He settled into his chair, attention still on his screen, and snapped his fingers, pointing between his legs. Thesilent command was clear: crawl to him like the pet he'd made me.

I hated him for treating me like a dog. I hated my body more for aching with need every time I saw him.

Swallowing my humiliation, I crawled forward and settled on my heels while he finished whatever held his attention.

"We need to discuss something, my pet," he said, finally setting down his phone. "I'll talk and you'll listen, without interruption. You're going to take my cock in your mouth and suck it like the obedient girl you're learning to be."

He unzipped his fly with deliberate slowness.

"If you can manage that without interrupting, I'll let you ride me until your body gives out. If not..." His eyes glittered dangerously. "You get the belt, then I fuck your ass until I'm satisfied. Understood?"

I nodded, my traitorous body already responding, my mouth watering in anticipation.

"Get to work, sweet thing."

I reached out, stroking his impressive length until he guided my head toward his lap. The moment my lips wrapped around him, he hummed in approval, and I closed my eyes, surrendering to the familiar ritual.

But it wasn't enough for him tonight.

His hands gripped my head as he pulled back and stood, holding me in place while he thrust deep.

"Fuck yes," he growled. "Take it all."

Humiliation flooded through me as I realized he was simply using my face, fucking my mouth like I was nothing more than a toy. Yet something dark inside mepurred at being the source of his pleasure, at being chosen for this intimate violation.

He pulled out just enough to come on my face, his seed spilling across my lips. His thumb brushed over my lips before he pushed it inside my mouth. He watched expectantly, not releasing me until I'd sucked his thumb clean as well.