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He just told me the truth, and I didn't know how to feel about that.

I sat back for a moment, waiting for grief, shock, sadness—anything—to overwhelm me.

I felt nothing. Maybe I'd grieved the father I'd needed years ago, when he first chose gambling over his family. The man Pavel killed was a stranger who happened to share my blood.

Pavel watched my face carefully, and I caught something that might have been concern cross his features before his expression hardened again.

"Your father put you in danger. "His hand lifted andsmoothed comforting circles on my lower back. "Your grandmother is safe because you're mine. That's how this works—I protect what belongs to me."His voice softened slightly."I've had her moved to a better place. She deserves proper care."

"Medicaid pays?—"

"Medicaid paid for a shithole. I’ve had her moved," he rasped, pulling the slip away from my breast, his knuckles grazing my skin. "She's an old woman who raised you. She shouldn't suffer because of your father's mistakes."

The unexpected, fierce certainty in his voice made something clench in my chest.

Pavel had found my weak spot.

He found the one thing that would ensure I submitted to his rules.

I ground my hips down on his still hard cock. I was already wetter than I'd care to admit.

I teased his cock with my cunt, rocking back and forth, sliding my folds along his shaft while he sucked and licked my breasts.

Pavel grabbed my hips and turned me around so my back was to him, my legs tucked on either side of his thighs. He flipped up my slip to bare my ass to him as he leaned me forward and notched his cock at my entrance.

I stared in the mirror, studying the woman I had become.

My lips were swollen, a little bruised. My slip was hanging off my shoulders, baring my breasts and my spit-slicked hard nipples to the cold air, and my eyes looked glassy.

I watched in horrified fascination as the flush on mycheeks traveled down my chest to the tops of my breasts as they bounced.

It was somehow both embarrassing and so incredibly hot, watching myself take all of him.

His hands sneaked around my body, his fingers going to my clit, drawing tight little circles, making my thighs tremble as I rode him harder.

Pavel growled something in Russian and my back arched.

This was who I was now.

And I hated it.

I hated him.

I especially hated myself for fitting so well into this new role.

The next daybrought an unexpected change to our routine.

He came back early.

I was lying on the bed, staring at the wall while the TV showed reruns ofJudge Judy.

I didn't move when he came in, not wanting to acknowledge my captor. At least, not until he threw a paper shopping bag on the bed next to me.

"Put these on. We leave in five minutes."

"What?"

"I'm not going to say it again." He left the room and, confused, I looked into the bag to find clothes—real clothes. A simple but well-made dress, underwear, a bra, and shoes.