Lords of Pain: Chapter 9

It’d started out pretty basic with Ted. He’d slid into my DMs, giving me compliments on my photos, asking me about myself. I told him what all the men wanted to hear; that I was still in high school, that I liked to have fun, that I was a virgin. I mean, it was all the truth. I didn’t even have to lie.

Ted was the first one to give me money. The first to ask me if I wanted to see a picture of his cock instead of just throwing one into my inbox whether I wanted to see it or not. He was the first to give me choices, talk to me like a real adult and not just a doll or some kind of plaything. He was nice. He said he liked my smile.

It didn’t make much difference to me. I was there for the quick cash, however I could get it. Out of the men I was flirting with online, Ted was the most serious. But to me, there was nothing genuine or authentic about it. But I’d be lying if I said it didn’t make me feel good. To feel wanted. To feel special. To feel these things from someone anonymous who couldn’t hurt me.

Living with Daniel and Killian was difficult. They were like two sides of the same coin. Killian was on a mission to make sure I knew just how worthless he thought I was, and his father…

Well.

The way his father treated me was much more complicated than that.

When Ted asked me to save myself for him, to let him be the one to take my virginity, it was nothing to agree. What the hell, right? If that got me more money? Faster money? It’s not like he’d ever know otherwise. It wasn’t a promise I was ever committed to keeping. I never planned on meeting Ted at all. Ever. I planned to get out of Daniel’s house and start over. Which is why I didn’t even think about him when I shut down my account after Killian revealed he knew about it. It’d just been a temporary means to an end, nothing more.

Except Ted managed to find one of my emails, initially created just to collect spam. He wasn’t ready to let me go and I got the feeling pretty damn quick it wasn’t a game to him. He made it clear; I’d made a promise and he planned on me keeping it, whether he had to force it or not.

I deleted that email, talked my mom into boarding school, and then ran away and vanished. But Ted is a part of me now. A part of my life. He hangs over me like a toxic cloud, unpredictable, unshakable.

He could be watching the four of us right now.

That’s what I think about as I walk across the campus at Forsyth, flanked on either side by Tristian and Rath. Killian walks a few feet ahead of us and I focus on his broad shoulders, wondering what these three would do. They’ve done horrible things to me—probably other girls, too—but that’s easy. We can’t fight back. But what about someone their own size? What about someone scarier than them? Would they, could they, take him down? Or will Ted roll in here and conquer them?

Maybe they’ll all destroy each other and I can skip off into the sunset, finally free of it all.

Yeah, right.

“Hey,” Tristian says, loping his arm over my shoulder and pulling me against his hard side. “How does it feel to have the most coveted position in school?”

I watch my feet against the pavement, not bothering to shrug his arm off. “I doubt anyone really cares,” I reply, shifting my backpack. “This is college. Not high school.”

His laugh is deep and soft in my ear. “You think that means the stakes are lower? It’s the opposite, actually. We’re not talking about who gets an invite to the head cheerleader’s house on Friday night. This is about the future, power, and who wields it. Every single guy in this school, of a certain status, wants to be a Lord. And every girl wants to be our Lady.” He leans in to whisper in my ear. “Trust me, they’re jealous.”

As ridiculous as he sounds, one glance around tells me that people actually are paying attention. The student body as a whole seems fully aware of the three of them, making space as Killian leads them down the quad. The girls look at them wistfully, their gazes raking over their handsome faces and fit bodies. Then they jump to me, the flirty smiles vanishing for a colder expression. If jealousy really was a color, their faces would be green.

This is made even more evident when another group—five guys and a girl—slow their steps as they pass us.

One of the guys says, “See you finally chose one. Took you long enough.”

Tristian, eyes hidden behind sunglasses, sends him a cutting smile. “What can I say? Unlike you, we actually have standards.”

The whole group freezes, turning to the four of us slowly. “At least we don’t have ours dressed like Country Club Hooker Barbie,” one of them says, tugging the girl to his side. She’s prettier than me, without a doubt, with long blonde hair and stunning blue eyes. “Lords never did have taste.”

Rath shrugs. “And Barons have never been able to see when something special is staring them in the face.”

One of the Barons gives me a long head-to-toe look. “Two legs, two tits, and three losers attached to her? Doesn’t seem very special to me.”

“Look harder.” Killian steps up, smiling meanly. “Because as I recall, I was fucking your Baroness over the arm of your couch last year. And I know each of my boys have had her. She’s worn out pussy.”

One of them steps closer, voice low, eyes sparking. “You need to mind your fucking mouth, Payne.”

“And you need to mind your business,” Tristian says. I cringe as he presses a kiss to my neck, lips spreading into a grin. “Don’t be salty that our Lady hasn’t been passed around like a cheap forty-ounce, like yours. Sucks to be you. We’re still breaking ours in.”

I close my eyes, face blooming hot at his words. “Jesus Christ.”

A Baron gives me a skeptical look, scoffing. “I bet plenty of guys around here have had her.”

“None of you have.” Rath shrugs, grabbing my hand to lead me away. I obediently follow them, trying to bat down my embarrassment.

“Did you have to say that?” I hiss to Tristian.

He gives a simple, “Yes,” as if that were the dumbest question he’s ever heard. I shouldn’t be surprised. Breaking me in? There was no way they weren’t going to flaunt me being a virgin. It’s the whole reason I’d bartered with it to begin with. I’m probably lucky he didn’t just come out and say it.

It doesn’t make me want to crawl into a hole any less.

Forsyth University has a central meeting spot in the quad; a magnificent fountain topped with an eagle taking flight. The water is noisy, splashing down into a blue, glossy pool. Students sit on the flat edges, talking, studying, gossiping. Killian stops in front of the structure and turns.

“I have practice all afternoon,” he says, presumably to me, even though he doesn’t make eye contact. “You’ll meet back here?”

“My music class is over at four,” Rath says, pulling his ear buds out one at a time and tucking them into his pocket.

“I’ll be at the business school until then as well,” Tristian turns to me, eyes falling to my mouth. “What about you, Sweet Cherry?”

I cringe again, not liking him using that name in public. It’s bad enough that everyone’s probably going to know I’m a virgin. What if my classmates knew my past? Or worse? What if Ted is somewhere nearby? “Don’t call me that here, and I’m done at two.”

“Then you’ll wait in the library until they’re finished, and they come pick you up. Oh,” my stepbrother says, finally looking in my direction, “don’t forget to check in. Every hour. Between every class. There’s a group text programmed on your phone.”

“I can’t just go home?” I ask. The answer comes in the dark cut of his eyes in my direction. I shrivel up against it. “Fine.”

He and Rath walk off. Tristian stands by me for a moment longer, arm still over my shoulder. “I know it seems extreme, but this is how it works, Story. You’re to be available to us at all times. Loyal. Devoted. You go to and from school with us. You can leave when we do. And if you can manage to exemplify all of that, you might find yourself enjoying certain privileges. Being our Lady isn’t all about punishment, you know.”

I don’t ask what those privileges might be. Something tells me they’re probably more for their enjoyment than my own. “Sure,” I answer dubiously.

“Good girl,” he replies, leaning over and kissing me under the ear. His touch is gentle, sweet—purely for show. I’ve seen nothing to make me believe there’s a kind bone in Tristian’s body, but he more than anyone is aware that people are always watching. “See you in the library this afternoon.”

He walks off, taking his delicious, masculine scent with him. Finally free of them all, I take a deep breath to settle my nerves. I have a whole day of classes ahead of me—a day without their orders and looks and touches.

I catch the eye of one of the girls sitting by the fountain, textbook open on her lap. She’s watching me, eyes pinging from me, to my wrist cuff, to where Tristian is disappearing over the bridge to the business school. I open my mouth to explain. To say something about what she’d just witnessed. To justify the humiliation of being led around by three aggro cavemen.

Before I have the chance, she shuts her textbook, mutters a low, “Lucky bitch,” and walks off.

These days, paranoia has become my constant companion. Much like the night before, when I woke up thinking that someone was in the room with me, that same feeling follows me as I go from class to class. I can’t shake the eerie feeling that someone is watching me as I crisscross around campus, going from building to building, class to class. I keep waiting for one of the guys to appear with opinions about my clothes or hair, but I never see them. What I do find are the eyes of the other students, carefully assessing the new Lady. I’m disappointed to find that word travels as fast in college as it did in high school.

Thankfully, my day is busy enough that I scarcely have the chance to hyper focus on the disaster my life has become. Remember all those PSAs about your online behavior following you for the rest of your life? Yeah, make me the poster child.

It’s one of the reasons I’ve chosen social work as my major, with a focus on adolescents. Maybe I can help some other kid not make the worst decisions of her life before she graduates high school.

My final class, Child and Family Development, runs late, the teacher droning on and on, despite the fact we should have left ten minutes ago. A few other students shift anxiously in their seats, eyes darting to the door. I know their anxiety is nothing like my own. I doubt any of them have three impatient Lords monitoring their every move.

It’d taken me until the afternoon to realize the fancy new phone I’d been given was less of a gift and more of a Lo-Jack. I’d discovered the tracking device is on, allowing them to know my location at all times. I’ve had no desire to find out what happens if I don’t check in on time, so I’ve been diligent—until now, which is why I’m not surprised when my phone vibrates on my desk.

Lord Rath: You’re late checking in, Lady.

Lady: Sorry. Class ran over.

Lord Tristian: Next time excuse yourself and report in.

“Miss Austin,” the Professor calls my name, staring at me over her thick glasses. “Am I boring you?”

“No ma’am,” I reply, feeling every eye in the room shift my direction. My cheeks heat. “I’m late to an appointment. That was the reminder.”

The professor looks at her watch and frowns. “Very well. I can see you all twitching to leave. We’ll stop here, but from now on, please keep your phones in your bags.”

Lord Killian: Story…

Everyone around me packs up their belongings. I furiously type out a reply.

Lady: My class ran late and my prof is strict about devices.

I shove everything into my bag and start across campus toward the library. My stomach grumbles, a reminder I never had breakfast or lunch. And aside from the paltry dinner the previous night, I’ve barely had a chance to eat in days.

I reach into my bag for the protein bar Martin had so helpfully supplied me with. It’s smushed down in the bottom, buried under my laptop. I’ve got my head half shoved into my bag when I run into someone.

“Oh, I’m so sorry!” I say, pushing my hair out of my face. A ripple of panic rolls down my spine when I realize who I’ve bumped into. “Daniel?”

“The one and only,” he replies, smiling tightly.

It takes me a long moment to untangle my discomfort. Surely, most of that is due to our strained relationship. But some of it is because his hair, eyes, and jawline were inherited by the very man hell bent on tormenting me. It’s hard to look at Daniel and not think of his son.

“What are you doing here?” I blurt, instantly regretting the curt tone. “I mean…Killian didn’t mention you’d be here.”

Daniel raises an eyebrow. “You’ve seen Killian, then?”

I realize that Daniel doesn’t know I’m living with the Lords. And come to think of it, I’d really rather he never did. “I saw him earlier, in the parking lot.”

“I see.” Daniel shifts, sliding a hand into a pocket. Much like his son, Daniel isn’t very expressive. “I’ve come to see you, actually.”

I swallow. “M-me?”

He nods, smile pulling at the aged corners of his cool eyes. “Just wanted to make sure everything was going okay for you. I went to the room you’ve been renting, but you weren’t there.”

“Oh.” I blink, scrambling to find an excuse. “I’m actually just rooming with some friends for now. It’s free, so I won’t have to put you out any more than I already have.”

He waves dismissively. “Please, it’s no trouble at all. You’re family, Story.”

We keep a polite distance, both shifting our eyes awkwardly. Something tells me this isn’t how family is supposed to act around one another.

“Well, everything is going fine. Great, in fact.”

“So you’re all settled in?” he asks, watching me.

“Yep.”

He hums, shifting his gaze somewhere in the distance. “It’s just that you haven’t come by the house yet. Your mother’s been upset about it.” At my frown, he hastily adds, “Not that she’d say anything. You know how she can be.”

I nod in agreement. “Yeah, she does tend to do that.”

“I hope…” he starts, forehead pinching as he starts over. “I hope we can move past all that…unsavory business from before you left.”

Unsavory business.

It’s odd to hear it spoken of so casually, as if it weren’t the very catalyst that drove me to earn quick money to escape the entire fucking situation. It’s even odder to look back on it, and to realize that out of all the terrible, greedy, entitled, toxic men currently ruining my life, that what happened with Daniel was practically nothing in comparison. Briefly, I get the sense that my reaction to it all had been silly.

Daniel is every bit his son’s father. He might not be as upfront about it. He might even understand the word ‘no’. But at the end of the day, they’re cut from the same cloth. I’ve never forgotten that.

And I won’t start now.

I smile prettily. “Water under the bridge, Daniel.”

Some of the tightness in his eyes eases at this. “Glad to hear it. And you should come by sometime. If you’d like, I can arrange a day, just for the two of you. We really are very happy to have you home and safe.”

I nearly laugh at the word. Safe. Oh, Daniel. You idiot. “I’m glad to be back,” I lie. “I’ll give Mom a call later.”

Nodding, he pulls his keys from his pocket, giving them an idle jiggle. “If you need anything, please don’t hesitate to contact me. College is tough and I know you’ve had a rough couple of years. Your mother and I are always here for you.” Before departing, he adds, “If you see my son around, be sure to tell him his old man came sniffing about, would you?” He taps his temple. “Gotta keep that one on his toes.”

I stare at his retreating figure, wondering if that’s how Killian will end up. Handsome and gray-haired, rich, powerful, and almost capable of sincerity. Somehow, I can’t imagine it.

Unwrapping the protein bar, I take a bite, but find my appetite for it is gone. I chuck it, uneaten, into the nearest garbage bin before climbing the stone steps to the library entrance. This building was one of my favorite sights during my orientation tour. The entry has a marble floor and statues of the founding members of the university tucked into alcoves. Crossing into the main area, the scent of old paper clings to the air and I inhale deeply, feeling a sense of stability here. No matter what kind of upheaval is going on in my life, libraries stay the same.

After confirming the location of the study rooms, I take the curving marble stairs, running my hand over the black, wrought iron bannister. I pass the second floor for the third, and pause at the landing to catch my breath. There’s a small balcony overlooking the space below, just off the main walkway. I settle here, enjoying the view, catching my breath.

“You’re late.”

Before I can turn, two hands clamp down on the railing on either side of my body, trapping me between strong arms. Tristian’s warm scent envelops me. I take a deep breath and reply, “You’re early.”

“That’s not how this works, Story.” I feel his nose nudge my hair, almost like he’s pulling in my scent, too. “I’d say you’re confused about our expectations, but I think you’re smarter than that. Are you intentionally being defiant?”

“It’s no big deal,” I say, freezing at the feeling of being caged in by him. “I-I got held up after class, and then I saw Daniel while walking here. I stopped to talk to him. I’m not being defiant.”

Tristian goes eerily still. “Did anyone give you permission to talk to him?” Although his breath is warm on my ear, his tone is ice cold.

Bewildered, I ask, “He’s my stepfather. I need permission to talk to my family?”

“You need permission for almost everything, Story.” He shifts behind me, pressing the lean, solid length of his body against mine. “You know, I took the day off from classes to keep an eye on you. Followed you from class to class.”

My heart stutters in my chest, remembering the feeling of eyes watching me. “That was you?”

“Of course, it was me. There are a few things you need to understand. We’re not like the other frats here. For the Lords, bringing some random girl into our home is a risk. You’re always being watched. We’ll always know where you are and what you’re doing. And if you fail—if you step out of line—there will be consequences. It’s not because we enjoy it.” He adds with a smirk in his voice, “Well, not just because we enjoy it. We also have to protect our interests.”

He removes a hand from the railing, the soft pads of his fingertips trailing down my cheek. I squirm against him, feeling bile rush up the back of my throat at the touch. He either doesn’t notice my discomfort or doesn’t care, instead running his fingers over my shoulder, brushing my arm, and then caressing the side of my breast.

“It’s important that you’re fully aware of how this relationship works. I don’t want any misunderstandings.”

“I understand.” Although it’s a little difficult to focus on rules and regulations at the moment. My brain is fixated on Tristian’s fingers and how very close he is to discovering the point of my nipple. “You own me. At school and at the house. All the time.”

“Good girl.” His fingers go off course, moving down to the hem of my skirt.

And then they dip underneath.

Stiffening, I peer nervously around the balcony. We’re in a fairly isolated area, but it’s still public. I try to jerk away, but even with only one hand, he effortlessly holds me in place between his body and the balcony’s edge.

“What are you doing?” I gasp.

“Whatever I want.” His fingers push underneath the lace of my panties and immediately brush against my clit. I rear back, but he just crushes me against him, thrusting his cock against my backside.

My throat clicks with a swallow. “We can’t do this here,” I say, feeling my heart thunder.

“Sure we can,” he argues in a low voice. “Why do you think I picked out this skirt? And those panties. Easy access.”

Any coherent reply is caught in my throat. I’m almost sure any protest will just encourage him more, or even worse, alert someone to where we are and what he’s doing.

“What I want to do right now,” he whispers, running his nose along my neck, “is to find out if you really get as wet as Rath says you do.”

Heat pools, both in my cheeks and between my legs. “Rath?”

He chuckles as he swirls his thumb around in a lazy circle. “You think he didn’t tell us about how turned on you were that night? How much you enjoyed having my cock in your mouth?”

That’s exactly what I’d thought, though I have no idea why I would. So I have some leverage on Rath. So what? He’s not trustworthy. He’s loyal to the Lords over everything.

I grind my teeth against the way Tristian’s fingers are making me feel. “He’s lying. I didn’t like it. I hated it. I get wet like that because that’s just how my body is. N-not because I’m into it.”

“Oh, Sweet Cherry, you’re always trying to break my heart.” His finger pushes between my folds, pressing into my core. “That’s okay. If you want it to be a secret, we can pretend.” He inserts one finger and groans into my ear. “God, your pussy is tight. You really are a virgin, aren’t you?”

I squeeze my eyes closed, trying to block out the sensations. Every man in my life has put a price on my virginity. Killian, Tristian, Rath. Ted. The other Sugar Daddies. I’d briefly thought it to be a source of power as well as vulnerability. But more and more, it seems like a single-edged sword.

More and more, I just want to fall on it.

I should toss it all away. Just get it over with so that they’ll all leave me alone. Maybe I should find some guy to fuck and take it off the table. I won’t be so special then.

Voices echo off the marble staircase and I go rigid as a group of students climb to our floor. I push aside any and all thoughts but self-preservation. “Tristian,” I whisper, “please let me go.”

“Come for me, sweetheart. And then you can go.” He slides in a second finger, stretching me from the inside, making me both wince and shudder. “Just do this one little thing and I’m happy to walk you home.”

I swallow, every nerve on alert. “I can’t. Not like this. Not with people…around.”

“I think you can,” he replies, pumping his fingers in and out. My knees catch and he slides his other arm around my waist. “You know you want it. Jesus, just look at you. So fucking close, you’re shaking.”

I bite back a gasp. “That’s fear. You’re scaring me. Someone may catch us.”

“That’s not fear. It’s want, Cherry. It’s on the inside. Your pussy is quivering for me.” His thumb brushes over my clit and a jolt shoots through me. “You want this over? Then come for me.”

I want to tell him that he’s wrong, that he doesn’t know my body, can’t possibly understand it. But once again, my body shamefully revolts. With every thrust of his fingers, my hips begin chasing them, wanting them closer. Every time the heel of his hand presses into my clit, I buck against it, seeking the friction. My heartbeat bangs against my chest, blood growing hotter with every step that brings the students closer. Suddenly, the thought of him stopping seems more unbearable than being caught. Spurred on like some mindless thing, a wave of electric, greedy adrenaline courses through my body.

“Come for me, Story,” he demands, voice quiet but hard like stone. It’s like a switch flips. My body turns hot, skin prickling with an aching rawness. Sweat begins building, and when I hear the footsteps right behind us, I can’t hold back any longer. The orgasm ricochets through me like an explosion, spreading sweet and sharp from the center of my body. I swallow my voice, biting down hard on my bottom lip to hold my cries inside. It washes over me like a wicked wave, pulling me beneath the surface. Tristian, large body draped calmly over mine, holds onto me as I ride his hand and shatter into pieces.

“That’s a good, good girl,” he purrs, slowing his movements.

I grab onto the railing with both hands to hold myself upright. Glancing behind me, I’m convinced the other students will all be there, gawking at us. But they’ve already passed by, none of them the wiser.

Even with that reassurance, I step away from Tristian and smooth out my skirt, pretending that I don’t still feel the ghost of his fingers inside of me, or the warm afterglow of an incredible orgasm.

In this moment, I hate myself.

I hate my body, and his skilled fingers. I hate it as much as I did back then, that night in the laundry room. I hate this library. I hate all three of them, for being so cold and callous, but somehow still managing to make me feel this sparking heat.

This heat that won’t stop. My neck prickles with sweat and the edges of my vision go dark, tunneling. I feel myself sway, but am powerless to stop it. I shoot a hand out to catch myself, but everything goes black.

I don’t even feel the fall.

I rouse in increments. It’s the smell that hits me first—a strong, floral perfume. After that I begin receiving snatches of sound. Shoes shuffling on the floor, indistinct voices, whispers.

My name. “Story? Wake up now.”

Tristian.

Feeling a hand on my forehead, I squirm away, slowly opening my eyes. It takes me a long moment to remember. Tristian. The orgasm. Everything fading to black.

Now, there are people standing over me. Not just Tristian. There’s a group of guys, but also a gorgeous girl about my own age, with dark, curly hair and smooth skin.

Her hazel eyes bore into mine. “Do you know what day it is?”

I blink at her, trying to orient myself. “First day. Monday. The eleventh.”

The girl—woman—nods. “It looks like you passed out. Do you have any medical conditions?” When I shake my head, she hums. “When was the last time you’ve eaten?”

“Last night,” I croak, gently levering myself up onto my elbows. “But before that…” I trail off, suddenly feeling mortified.

She glances back at the group of guys. “She’s probably just got low blood sugar or something.” Looking at me, she gives a rueful grin. “I’m Sutton, the Countess. I’m pre-med, but that mostly just means a bunch of impossibly hard science classes they make us take to weed out the weak.”

“Oh.”

She throws Tristian a sharp look. “Is it LDZ tradition to starve their Lady, or are you just particularly negligent?”

Oh, god. Tristian.

He’s standing stiffly beside me with those cold eyes glaring daggers at the group. “I don’t see how it’s any of your business. She’s our Lady. We’ll take it from here.”

Sutton scoffs, standing. She offers me a hand to help me up, and I take it without thinking. “Easy there, Lady. You good?” I nod, carefully avoiding Tristian’s gaze as I steady myself.

One of other guys—a Count—chuckles. “Should have known. I wouldn’t put a puppy in the Lords’ care, let alone a whole-ass woman.”

Another Count meets my gaze, mouth curving into a grin. “Hey, Lady. Blink twice if you’re being held against your will. We’ll feed you something.” He grabs his crotch in emphasis.

Tristian smoothly steps between us. “That’s kind of sad, actually. A girl would have to be pretty desperate to think your dick was worth putting in her mouth.”

The Counts all laugh. One says, “At least the Countess is still standing. At this rate, you’ll be Lady-less by Friday.”

Another Count pipes in, “Jesus, they can’t even feed her. Times must be pretty rough over there. Maybe we should send them a care package. Girl’s looking a bit too thin anyway.”

Sutton meets my gaze, lips pressed into a tight, unhappy line. But like me, she remains silent.

Tristian grabs my hand. My hackles are already raised at the sight of his stony, expressionless face, but it’s even worse at the sound of his voice. Flawlessly even, and still somehow cutting. “Being a Count must be difficult. Always second from the top, but never quite able to achieve glory.” He shakes his head, giving them a look someone else might mistake for sympathy. We can all see the lack of sincerity in it, though. “I’ll let this pass on account of feeling sorry for you. Well, and because your Cuntess seemed so helpful.”

With that, he tugs me away from the group, down the marble staircase, and out of the library.

I try to keep up.

His jaw is rigid when he finally breaks the silence. “Do you have any idea how that made us look?” He doesn’t wait for me to answer. “Fucking ridiculous. How did you not eat breakfast? Lunch?”

He’s not really looking for an answer, his narrow eyes fixed straight ahead, flashing with ire.

I give him an answer anyway. “If you recall, none of you would let me eat breakfast.” Paying no mind to the way my voice sounds—curt, scathing—I add, “And I had things to do during lunch. I was in the student center working out my course schedule.”

“Fantastic,” he mutters snidely. “Killian and his fucking temper. You and your fucking willful disobedience. I can see now that I’m going to have to make myself in charge of these things.”

Swallowing nervously, I ask, “What things?”

His eyes cut to mine and he pauses, some of that sharp tension draining from his features. He lifts my chin with a finger and grins. “Taking care of you, Sweet Cherry.”

The restaurant we walk to isn’t what I’m expecting. It’s a formal type of place, with mood lighting. The staff are in suits. As Tristian talks in low, smooth tones to the host at the front, I shift awkwardly, looking down at my absurd outfit. I’d feel less out of place if I’d just come in naked.

“This way,” the man says, leading me and Tristian to a table in the back.

For his part, Tristian blends in perfectly, even being dressed in a casual button-down and jeans. “Sit,” he orders, and then to the man, “We’ll start with two glasses of water and some bread. And not that processed crap you send out for free. I want your bakery’s special. If I see even a hint of bleached flour at this table, I’ll be very unhappy.”

The man doesn’t skip a beat, giving a nod before loping off.

Tristian opens the menu, not bothering to spare me a glance. “You need a good protein. Something fresh. Organic, if we can manage it. Do you eat meat?” Despite the question, he doesn’t even leer at me.

I still wait a moment, just in case I’m walking into a trap. “…yes?”

He sighs. “That’s disappointing. Being vegan makes it a lot easier.” Just then, a waiter arrives with the water and a basket of bread. Tristian asks, “Is your chicken antibiotic-free?” While he and the waiter go over which meats are ‘poisoned with unnatural chemicals and hormones’—Tristian’s words—I mull over his question.

When the waiter has left, I ask, “Being vegan makes what a lot easier?”

“Eating fresh and clean.” He tosses the menu aside, nudging the basket of bread toward me. “Well? Go on. Can’t have you fainting like some Victorian handmaid again.”

He doesn’t look angry anymore. The soft light from the centerpiece’s candle casts his features in a warm, deceptive glow, even as his cool eyes watch me. I get the startling, unwelcome realization that this is what Tristian might look like on a date.

The thought all at once disgusts and fascinates me.

Reluctantly, I pluck a roll from the basket, tearing off a bite. Hoping to break some of the strange atmosphere, I wonder, “Are you vegan?”

“Sometimes,” he answers, perfectly still. The flickering candle reflects in his eyes. “You do know what happened back there, don’t you? At the library, before you got acquainted with the floor.”

The bread is suddenly like swallowing sandpaper. “It was a lesson,” I guess.

He raises an eyebrow. “And? What did you learn?”

My brain combs through the fog for the answer. “That you can do what you want to me, whenever and wherever.”

“Yes, that’s right.” He gives me a patronizing smile. “And?”

“And I need to be where I’m supposed to be, and only speak to men with your permission.”

“Yes. Exactly.” He reaches out and pushes a sweaty piece of hair off my cheek. “And this, what we’re doing right now? You realize this is a reward, don’t you?”

Reward.

The word travels sourly down my esophagus with the bread. “A reward for what?”

He lowers his hand and it lands on my wrist, right over the cuff I’d fastened this morning. “You didn’t speak to the Counts. You wouldn’t even look them in the eye. That’s loyalty.” He lifts my wrist, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to the back of my hand.

His eyes pin mine as he does it, an oddly sweet gesture, gently returning my hand to the table afterward.

The way it makes me feel inside is foreign and unsettling. It’s a soft, wistful sort of feeling, offset by something strangely wounded, as if the better half of me has just realized how very fake it all must be.

I think I prefer punishments.