But he must have anticipated it because he caught my knee between his thighs and pressed himself up against me, holding me tight against the door. We stood like that, watching each other, breath coming fast, my naked chest heaving against his with the effort to keep taking in air as he squeezed it out of me. I felt this strange sort of pull to him, this sort of…attraction? No, not that. He may be beautiful, but he was evil. He was no better, no different than Victor. The draw, though, I knew he felt it too. I saw it in the way he looked at me, now that he wore no mask.

But sexual attraction was a thing of the bodies, not the mind. Not the heart. If it was that, it was mechanic. That was all.

There was more. Something else. Something different.

Sometimes, things we can’t remember carry emotion with them. That feeling—good or bad—it’s the thing that’s present between two strangers. And we were strangers. It’s just, this feeling…no, I was confused. Maybe it was a sort of Stockholm syndrome, although it would be too soon, wouldn’t it? When did Stockholm kick in? Maybe because Victor had held me for…how long had he held me? Days? Weeks? Hours? How long ago had I witnessed Mateo’s execution?

No, I was confused. There was no emotion. No feeling. There was only confusion. Confusion and hate.

We stayed like that, our eyes locked, and I felt him, I felt his cock at my belly, hard and thick and ready. He was aroused. I knew he’d been aroused before too. After he’d whipped me, I’d seen how tight his jeans had stretched across his crotch.

“You get off on this.” I said, my voice somehow a controlled whisper, wanting him to know I despised him. Wanting him to believe I felt repulsed by him. “You like it. You like chasing naked girls around this decrepit room, wearing your little mask.”

He grinned and pressed his cock against me once as if to say yes, yes he did.

“I’m not wearing my mask now.”

“You like scaring women half your size? Who could never stand a chance against you physically?”

In the next moment, he circled my wrists with his hands and drew my arms overhead. He leaned down, so his forehead rested against mine.

“I do, Gia,” he whispered.

His eyes roamed over my face and settled on my mouth.

“I like it very much.”

I swallowed and felt the hardening of my nipples against the fabric of his shirt and hated myself for it. Hated my body for it.

“I like a little fight too.”

He brought his mouth to my ear, inhaling along my cheek as he did so.

“It makes my cock hard,” he whispered.