“N-no, Master. P-please don’t hurt me.” Her eyes hadn’t gone back to the mirror, but instead were on him… imploring. How long until she learned mercy came from obedience? And not begging or pathos?

“Hurt is what sadists do, my dear. But punishments hurt worse. Do you want to be punished tonight?”

“N-no, Master.”

“Then don’t take your eyes from your reflection until I say you can.”

She flinched at the snarl in his tone.

As her eyes returned to the mirror, her situation clicked into place. There were so many things he could do to feed his urges besides hitting her.

How much would she sacrifice for him—how much could she give before he emptied her out?

Leo moved behind her, peeling his shirt off and tossing it into the pile of clothing behind him. He didn’t wear shoes in the house, so it was quick work removing his jeans and boxer briefs.

He peeled a condom from a wrapper and pushed her forward so that her hands braced her against the floor. Her gaze went to his in the mirror for the barest moment of uncertainty and pleading, but he shook his head. “Eyes on your reflection,” he growled.

When she obeyed, he thrust into her. The condom was lubricated, but not enough. Irrational anger gripped him. She’s not aroused. Any other woman would be dripping from need, excited by his fucked-up brand of seduction. But Faith was only enduring.

The anger rose steadily, climbing to more extreme heights the more she cried. His hands bit into her hips marking her as his. How dare she not be turned on by this! How dare she cry when she’d asked for this, practically begged, her pouting mouth and doe eyes undoing him as she pleaded to be together? Well, this was together. This was how it was. How he was. If she couldn’t fucking take that she should go back to her room where everything was bright and sparkling and safe and clean. The guilt chased him while he chased release, her tears eliciting twin feelings of shame and excitement.

The orgasm was empty, choking the air from the room. It felt like the icy grip of death instead of pleasure. It was supposed to be a kind of forgetting, where the drab world faded into a sharper, more pleasing reality, but this was cold and dull and lifeless, and he couldn’t escape the feeling fast enough. When he was spent, he pulled out of her, removed the condom, and tossed it in a nearby trash can.

She doubled over on the floor, her sobs ringing in his ears. Had he broken her in one visit? What the hell was wrong with him? She hadn’t said no. She hadn’t tried to fight him, and yet it felt ugly, the evidence of his savagery painted on her thigh. The thin line of blood making her look like a spoiled virgin.

A sick thought slid into his mind. Had she lied on the questionnaire about her sexual history?