And when he finally speaks, when he finally moves his hand and cups my sex to press his thumb against my hardened clit, I come. Just like that, I come. Even as he warns me not to disobey him again. I come as his seed spills out of me onto the church floor. I come as the hand that wielded that cane cups my sex and reminds me of what he told me last night.

That I belong to him.

21

Santiago

Ivy is quiet as she follows me back down the corridor inside the house. She's stepping gingerly, feeling every bit of her punishment, but no complaints leave her lips.

A strange sense of turmoil roils in my gut. I am overly aware of the pain she must feel. How many times have I walked these halls with that same tenderness burning the soles of my feet? I imagined it would bring me satisfaction to watch her suffer in a way that I understand so intimately. But her lack of tears and silent resolve has brought me little of what I seem to need from her.

I want to bury myself in her again and again. Feel her warmth and her body clenching around me. The possibilities in which I could take her seem endless. Eternity doesn't seem long enough to explore them.

But she won't be here for eternity, I remind myself as I lead her back to her room and seal us inside. She stands on the center of the rug, watching me with uncertainty that makes her seem smaller yet.

A pliable little doll.

My jaw sets as I study her, considering how long it will take for her to break. How long until she is so miserable looking at me every day, feeling my hands upon her skin, that she decides to put an end to it?

Or will I be the one to break first?

Perhaps, that would be easiest. Maybe it's what I should have done all along. I could wrap my hands around her throat and squeeze until the light dims from her eyes. There would be no question then. It would be done. And this strange new torment inside me would die with her.

But even that notion doesn't seem to satisfy me as much as it should.

I drag a hand through my hair, smoothing it back into place. The silence has stretched on for too long, and the tension thickens in the space between us. She's glancing at me like she doesn't know what to expect from me anymore.

"Sit down." I point at the same chair she vacated earlier.

She does as I request, the rosary dangling from her neck like a beautiful collar. It is heavy, and I know she feels it. I want her to think of me every time she moves. I want her to feel the weight of my ownership pulling her down.