A surprised moan fell from my mouth when he filled me with one stroke. It was somehow a shock and a relief all at once. Three times…we’d only done this three times in Japan. But I’d missed him. Missed this. Missed us. Him inside of me again was the weird homecoming I hadn’t known I wanted.

This wasn’t like before, though. There wasn’t any care. No gentleness. Victor just took me hard and rough. His strokes were merciless and demanding.

I wish I could say I was the victim in this. Someone who wanted no part in his games.

But it didn’t work like that. My rules…the feelings I should probably be having about this encounter fell into a murky pool of grey.

His hand dropped down to my clit, rubbing me savagely as he thrust into me from behind.

And oh, my God…

The orgasm overtook me, obliterating everything in its path and leaving nothing in its wake.

All my morals. All my pride. All my dignity. Nothing survived.

And just when I thought I couldn’t be humiliated any further, he abruptly pulled out. All I could see from my vantage point in the mirror was his arm jerking. Then he threw his head back, his teeth clenching before I felt a warm splatter against my backside.

It took me a moment to process what he’d done. He’d pulled out of me instead of coming inside of me. But why?

The answer came back, immediate and unvarnished: Punishment. This was another part of the punishment. He was denying me the intimacy we’d shared the other three times we’d done this together. Debasing me. Showing me that for him, this was just a fuck. Not love.

Not what it had been before.

I wasn’t going to cry. I refused to cry.

“Was that hate-fucky enough for you?” I asked instead, keeping my voice tough and mocking.

Instead of answering, he got up and disposed of the condom he’d taken off just to punishment spooge on my ass.

He wasn’t looking at me, but I watched him as he walked over to a pile of clothes just outside the open door and calmly started putting them back on.

What would come next? I hadn’t eaten since breakfast at the cafeteria. Would we go out now like we used to on the weekends when I convinced my mom to let me hang with “the girls from art club?” Have dinner to celebrate our insanely fucked up wedding?

After he finished getting dressed, he raised his hands. I figured to command me to put my clothes back on too. Or maybe to take a shower. I was a naked mess.

But he just signed, “Do not leave Rhode Island without permission. This state is now your home.”