I twisted to look at him.
“What are you doing?” I asked. Why was my voice so breathy?
He’s going to eat you whole.
“Making sure we won’t be disturbed during your session. It’s Pavol’s protocol.”
“But we aren’t having a session,” I pointed out.
Massimo stood in front of me and leaned against Pavol’s huge desk. “Aren’t we?”
I stared at him.
“Are you serious?”
“As a short rope and a long drop. Go and get changed.”
He jerked his head toward the screen in the corner.
I just stared at him, confused, shocked, and honestly, turned on. My mother would be ashamed of me for the rest of my life if she knew I was getting turned on by a devil wearing holy robes, about to perform some kind of twisted therapy on me as a treatment for lustful thoughts.
Just the thought sent blood rushing to my cheeks. My face had to be the color of a tomato.
“I don’t work for free,micetta. Clients pay a deposit, at least, before the deed is done.”
He let his gaze drop to my feet, pressed primly together in my grubby off-white sneakers. He then dragged his eyes up my legs, somehow making my baggy sweatpants feel scandalous, up my body, slow and steady, until he reached my face. There was nothing disappointed in that inspection. It was... satisfied. I forgot about my glowing cheeks and ugly, ill-fitting clothes. I forgot about my scraggly hair that hadn’t been cut in years, my ragged nails, and even the silvery scars that worked their way across my upper thighs.
I forgot all of that.
His eyes fixed on mine, warm and wicked. “Time to pay up, little stray.”
I found myself standing before I could overthink it. I walked to the screen and slipped behind it. Back there, I laid a hand on the medical gown I put on three times a week. Usually I felt disgusted at the idea of what was about to happen.
Pavol knew why I was here just as well as Vargas had. I wasn’t a real patient, I was a hostage, and yet, he’d insisted on conducting his perverted therapies on me three times a week for years. Because he got off on it. Because he knew I couldn’t complain. Because Vargas wanted me to suffer.
Now, though, slipping my clothes off, knowing Massimo was waiting outside, I felt something strange and new. A new association forcing itself over the trauma.
Something delicious simmered low in my belly as I stepped out to face him.
Massimo had his arms crossed over his chest, staring at the screen, waiting for me to emerge.
“I can’t say I’ve ever cared much for medical fashion, but you—you make it look good.”
I had no idea what to do with that compliment, so instead, I stepped forward.
“Where do you want me?” I asked, then cringed when his grin widened.
“What a good question,” he said, and then nodded to the chair I usually sat in while Pavol did my fucked-up therapy. The TV was nowhere in sight.
I lowered myself onto the chair and watched as Massimo approached.
He stalked over and walked around me in a circle.
“Since last night, I’ve given your firsts a lot of thought,” he said in a low tone, sending a thrill through me.
Had that moment in the hallway last night felt as important to him as it had to me?
“Hands,” he instructed after a moment.