The Monster's Mighty Den

I look at Sienna's tear stained, mascara-smeared face. She still can't see me. The spotlight is too bright on her. But she must recognize my voice and know that it was me who bought her.

The men take her down from the platform. She still fights as she's removed from the stage. The curtain falls and the lights in the room go on announcing to everyone that it's the end of the night.

Axel chuckles. "Told you," he mutters as I resume my seat.

"Fuck you," I say, the excitement I feel in my gut something foreign. Something I'd forgotten.

One hour later, Sienna is delivered to my penthouse by the same two men in about the same fashion as when she threw that fit on the stage.

I'm standing at the window with my back to the elevator when I hear the doors slide open. I sip my drink, watching the lights of the strip in this city that never sleeps.

A city of vultures.

Hungry.

Always hungry.

Always looking for innocent flesh with which to fill their bellies.

I'm hungry, too.

I set my empty glass on the counter and turn to face her.

Innocent flesh.

I'll fill my belly with hers.

"You asshole," she says.

The men are physically restraining her. She'll have bruises on her arms tomorrow.

"You fucking asshole!"

I give a nod and the men strip her of her cloak as they step back onto the elevator.

It takes her a moment when she's naked again but then she meets my gaze and her eyes narrow as she marches toward me. It's hilarious because of the fact that she's naked, very much so, and her hands are still fisted. They only un-fist when she stops inches from me and raises her right arm to slap me.

I catch her wrist, narrow my eyes, catching the other wrist too when she raises that one.

"Don't ever do that," I warn calmly.

"You're an asshole."

"So you've said." I stretch her arms wide, looking her over as she struggles to free herself.

"They took my things. My bracelet—"

"You'll get everything back. No one will steal from you." I look her over. "You'll shave your pussy."

"Like hell I will."

I give her a smirk, transfer her wrists to one of my hands and turn her, take in the two thick welts on her ass and spank one cheek.

She yelps and jumps.

I turn her back around, lower her arms and pull her to me so her naked chest is pressed against mine. I feel her hard nipples through the fabric of my shirt. I search her face, her pretty, angry face.

We stand like that for a long moment. Her breathing is shallow, her heart is racing. I can see it in the violent throbbing of the pulse at her neck. Her eyes are ringed in smeared black and she looks like she's about to cry again.

I release her, step back, look her over again. Long legs. Slender but defined. Yoga, I'd guess. Not a runner, her muscles are too lean.

"Why did you do that?" she asks when I turn away momentarily to pick up my glass.

I watch her as she stands awkwardly, not sure how to cover herself, I guess.

"Why did I do what?" I ask just to piss her off some more. Most women are eager when they're brought up here. And very willing.

She's different.

"Why did you put me up there? Humiliate me like that when you were just going to buy me all along."

"Who says I was going to buy you all along?"

She's confused.

"Besides," I continue. "I thought you could use a little humbling."

She turns away as her forehead wrinkles and she wipes away a tear, smearing more black across her temple.

"You're a mess," I say.

"You're an asshole. An asshole!"

"And your vocabulary is disappointingly limited." I walk to the liquor cabinet. "What do you want to drink since you don't like whiskey."

"Can I just have some clothes?"

"What did I teach you earlier about 'can I' and 'may I'?"

"Fuck you!"

I decide on vodka and pour it straight. She's going to need it for what I have planned. I walk back to her and hold out the glass.

"I warn you, don't slap it out of my hand. If you do, you'll kneel in the broken shards while you suck my dick, understand?"

Her face flushes a pretty red.

It strikes me. I can't remember the last time I saw a woman blush. Not the women I know, at least. And it's not something she can fake.

She looks up at me, trying to gauge how serious I am, I guess.

I'm dead serious.

She takes the glass. Sips. Looks down at the floor or her feet or something. Just not at me.

"Why don't you have a good cry. Get it all out now because right now is when I'll be most patient with you."

"Patient? You just stripped me naked and put me up on a stage for those...those...perverts to bid on me like I'm a piece of meat!"

"Remember, it was your choice. People need to learn to take responsibility for their lives, their choices. Own their shit."

"Fuck you, Giovanni!"

I step to her, and to her credit, she doesn't back away. I cup her chin, tilt her face up.

"I will fuck you. It's why I bought you, sweetheart."

She shrugs away, turns, walks to the chair and picks up the blanket draped over the arm to wrap it around herself.

The pattern of the tartan makes me pause for a moment. The maid must have put it out by mistake. It's the only thing that doesn't fit here. And I should have gotten rid of it long ago.

I sit on the leather couch, cross my ankle over the opposite knee, watch her.

She swallows the contents of her glass and stands there looking at me.

"Help yourself if you'd like more."

She shakes her head, sets her glass down on a nearby table.

I watch her as she takes in the penthouse. It takes up the top floor of my building and is situated just above my office. The room we're in is a grand room, wide-open with kitchen, living room, dining room and walls of glass. The furniture is modern, everything either black, white or gray. And as beautiful as it is, it's almost clinical. The lines clean, everything in its place, everything with a purpose.

Intentional.