29. Chapter Twenty-Nine

After dinner, I go to my room. I lie in bed and stare up at the ceiling as I think everything over. I'm warring between fighting and accepting my fate.

I guess I could do both. Accept this is my life. That I will always be fighting for my freedom and that's it.

That's just it.

I could be happy though. If Enzo gives me children, at least I'd have them. But it isn't enough. I want all of it, not only children. I want a loving husband. Someone who cares about me. I don't want any of this arranged marriage crap. I don't want to force myself to be happy. I want it to be natural.

I can't give up so easily. I've barely tried. This is only the first interaction I've had with Enzo that was somewhat cordial. I have to keep chipping away at the stone wall he has around himself. This won't be easy, and it won't be quick. This could take a long time. But if I keep up with it, maybe one day I'll be free.

That's what I need to tell myself.

So sure, I may have to marry him. I may have to have sex with him. I may even have a child with him. But I'll keep fighting for my freedom because it's what I deserve. I deserve to make my own choices and decisions. I deserve to be able to do whatever the hell I want in life, because it's my life. I won't allow him to dictate what I can and can't do. I'm a grown woman. I'll do what I need to survive, all while knowing my goal is to leave. The moment I can, I will.

This is by far the best plan I've had since I've been here. Why fight him? It takes too much work. I need to give in without actually giving in. It's not just about distracting him with my body, it's distracting him with everything. It's going with the flow and moving with the motions to make this seem natural. Make it seem like what I want. One day, he'll let his guard down, and that will be the day I'm free.

I toss and turn in bed, unable to sleep, so I get up and leave my room. I go to the kitchen to grab a snack because what else is there to do so late at night?

After my meltdown and medical emergency, Enzo made sure there was food in the house I liked. Of course he told me I had to eat healthy meals in order to enjoy the junk food I want. Whatever.

I grab the package of cookies and make my way through the parlor toward the home theater.

I can't remember the last time I watched TV or a movie, but it's something to do. I'm living in this house, I may as well enjoy everything it has to offer.

When I open the door, I don't expect to find the giant TV on. I certainly don't expect to find Enzo on one of the couches. He looks up at me when I walk in but doesn't react otherwise.

"Sorry," I mutter and turn to leave.

"You can stay," he says. I stop, close my eyes and take a breath.

The last thing I want is to spend time with him, but it's smart. This could be an opportunity to build some trust. Starting will be the hardest. Once I'm in, everything else will come easily and it'll be like riding a bike.

"I was leaving anyway," he adds, grabbing a few folders beside him.

"You can't stay for a while?"

He blinks a few times as he watches me.

"I suppose I can," he says.

"Can I sit with you?" I ask carefully. I'm not sure what is too much with him. Is he going to think I'm playing him right away if I come on too strong? Asking to sit with him isn't too strong, is it? It's pretty tame and innocent. I'm not begging to suck his dick. I'll do that another time.

He gathers his things and brings them to a table against the back wall. He's dressed in his usual attire: slacks, shiny shoes, and a dress shirt. Only tonight, a few buttons at the top are undone. Is this his way of getting comfortable? Sad. Does the guy own anything other than slacks? Does he get comfy in sweatpants or pajama pants?

I sit on the couch he was on, and when he comes back, he sits down where he was, grabbing the remote and shutting off whatever he was watching. He pulls up the home screen.

"What would you like to watch?" he asks. He sounds tired, or maybe like he's frustrated with something, but I have a feeling it isn't me.

I shrug. "Anything is fine."

He raises a brow, watching me for a moment, and when I don't acknowledge him, he browses through the list of movies.

The room is big, dark, with dim yellow-ish lights along the top of the walls. There are six couches that could easily fit three people on each, and there's a good amount of room before the row of first couches to the screen.

He selects a movie, something I've never seen before that seems like some sort of drama/action based on the cover, but I didn't catch the name.

As the opening scene starts, I open the cookies.

He takes one before I can, which surprises me.

"This is why I don't keep this sort of food in the house." He smirks and pops the entire thing into his mouth.

"Because it's delicious?"

"Because it's horrible for you."

"So is all the alcohol you drink."

"Fair."

"And whatever other bad stuff you do."

"Bad stuff?" he says, humor glimmering in his eyes.

I shrug.

He grabs another cookie. We watch the movie for a little while without saying anything.

It's nothing I'm interested in, and I find myself focusing on him more. The way his slacks are tight around his legs, tighter around his groin. The shirt tight around his arms. The way his body feels. I remember what it feels like. The way he felt inside me. The way he looked when he watched me with Rafael. The way he stared at me and told me to get dressed. The way his eyes lit up when I begged him not to rat me out.

Why am I thinking about these things? It's only going to lead me to more problems.

I grab another cookie and eat it because I need something to do. I focus on the chocolate and cream flavor instead of the flavor of his dick, but it doesn't last long.

I'm spending time with him to get him to trust me, not to ogle him.

But if I'm going to sleep with him anyway—

Don't be desperate, Jordan.

"Stop looking at me like that."

"Like what?" I ask, not pulling my gaze from him. If I did, I'd make myself more obvious. Honestly, I hadn't realized I was staring at him.

"Like you want me to fuck you."

My lips part at his words, warmth flooding my stomach. I almost choke on the cookie but swallow it down. He rests his hand on my bare leg, his warm fingers brushing the inside of my thigh. My heart leaps into my throat.

"If you want my cock, Jordan, all you have to do is ask." His tone is low, husky. He blinks once, otherwise holding my gaze.

"I-I don't." I shake my head as he raises a brow.

"You sure about that?"

No.

"Yes."

He hums a sound of approval and goes back to watching the movie. I turn my head to watch it but can't tell you a single thing happening. His hand is scorching the skin on my leg. Why don't I hate it? Why aren't I pushing it off? Why do I want him to move it higher? Why am I thinking about the way he felt inside me? I shouldn't. I shouldn't think about any of that.

But I've done it already. I'm stuck here. Does it matter?

I'm here, I may as well enjoy it, right? That's what I've been telling myself. I'm still a woman. I still enjoyed sex with him and Rafael, even if Enzo is an asshole now.

I blame my period. It's all my period's fault. I did always want sex more during it and right after. I should've locked myself in the room tonight.

"You know, being here doesn't have to be terrible," he says softly, his thumb making circles around my thigh.

"It doesn't?" I ask softly.

"I don't want you to hate it here."

Then don't make me stay.

It's what I think, but it's not what I say. Once again, in the presence of Enzo, my mind and body are not on the same page.

"I don't want to," I say instead.

He slides his hand up, fingers brushing over my slit through my shorts. "You responded to me so well at the club. Listened well. You were such a good girl."

I nod, gripping onto the couch so I don't thrust against his hand like I want to.

"I think you could do that all the time, Jordan. If you tried."

I could. He's right. But I don't want to try because I'm mad at him. Because he's pushing me too far. He's making me do things I don't want to do.

Saturday was about me. I was there to experience something. I wanted to let go and have a good time. It was temporary. This isn't that. I don't want to be here. I don't want this.

Yet, I still nod.

Something in me reacts to his praise, to his approval of my actions, forcing me to go along with them, but I don't hate it. My body doesn't fill with anger the way it does when he tells me I can't leave.

So I'm fine with him telling me what to do with my body when it comes to sex, but not anything else?

What the hell is wrong with me?

"What do you think? Do you think you could do that for me? Be a good girl for me?"

"Yes," I breathe out, his fingers adding more pressure against my pussy. Warmth spreads through my stomach, gathering in my chest.

"Yes…"

"Yes, sir."

The words leave my lips automatically, and the approval in his eyes has me wanting to say it again. The words hadn't crossed my mind, they just fell out of me. Like a habit. A bad habit.

How does this man have so much control over my body?

He adds more pressure, sliding his fingers up and down. I feel myself growing wet, my core aching for him to touch me more.

Enzo stands abruptly, moving in front of me and looking down at me. I'm panting, my body buzzing. I'm dizzy and confused.

He gets to his knees, holding my gaze, hooks his fingers in my shorts and tugs them down. With his eyes still on me, his hands on my knees, he spreads my legs and leans forward, dragging his tongue between my lips.

I whimper, gripping the seat hard and whimpering loudly.

"I can take care of you," he whispers, going in for another lick. "Make you happy." Another lick. "Give you everything you want." Another lick, this one long and slow, ending on a little swirl of his tongue. I'm already so damn close, it's embarrassing. "And I will lick this beautiful pussy—" He wraps his lips around my clit and sucks, sending me skyrocketing into an embarrassingly quick orgasm I didn't see coming. It's sharp and quick and harsh, stealing my breath. And when he pulls back, his lips glistening, my heart thunders behind my chest as he smirks. "Whenever you want me to."

He gets to his feet smoothing down his shirt like he's getting up from a business meeting.

What the hell just happened?

"Think about it, Jordan," he says, grabbing his things from the table and leaving.

I'm still breathless as he goes, but I'm not entirely sure it's from the orgasm.