Ava Sinclair: His to Own

“You can ask your questions now,” he says.

“What’s going to happen next?”

He takes a sip of his wine and sighs. “What do you think is going to happen?”

“I don’t know.” I look over at the fire dancing in the grate of the stove. “Nothing is going as planned.”

“And you’re surprised by that? You sell your freedom and are shocked by the consequences?”

“I’m not stupid,” I say defensively. “It wasn’t supposed to be like this.”

“And how was it supposed to be, Maeve?”

The sound of his voice saying my name sends an odd shudder through me. His large hand rubs his square jaw thoughtfully as he looks at me.

“It was supposed to be…predictable,” I say. “At least to a point. I figured I’d go to some penthouse in New York or London or Dubai. I’d lay beneath some older man with my eyes closed until it was over. Then I’d endure him for a month, pretending to enjoy sex with him as he showered me with gifts. At the end of the month, I’d leave a wealthy woman.”

“You have a very distorted notion of wealth,” he says.

“Why?” I ask. “Because I sold myself to the highest bidder? It’s must be nice to sit on a mountaintop and judge the motives of common people. And easier when you own the mountain.”

“That’s fair,” he says. “But it doesn’t change anything, Maeve. For centuries man has handed himself over for enslavement, thinking it would mean security and comfort. But in the end, it’s just enslavement, and you’re at the mercy of your master.”

“Is that how you see yourself?” I ask. “As my master.”

He leans forward. His eyes are glittering in the firelight. “For now? Yes,” he says.

“And what does that mean?” I ask.

“It means that I’m not ready to answer all the questions you have right now. It means that whatever I do, even if it scares you, even if it hurts and makes you cry, is for your own good. Understand?”

“How can you expect me to understand? I don’t even know you.”

“So you only trust people you know?” he asks. “You might want to rethink that.”

I start to ask what he means but he’s gotten up to stoke the fire.

“Stand up, Maeve,” he says when he turns back to face me.

I do.

“Take your dress off.”

“Why?”

“Don’t ask questions. You wanted to know what happens next. This is what happens next. Take your dress off.”