Chapter 4
I say goodbye to my father and hang up. I can’t let this conversation go on any longer, as both of us are becoming more distressed and saddened. I look at the enormous, beautiful garden in front of me, and the scent of flowers and the soft breeze brushing against my face helps calm my nerves.
As I turn around to head back, Samuel is standing right behind me. His gaze seems curious, with a glint of pure mischief, and he smiles as his deep voice leaves me flustered.
"Your father is an honorable man! Willing to die to keep you away from me—that shows he’s a man of principles."
"I don’t want you eavesdropping on my conversations. I want privacy!" I retort, realizing he had been secretly listening.
"You’ll have privacy when I decide you can!" He furrows his brow, his expression turning bitter and irritable.
I walk toward the vast garden beside me, trying to escape his presence, but he follows with firm, heavy steps. It feels as though Samuel wants to talk, but he doesn’t know how to approach people without being controlling or invasive. The morning sun on my skin seems to burn even hotter with his presence.
"Can we go to the doctor today? I want to have this child and get back to my life," I say. Samuel smirks sarcastically.
"You want to go back to Adam?"
"My private life is none of your business!" I snap, feeling my body heat up with anger.
Samuel grabs my arm tightly, his gaze furious.
"Adam only cared about screwing you." He turns his face away, looking past me at some point over my shoulder, avoiding direct eye contact.
"Great, I enjoyed screwing him too! At least Adam made love like no one else!"
Samuel wants to hurt me with his words, but he doesn’t know my life. I remember my struggles to control my compulsive behaviors, my intense sexual practices that slowly destroyed me. I sought to numb myself with sex, but after much pain and confusion over what was desire and what was genuine feeling, I finally got help. Today, Adam is like an addictive drug I use to satisfy my cravings. However, Samuel’s authoritative demeanor, his enticing and mischievous gaze, reignites this insatiable hunger within me.
"It would be a shame if he died, wouldn’t it?" Samuel releases my arm and arrogantly slides his hands into his pockets.
I hold his piercing gaze, letting my eyes travel slowly down his body. There’s a darkness inside Samuel, emanating from his gaze, his gestures, and his words. I wonder why he’s like this. What happened? What kind of event could create such a shadow within someone?
I see something ominous hidden in his eyes, and when he notices my questioning look, he cuts me off sharply.
"Tonight, I’ll come to your room to make the baby." Samuel steps closer to me.
"What?" My voice comes out sharp and angry. "You can’t be serious! You’re going to sleep with me to have this child? Which part of 'I’m not a prostitute' didn’t you understand?"
His expression darkens, and he spits his words at me with authority.
"Stop yelling! Who do you think you are?" His possessive, rough hands grip my wrists tightly. "If you yell at me again, I’ll cut out your tongue! You’re nothing to me!"
Samuel is controlling, and the atmosphere around us begins to feel smaller and more suffocating.
"I’m the woman who’s going to give you a child. If you don’t like me, then find someone else!" I push him hard and walk away quickly, shaken by his domineering attitude.
My body is overwhelmed by a mix of excitement, anger, and, at the same time, attraction. This brief argument ignited sparks in my chest. I’ve always struggled to understand the sensations my body produces. Samuel, with his dark and arrogant ways, manages to awaken my savior complex—a part of me that wants to understand him deeply.
No matter how much I deny it, my sexual impulses are desperate for his rough touch.
I run to the entrance of the house, breathless, my hands trembling with nervousness. I climb the stairs quickly and lock myself in my room, avoiding facing him again.
His insensitive statement about having a child through sex has triggered conflicting emotions within me: my repressed desire, my hypersexuality. Samuel is a commanding man, stunningly attractive, but a true devil who believes he controls everything.
I stop by the side of the bed, bringing my hands to my face and sliding my thumbs to my temples, massaging them. I want to erase this fury and the relentless desire consuming me.
After a minute, the door swings open abruptly, and Samuel storms in, furious. His gaze is sharp, predatory, and his voice sounds even deeper and huskier.
"You’re going to have my child. That’s all you’re good for! You’ll do as I say!" He plants his feet firmly on the ground, as if claiming his territory. My lips tremble slightly as I try to suppress the indignation coursing through me.
"I’m not a cow meant to keep giving birth!" I snap back, enraged.
A glint of perversion shines in his arrogant eyes, and the more I defy his orders, the more it seems to provoke him. Clearly, people only obey him without question.
"You’re whatever I want you to be!" Samuel yells, stepping closer to me. He grabs my waist forcefully, pulling my body fiercely against his. His intense, defiant gaze silences me instantly.
Samuel has left my emotions in turmoil, yet the attraction between us grows stronger every day. Defying him excites me, and it seems to have the same effect on him.
The anger and desperation of feeling his hands on my skin overwhelm my senses. His insolent hands slowly travel up my body, slipping under my blouse and stopping at my already aroused breasts. Without asking for my rationality’s permission, my body responds to him. I can’t hide it—I want to give in to this insane desire pulsing through my veins.
He squeezes my nipples hard, making me let out a moan of both pain and pleasure. The anger that once consumed me fades slowly as he kisses me. His wet, seductive tongue invades my mouth while his lips devour mine with intensity and force. He tastes like cigarettes and whiskey, his lips firm and full. His beard grazes around my mouth, brushing against my skin, leaving me completely soaked.
I place my hand on his face, but he quickly grabs my wrist, preventing me from touching him. Pulling his lips away from mine, he whispers against my mouth,
"I didn’t give you permission to touch me."
His gaze is merciless, as if ready to punish me for my defiance.
"I like being punished," I reply without thinking, letting desire speak for me.