Raised For Him Read online

  The worst part wasn’t that I’d been hit when I hadn’t really done anything wrong. The worst part was that Angel had seen the whole thing.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Present Day

  I DIDN’T KNOW HOW TO feel about what had happened with Angel and me. I felt like things had gone badly, and yet every time I thought back to him holding me across his lap, my panties around my thighs, and him spanking me, a pleasurable throb worked through my core.

  And we weren’t done yet. In fact, we’d barely gotten started.

  A knock came at the door, and I jumped. My heart leaped in hope. Had Angel come back to me already?

  I’d dressed, just like he asked, so I went to the door and opened it.

  To my disappointment, only three sets of female eyes looked back at me. Marie and Carla, and my stomach twisted as I spotted Bianca among my visitors.

  “We heard you’d been moved to Dani’s old room.” Marie pushed past me to come in before I’d offered any kind of invitation.

  “It’s not permanent,” I said. “It’s just for a few days.”

  “Of course, because then you’ll be going with Elliot Torres.” Bianca gave a knowing smile. “So what were you doing with Angelo in here? We heard some interesting noises.”

  Marie nudged her. “Like you have to ask!”

  “What?” She fluttered her eyelashes in mock innocence. “I thought Catalina here is supposed to be going to Torres as a virgin. That’s not going to happen if she spends too much time alone with Angelo, is it?”

  “Angel knows how to control himself,” I muttered. “The master asked him to... prepare me for what to expect with Torres.”

  Bianca circled me, assessing my dress and exposed skin. “Did he, now? Well, aren’t you the lucky one? You get a hot guy, and then you get to live with some rich dude as his little pet.”

  “I don’t think going to live with Torres is her getting lucky, Bianca,” Marie said. “She has never lived anywhere else.”

  “Still, can’t be bad just belonging to one man instead of whichever one can pay the most money.”

  Carla tutted and rolled her eyes. “You don’t know what she’s going to end up doing. He might take her V–card and then keep her as entertainment for all his friends. It’s not like the master doesn’t do the same thing with us.”

  I couldn’t help the shiver that jolted my shoulders.

  Bianca pouted. “Aww, are you scared?”

  Marie glared at the other woman. “Leave her alone, Bianca. She’s not even eighteen yet.”

  “She will be, though, in a day or two, which is basically the same thing. And anyway, I was kicked out of my house at the age of fourteen and hooking on the streets, and no one protected my ass, so I don’t see why the hell we should be treating her with such kid gloves.”

  I shook my head and glanced down at the floor. “She’s right,” I said, even though I hated having to agree with Bianca. “I’ve had an easy life, considering. I’ve been protected, and I’m a grown woman now. I don’t need sheltering anymore. That’s the whole reason Angelo came here—because I needed to know what to expect.”

  Carla put her arm at her crotch and swung it around like an elephant’s trunk. “And did the master’s son show you what to expect?” She wiggled her eyebrows. “How big is his dick? I’ve always wanted to know.”

  “Eww.” Marie shoved her in the arm. “I knew Angelo as a kid. I don’t even want to think about that.”

  “Oh, he’s all man now.” Carla giggled. “I bet. Right, Catalina?”

  My face burned. I was no good at all this stuff. These women were around sex every day, but it was all new to me. I wished I could laugh and act blasé, but that wasn’t how I worked.

  I put my head down. “I really need to get on with some chores.”

  I was still wearing the dress, but I could hardly take the sheets off the washing line dressed like this. It had never occurred to me to come to this room with more of my belongings. Was I even supposed to go back to my old room, or was this my room now, at least for the next few days until Elliot Torres arrived to take me back to his house—wherever that might be? I’d never even thought to ask questions about it. After all, it wasn’t as though I had anything I could compare it to. If he told me he lived ten miles away, would that make any difference to him living a thousand? Once I was handed over to him, I imagined I would be locked away in a place much like this one. It wasn’t as though I’d be appreciating the local culture or scenery.

  I left the women to their gossiping and hurried back across the courtyard to the main house. I was hugely conscious of Angel’s presence being somewhere in the house, and I felt as though he was watching me, even though none of his rooms looked out over the courtyard. My skin prickled in anticipation of him. I hoped I hadn’t upset him with my behavior. I wasn’t sure how I’d feel if he called this whole thing off now. While a part of me would be relieved—knowing that being so physically close to him was only cementing how I felt about him—the other part would be heartbroken for exactly the same reason.

  Perhaps it would have been easier if he’d never come back here. Before his return, I’d thought of him, but being given to Mr. Torres was something I’d simply accepted. Now, when I thought of it, a huge fist clenched my heart and squeezed it so hard I felt like I couldn’t breathe.

  With the feel of his lips still on mine, I went back to my room and changed from the dress back into my normal clothes. Even as I pulled the dungarees back on over my panties, the roughness of the material grazed against the tender flesh of my recently spanked backside. Every time I thought of it, little flutters of arousal danced in my core. He’d said one of the rules was that this wasn’t about my pleasure, and yet everything we’d done in that room had brought me a strange kind of dark and dirty bliss.

  Leaving my room once more, I went to the laundry room and picked up the empty hamper. Out in the grounds, I got to work, unpegging and folding the sheets I’d so carefully hung out that morning. They were warm and dry, and as I unpegged each one, I pressed my nose to the soft fabric, inhaling the scent of the washing powder.

  “Kitty!”

  I jumped at his sharp shout and almost dropped the sheet I’d been folding. I looked around, but couldn’t pin where Angel’s voice had come from.

  “Up here!” he called, and I could hear the exasperation in his voice.

  I craned my neck, looking upward to where he was half leaning out of one of the windows at the rear of the house. I tried to place the position of one of the numerous rooms in the property. That must be his father’s office.

  “Angel? Is everything okay?” I squinted in the late afternoon sun.

  “What are you doing?” he asked, that exasperated tone never leaving his voice.

  Confusion ran through me. “Umm... taking in the laundry. Just like I do every day.” This was a big place with lots of people coming and going. One thing there was always plenty of was the laundry.

  “Have one of the staff do it. That’s not your job anymore.”

  I blinked in surprise. “Isn’t it?”

  “No. You’re one of the women now. Have you ever seen them do the laundry?”

  My face heated. I felt as though I was spending half my life blushing these days. I was so awkward and out of place. Even though I’d lived here my entire life, it seemed I still had no idea how things worked around here.

  I glanced away. “No, I haven’t.”

  They entertained men and gossiped and fussed around with hair and makeup and clothes. I’d never done any of those things. And besides, it wasn’t as though I had any men to entertain—not really. I only had Angelo until Elliot Torres turned up for me.

  Oh... realization suddenly dawned and my mortification increased. Had Angel expected me to wait for him? Was I supposed to do what all the other women did, and wait for men to come to me? Except I only had one man for the moment, and he was currently shouting at me from out of an upstairs window while I had my arms filled wi
th laundry.

  I wanted more of what Angelo was offering, and yet I didn’t want to go back to that room. It wasn’t anything to do with him. I knew that Bianca didn’t like me, and being there just felt like it gave her a reason to stick her daggers into my sides. Besides, I liked the comforts of my old room. My bed was small, but it was mine, and I didn’t want to be dressed up in expensive clothes when I preferred my t-shirts and jeans.

  I dared to look up to Angel. “Can I just stay like I am until you’re ready?”

  His dark eyes narrowed, and I knew I’d said the wrong thing. “Catalina,” he said, reverting back to my full name. “In a few days, you’ll never see your old room again. You will dress as you’re told to dress. You will stay wherever you’re told to stay. Your life is not your own, and the sooner you start to realize that, the better.”

  My heart sank. He was right in every sense. I’d been coddled and protected living here—for the most part, anyway—but all of that was about to change.

  I nodded. “Yes, sir.”

  He gave a huff of exasperation and shut the window with a bang. I still had my arms filled with laundry, and, despite what he’d said, I wasn’t about to just dump all the sheets on the ground for someone else to pick up. They’d get dirty and have to be washed all over again, and that would probably get one of the staff in trouble. The least I could do was take the sheets inside.

  Gathering them into the basket, I walked around the corner and collided with an expanse of chest. “Oh!”

  “Watch where you’re going.”

  I saw who it was. Bruno. My current master’s right-hand man. He was not a man to mess with. I’d seen him give back-handed slaps to the women on numerous occasions. They’d tried complaining to the master about his rough behavior, but as long as he didn’t cause them any permanent injury and the marks weren’t too visible, the master didn’t care. Or maybe he did, but Bruno made up reasons why they deserved it. The master was always going to listen to another man above one of the women. That was just how things worked.

  I kept my head down and murmured, “Sorry.”

  He must have realized who he’d bumped into—that I was just a regular member of staff in his mind. “Oh, looky here. It’s the little bitch.”

  My heart sank. I took a step to the left to try to get around him, but he matched my step with one of his own and blocked the way.

  “Where do you think you’re going?”

  “Angelo needs me to do something,” I replied, keeping my face lowered to the ground, not wanting to give him a reason to be angry with me.

  “Is that right? Something to do with you leaving here soon, I’d imagine. You’re going to be eighteen in a few days, aren’t you?”

  I nodded, wishing he would just go away and leave me alone.

  He gave a low whistle. “Eighteen years old and never been touched.” I could feel his gaze rove up and down my body. “Seems a shame that I’ve never managed to get my hands on this tight little body.”

  His hand shot out and grabbed my breast over the top of my t-shirt and gave it a painful squeeze. I let out a yelp, dropping the basket of laundry so the sheets spilled out into the dirt, and batted it away.

  “I should have had you by now,” he snarled. “I’ve fucked most of you little bitches, whether you like it or not. I don’t see why you should be any different.”

  I forced myself to be brave. “You can’t touch me. I’m going to Elliot Torres in a couple of days. The master won’t be pleased if you do. I’m worth a lot of money to him.” This was the most I’d ever said to this man, and I hoped it would be the last time I’d need to talk to him as well.

  “I might not be able to fuck your pussy, but you’ve got other holes you can take me in.”

  His words sent ice through my veins. Would he do that? I knew it should be expected, and chances were that when Elliot Torres was done with me, I’d be handed over to men just like Bruno, but that didn’t stop me being sickened by the idea.

  “Please, I need to get past. Angelo is expecting me.”

  That seemed to make him pause for a moment. Then he stepped aside, and I almost wilted with relief.

  “Fine,” he spat as I bent to gather the sheets back into the basket. I rose and slipped by him, his breath hot on my cheek. “But don’t think for a minute that we’re done.”

  I walked away as fast as I could without breaking into a run. I sensed his presence behind me. I was trembling right from my core, all my limbs vibrating. I turned a corner so he could no longer see me and broke into a run. It wasn’t until I reached my room—my old room—that I allowed myself to stop. I dropped the basket of sheets and slammed the door shut behind me. I sank to the floor, breathing hard.

  What was I supposed to do now? Should I tell Angelo about what had happened? But what had happened? Nothing, really—just Bruno running his mouth off, like he normally did. I was supposed to be getting tougher, to prepare myself for life with Torres. Maybe Angel even sent Bruno to find me, to give me a little experience in that kind of thing?

  This was going to be my life from now on, and I needed to get used to it. In a few days, I wouldn’t have Angel to run to. I wouldn’t have anyone. It would just be me against the world, and it was about time I started learning to handle things for myself.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Fourteen Years Earlier

  I LIFTED THE PILE OF logs, my lower back straining, my scrawny biceps popping with the effort. The temperature had dropped over the past couple of weeks, and one of my chores involved chopping the wood and preparing the fireplace for the day. A light layer of snow had fallen the night before, and I crunched back across it to the house, careful not to slip.

  Father liked a roaring fire in the living room when the temperature dropped. He said it was something about the ambiance of the flames crackling, but I never quite understood what that meant. It kept the room warm, and I liked to lie on the rug in front of it and a read my book, so even though the fire created another chore for me, I was happy to do it.

  I’d already cleared the grate of the previous night’s fire, the blackened charcoal and dust leaving a thin layer of gray on my skin. There was no point in washing up until I was done, though.

  I went into the house and dumped the logs beside the grate. Getting to my knees, I set about arranging the kindling and then added a couple of slightly larger logs on top. When that was done, I took the box of matches from the mantelpiece, struck one, and added it to the kindling. The match took to the kindling, but I struck a couple more and added them in for good luck, liking the scent of sulphur on the air.

  Sitting back on my haunches, I waited for the fire to take hold, for the smaller twigs to light the larger sticks and the larger sticks to light the couple of small logs. When I was sure it had fully caught, I’d add in the logs and know that I could leave it to burn for an hour or so before it would need tending to again.

  Only this time, the twigs didn’t burn.

  I frowned and leaned in. Why wasn’t it catching?

  I moved some of the kindling around and then lit another couple of matches. It still didn’t take, so I found some newspaper and balled that up and tried again with the matches. Still nothing. I was starting to get nervous. This was one of my chores, and Father didn’t like it if I wasn’t able to complete my chores. He didn’t listen to excuses either. There is either do or do not. There’s no such thing as tried.

  I thrummed my fingers against my leg, trying to figure out what to do. Was the wood damp? Was that why it wasn’t lighting? It had snowed, so maybe the snow had gotten into the woodshed. I was going to need something a bit stronger than paper and matches.

  Getting back to my feet, I left the house and went out to the tool shed. I’d seen something in here that I was sure would help me. I opened the creaky old door and stepped inside, shivering in the cold. I tried to ignore the webs in the corners of the shed, and the fat, black bodies they contained, which scuttled out of my way as I picked my way throug
h the old bits of machinery and discarded furniture, to the shelves at the far end. Old paint pots were stacked on top of one another, together with tools that had long been abandoned and left to rust.

  Ah, there it was. The tang of gasoline hit my nose as I lifted the can. I wouldn’t need the whole thing. Just a little would do.

  I looked around again to find something into which I could pour what I needed. There was a small metal can holding some old paintbrushes, so I emptied them out and gave it a shake to make sure it was empty. I undid the lid of the gas container and carefully poured a little of it out into the jar.

  There, that would do it. This would definitely help get the fire lit.

  Putting the caddy back where I’d found it, I took the small amount of gasoline back into the living room where the fireplace was.

  “Okay, I’ve got this,” I muttered to myself.

  I repeated the process of lighting the kindling with the match. As soon as it looked like there was the flicker of a flame, I picked up the small jar containing the fuel, and poured it on.

  The gas hit the match, but instead of the fire traveling over the wood, a blue flame shot up the trickle of fuel that I was still pouring. I watched in horror as it hit the metal can I was holding, and the whole thing burst into flames.

  “Argh!” Heat scorched my fingers, and without thinking, I threw the can, only wanting to not be holding it any more.

  But the can still contained some of the gas and it hit the rug, spattering in tiny fireballs across the mat.

  “Oh, God.”

  The flames quickly took hold.

  Panic blinded my mind, and I grabbed one of the cushions from the couch and used it to beat at the flames. Only the material absorbed more of the gas, and before I knew it, the cushion was on fire, too.

  I sucked air into my lungs, knowing I was in way over my head. “Father! Help! Someone help!”