Jessa James - Covet

The pain is one bright spot, burning fiercely and consistently. I cling to that singular note as I am swept up in the crescendo of my orgasm, crying out as the wave hits me. “Fuck, Monster! I’m coming! I’m…”

I grit my teeth as my pussy

clenches on his cock. He stiffens for a moment before unleashing with a roar of pleasure, pumping his seed so far inside of me, the scent of it hitting my nose. Salty and sweet, all at once. It feels hot inside my pussy, a tiny lake of volcanic emission.

Monster slows his thrusts, then carefully withdraws from my body. He collapses, and I fall beside him. He holds me for a minute as we catch our breath, our hearts still racing together.

I don’t mean to cuddle with him, but it just feels natural to turn away and push my butt up against his groin. His grip on my arm is loose; that’s the only thing I wish I could change. I’d make him hold me more tightly as if I were something precious that he didn’t want to lose.

His breathing evens out, as does mine. He doesn’t move just yet, which surprises me. He just lays still. He’s on top of my long hair, and I long to move my head, but I don’t dare.

Not yet. I know that moving will cause him to shift, which is the beginning of the end of any closeness between us. Concentrating instead on the sweat cooling on my body seems like the only thing to do.

I try to close my eyes, shut out the heavy thoughts that want to invade my mind. Thoughts like, what are you doing? You don’t want to start snuggling up to your captor, you freaking idiot.

Pushing those thoughts down somewhere deep, I just breathe and let what is happening transpire.

When Monster finally comes to his senses and rises, I turn toward him. He starts to gather his clothes. A question bubbles up to the surface of my mind, sudden and unchecked.

“Why am I here?” I ask, unbidden.

He pauses, looking up. “Here? As in, in your bedroom?”

I bite my lip and shake my head, brushing a strand of my hair back. “No. Why am I here in Columbia? Why did you pursue me?”

His brows descend down over his storm-grey eyes. “You’re here to serve my purposes, whatever they may be, for as long as I wish.”

“You’ve said as much before,” I say, pushing myself up into a sitting position. “But what am I actually doing here that a thousand other girls couldn’t do?”

He just looks at me for a long moment. For a second, I think that he’s going to give me a measured, thoughtful response. Then instead, he shuts down.

I can see his answer written all over his face before he even says anything.

“You’ve had my answer,” he glowers, his mood suddenly black. “And I’ve had you.”

He starts to leave my bedroom. I call out to him.

“Wait, are you leaving the country again?”

He hesitates, turning back, but doesn’t say anything. I can see the gears turning in his head, though.

“The stables,” I say impulsively. “Tell me I can go in the stables, to care for the horses.” I bite my lip. “Please?”

The silence stretches between us for a long moment, then he nods. “Fine.”

He turns and sweeps out of the room, leaving me to wonder what his dark mind is thinking.

I find a copy of Shakespeare’s Hamlet on my pillow when I come back to my room one day. Monster has gone off somewhere, I know that much; the house staff always seems so much more relaxed when he’s not around.

The red leather-bound volume is small, the pages dog-eared, notes scribbled in the margins in some unknown language. It’s obviously a well-loved copy.

It’s also obviously very much a gift from Monster. Inside the front cover, there is a note scrawled under the title.

Fiore —

Enjoy this play, as I know you will. Pay special attention to the parts with Ophelia… she went mad after forsaking the affections of Hamlet, as I’m sure you know.

That’s all that his note says, but I get what he’s implying. In our situation, I’m Ophelia and he’s Hamlet. But surprisingly, given that I love books so much, I haven’t really read the play yet.

Spreading out on my bed, lying on my stomach, I change that with a quickness. After reading through the play once very quickly to get the gist, I settle in for a second and third reading. These I take my time with, turning the pages slowly, trying to make out the margin notes.

After the third read-through, I close the play’s leather binding, full of thoughts. About the play in general, sure.

But specifically, about Ophelia and her portrayal. It hardly seems fair that she should be the one to die when all the men around her are pulling the puppet strings, making up her actions before she goes insane. That stands out to me most, among all my feelings about her.

I read Monster’s note again. The fact that he sees Hamlet as the slighted party doesn’t really surprise me. After all, Monster did have me kidnapped and brought here from the US.

There is probably something wrong with Monster, I realize. You would think that I would’ve known that all along, but for some reason, it comes to me as a surprise. It makes me wonder about what Monster’s origins were like.

After all, something had to have shaped his warped worldview. I know he has two brothers. I know he is Middle Eastern.

But I know next to nothing else about him. That fact makes me a little sad for him if I’m honest.

Carefully putting the play aside, I pad over to the window seat. Sitting curled up with my arms wrapped around my knees, I wonder how to change that. I mean, it’s not exactly easy to get information from Monster about himself. And the staff has proved time and time again to be unwilling and unhelpful in any matter.

So, what, then?

I try to think about the ways I’ve gotten information about him before. He’s told me a few things. I’ve inferred a few more.

Then a lightbulb goes on. The secret passageway that I used to sneak into his room. I can’t believe I didn’t think of it before.

Rubbing my palms on my knees, I look out the window onto the cherry blossoms. Thinking of the passageway, of all that I was able to learn last time in only a matter of minutes, I’m excited by the idea. And I know that he won’t interrupt me this time because he’s gone.

There’s no time like the present to snoop through Monster’s room. Standing up, I head out of my room and around a few corners. No one stops me up here; the maids avoid this entire floor like the plague.

Arriving in what I think of as Monster’s wing, I head into the empty library, my heart beating faster already. Heading to the bookshelf on the wall, I run my fingers around the seams, feeling for the latch. I trigger it, hearing the gears within the wall start clanking and grinding…

And then the wall opens a few inches for me. I’m so excited, I have to bite my lip to keep from squealing.

Pushing the door open with all my might, I tiptoe inside. At first, the passage is dark and dank, the floors untrod since the last time I was here. The air is stale and makes me want to sneeze.

As I venture further into the coolness of the hallway, I remember that there is a pile of books on the floor that I almost tripped over last time. Sweeping my feet out in front of myself in arcs and shuffling along, I am able to find the pile of books, toppled sideways from the last time I collided with them.

Skirting around the pile, I put my hands out, feeling my way to the other door. I find the broad handle and pull on it. There is the tiniest tug back, and then the grinding and whirring of gears.

The door opens a couple of inches. I push forward eagerly, forgetting my earlier hesitance. The room is exactly the same as it was the last time I was here. It’s all done in black, which seems fitting.