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I had met her in my comatose visions. I could almost smell her hair, feel the smoothness of her skin—I could almost feel it. Each time I made love to Anna or any other woman, I made love to her. I named her my Mistress.

She was my curse, my obsession, and apparently—my salvation. The car stopped. I grabbed my jacket and stepped out. I greeted the pilot as I entered the plane and sat down in the soft seat. A flight attendant passed me a glass of whisky with a single ice cube. I glanced at her. She knew my tastes. I sent her a blank look, while she blushed and smiled flirtatiously. Why not? I thought, and pushed myself up in a fluid motion.

I seized the surprised woman by the hand and pulled her with me toward the private part of the jet. I shot out an arm, clasping my hand over her neck and pushing her against the wall.

I fixed her with a gaze. She was terrified. I closed the distance between us, allowed our mouths to touch, and bit her lower lip. She moaned. Her arms hung limply along her body and she stared straight into my eyes. I seized her by the hair and pulled, tilting her head back. Her eyes closed and she moaned again. Such a beauty, so girlish.

I required all my employees to be aesthetically pleasing. I liked my things pretty. She did as she was ordered without hesitation.

I purred, praising her submissiveness, and trailed a thumb along her lips. They parted obediently. I had never even talked to this girl before, but she immediately knew what she was supposed to do.

I gently pushed her head against the wall and unzipped my pants. The flight attendant swallowed loudly, her enormous eyes still fastened on mine. I felt her choking, and thrust even deeper. I withdrew. Then I stroked her cheek in a tender, delicate gesture. I observed her calming down, licking her lips clean of the thick spittle that came deep from her throat.

She was trembling. For a moment, the girl stared at me with those huge eyes, finally nodding her consent. I leaned her head further back against the wall and slid myself along her tongue all the way to her throat. She clasped her lips around my cock. Oh yes! My hips began to thrust, hard. I could feel her fighting for a breath, so I gripped her harder. Her nails bit painfully into my thighs.

At first she tried to push me away, then to simply hurt me, scratching my skin. I liked it. I liked it when they fought when they were helpless against my strength. I closed my eyes and saw my Mistress kneeling in front of me, her jet-black eyes piercing me like daggers.

She loved it when I took her like that. I clenched my hands on her hair even harder, seeing the lust in her stare. I opened my eyes and looked at her smeared makeup. I withdrew a fraction, making some space. Tears rolled down her cheeks, but she complied.

I pulled my cock out of her mouth and she collapsed back on her heels, sliding down the wall. She hoisted herself up again and grabbed my manhood in one slender hand, starting to lick off the remains of my seed. I smiled faintly, watching as she did her best.

When I decided it was enough, I pulled away and zipped my pants. She nodded and headed toward the door. I returned to my companions and sat, taking a sip of the exquisite liquor, though its temperature had ceased to be perfect sometime before. Mario put down his newspaper and sent me a look.

I have been brought up prepared to lead the family and bring it into a new era. The sun over Sicily was setting when we landed in Catania. I put my jacket on and we exited the plane, then headed out toward the terminal entrance.

I pulled out my sunglasses, feeling a blast of the scorching-hot air on my skin. Mount Etna loomed over the horizon—perfectly visible today. The tourists should be happy, I thought, entering the air-conditioned building.

Suddenly, it was like everything became dark, even though my eyes were wide open. I saw her. I blinked frantically. My eyes widened, but she was already gone. Was my condition deteriorating? Were the hallucinations growing stronger? I needed to go back to that idiot doctor to get examined. For now, I had to get things done.

Like find the cocaine dealer who had mysteriously disappeared. We were approaching the car when I saw her again. I stepped into the parked car and nearly pulled Domenico inside when he opened the other door. I pointed at a girl marching down a walkway, away from us.

Or maybe I was just seeing things. Losing my mind. The car started. My heart skipped a beat. Her head turned; she was looking straight at me, not seeing me through the reflective window. I reached for the handle, but Domenico stopped me. A muscular bald man was calling over to my Mistress, and she turned and started walking his way. She was right there! She was real! I could have her, touch her. Take her with me and spend the rest of my life with her.

I could have killed him right there. He passed it to me, and I headed toward the library without another word. I needed to be alone so I could wrap my head around all this. I sat behind my desk and tore off the upper side of the envelope, my hands suddenly shaky.

I spilled its contents to the desktop. She had a name, a past. And a future she had no idea about. I heard someone knocking on the door. After about thirty minutes of analyzing all the new information, I got up from my desk and sat down in an armchair and froze, staring at the wall. He stayed locked in place, nodding his head slowly. Irritating little prick. Yes, I added in my head.

Laura Biel, you are mine now. There was no hesitation in my voice. They are to find out who he is. Tell his men to get everything on the man. I need to find a way to bring her here as soon as possible. Soon Laura develops a fascination with her handsome and powerful captor. But as a precarious, risky relationship forms between them, forces outside their control threaten to tear them apart… Recent posts: Does any have pretty lies by Natalie knight Does anyone have A Man's World by Delaney Foster..

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I never stuck to any discipline for long, though. What it ultimately boiled down to was that my body was extremely fit, my tummy was hard as rock and perfectly flat, my legs were slim and muscled, and my buttocks toned and curvy. I must have done more than a million squats to achieve that effect. I put the cup down and went into the bathroom. As I stopped by the mirror I realized just how much I needed this vacation.

My dark eyes were sad and resigned, and the lack of anything to do had made me apathetic. My chestnut hair flowed around my lean face and fell to my shoulders. That it reached this length was a success—usually I wore my hair a lot shorter. I was overwhelmed with the burden of my own failings and my aversion to work.

I had no idea what to do with myself. My professional life had always determined my self-esteem. I brushed my teeth, put some pins in my hair, applied some mascara, and… that was about it.

Besides, it would be enough. A while ago I had splurged on permanent brow, eye, and lip makeup out of sheer laziness. It allowed me to have more sleep and limit the morning bathroom routine to the bare minimum. I went to the closet to get the clothes I had prepared for today. One thing always remained the same for me, irrespective of my moods and all the things I had no power to change—I had to be dressed as perfectly as possible.

Wearing the right clothing made me feel better. Obviously, it made me look better, too. My mother always said that a woman should always be beautiful even if she is hurting.

Well, as far as I could, anyway—I was terrified of flying. I slipped my feet into my Isabel Marant wedge-heel gray-white sneakers and I was ready. I went to the living room, which was connected to the kitchen annex.

The apartment had modern decor—cold and minimalist. The bedroom was divided from the living room by a great aquarium. It was the perfect fit for a committed single, which the lord and commander of this particular apartment had been until recently. Martin was sitting with his nose in his laptop as usual. It was his best friend and an integral part of who the man was. I hated it with a passion, but it had always been like that, so I really had no right to change it.

Even though I had appeared in his life more than a year ago only owing to that little device, it would be hypocrisy if I suddenly wanted it out of his life. I was growing bored, or maybe lonely, so I decided to set up a profile on a dating site. It turned out to be fun, not to mention that it ended up boosting my already high self-esteem.

During one of those sleepless nights, browsing through hundreds of men, I finally stumbled on Martin. He was looking for a loyal woman to fill his world all at once. Anyway, we clicked and thus a petite girl tamed the tattooed monster. We were both the strong, dominant types and were prone to explosive outbursts. We were also both intelligent and had significant knowledge of our respective professions. It pulled us both to each other, intriguing and impressing us. The only thing our relationship was lacking was the animal magnetism, the unbridled attraction and passion that had simply never been there.

I, on the other hand, was a volcano of sexual energy threatening to explode at any time. I had to search for release by masturbating on a daily basis. Safe and calm. It was more important than sex. I just have to zip up my travel bag, which is not going to be easy, and we can go.

I always felt apprehensive and anxious in airports, afraid even. I had claustrophobia and hated flying. It was always doom and gloom for me, so I tended to overthink things that at least theoretically might end up in some kind of trauma. Karolina and Michal had been together for years and had chosen our destination. They were thinking of getting married, but at least for now, thinking about it was enough.

He was your typical womanizer. With short blond hair, a deep tan, and blue eyes he was also pretty good-looking. All he was ever interested in was boobs, though.

She, on the other hand, was a tall, long-legged blonde with a delicate, girlish face. Nothing special at first glance, but when you came to know her, she became remarkably interesting.

We were supposed to have a stopover in Rome. And English was like a native tongue to me. After all those years spent in various hotels, there were times I even thought in English. When we finally landed in Catania, the sun was already setting.

The guy at the car rental office took his bloody time handling customers. We got stuck in the queue for an hour. Martin was hungry and edgy, and his foul mood was rubbing off on me, so I decided to take a look around the place. I exited the air-conditioned building and felt the overwhelming heat. In the distance, I saw the smoking summit of Mount Etna. It was a bit disturbing, really, though I had known the volcano was still active.

A group of men wearing dark suits were walking out of the airport terminal. The man in front of me looked like he was escorting them. When I was close, three black SUVs drove by. The scent of the flowers filled the impressive entrance hall decorated with golden motifs.

We all had all been thinking the same thing, it seemed. There were a lot of shortcomings I could discern with my professional eye. I had my last meal back in Warsaw. Can we get a move on and eat out today? All similarly hungry, we unpacked our things quickly, and after fifteen minutes met in the corridor between our rooms.

I wanted something that would end up the least crumpled after the long trip. Karolina and Michal shot me surprised glances as I left the room. They were still in the same clothes they had had on during the flight. You look like you had hours to prepare! I prepare in my head, so then I can ready myself in a couple minutes.

All four of us crossed the hotel lobby to the exit. Giardini Naxos at night was a beautiful, picturesque place. The narrow, winding streets pulsated with life and music. There were all kinds of people everywhere, from young partygoers to mothers with children. Sicily only woke up after sundown, it seemed.

The scorching heat of the day was too much for everyone to go out earlier. We reached the densely populated port district. It was a classy place with glass tables, white chairs and sofas, and candles everywhere. Overhead, enormous sheets of white sailcloth waved and rippled in the wind, making it seem like it was floating. The restaurant was divided into cozy nooks enclosed by heavy wooden beams supporting the cloth roofing. The effect was magical—bright and breezy and simply perfect.

The prices were a bit steep, but it was filled with people. Martin waved at a waiter, and with a quick incentive of a few euros, we were sitting comfortably and reading the menu in no time. My dress did nothing to make me blend in with my surroundings.

With all that white, my black outfit made me stand out like a black beacon. Besides, you look astonishing. Let them look. At first glance, nobody was looking my way, but I had this strange feeling of being watched nonetheless. I pushed away the nagging thought of having inherited some kind of mental disease from my mother and focused on the menu.

I quickly found my favorite, grilled octopus, and chose a rose Prosecco. There was a small door by the beautiful wooden bar in the corner of the restaurant. I headed that way. I passed through, but it was just the dishwashing room. I turned back, only to hit the stone-hard chest of a tall man. Frowning and rubbing my forehead, I raised my eyes. The man in front of me was handsome. An Italian. His icy stare transfixed me.

There was something in him that terrified me. I froze. He pushed me gently in the right direction and led me to the door. Feeling his touch made shivers run down my spine. It made walking no easier.

I was light-headed, bewildered. The only thing I could do was smile, or rather grimace. I headed back to Martin. With all these emotions running through me, I completely forgot why I had left our table in the first place. As I returned, my friends were already having their drinks—they had managed to down one round already and were just ordering another.

I collapsed on the sofa, grabbed my glass of Prosecco, and finished it in one gulp. At the same time, the glass still at my lips, I gestured to the waiter that I needed another one. Martin shot me an amused glance.

Loose black linen trousers, a black shirt with a wooden rosary sticking out from underneath the collar, and black loafers.

I might have only glimpsed the man, but I remembered him well. I decided to take my time with it, though I felt the urge to pour it all into my mouth just like the first one.

My legs were still shaky. Dinner was served and we devoured it. The octopus was perfect—accompanied only by small, sweet tomatoes. Martin got a gigantic squid, cut into pieces and scattered over his plate with garlic and coriander. Michal and Karolina stood, too, and joined in the merry, loud, and raucous rendition of the birthday song.

The other guests were looking at us, intrigued, and then joined as well, singing in Italian. The restaurant reverberated with loud applause, and all I wanted to do was vanish. I hated that stupid tune. Nobody really knows how to behave as everyone is singing it—sing along, clap their hands, smile like an idiot?

All options seemed bad, and you are just left the center of attention, looking out of place. With a fake smile plastered to my face, I rose and waved at everyone, bowing and thanking them for their wishes. Besides, did you have to involve everyone? He then smiled at me widely and put the cooler and the nearly empty bottle on the table as he left.

After midnight, the restaurant turned into a club. The colorful lighting drastically changed the atmosphere of the place. The elegant, classy white and sterile interior suddenly exploded with all kinds of gaudy colors. The white was all the more understandable now.

With a bit of lighting, you easily could change the character of the room. I really had to go to the restroom now. This time, however, I decided to find it with some help. The waiter pointed me in the right direction. I stopped and took a careful look around. On a pedestal, leaning over one of the wooden beams, stood the black-clothed man, pinning me with his icy stare again.

He measured me with his eyes, his face showing no emotion. His black hair cascaded down his forehead. His jaw was covered with a meticulously trimmed dark stubble. His lips were full and well defined. Perfectly suited to pleasure a woman , I thought. His stare was cold and piercing. It was the stare of a wild animal just waiting to pounce.

Seeing him from that distance, I realized just how tall he was. He loomed over the women standing nearby. He must have been at least six three. It might have stopped for all I cared. My bewildered stupor was broken by a man who walked into me on his way somewhere. With all that staring I had grown rigid and numb at the same time, so I just wheeled around on one foot and toppled to the ground.

This time I gathered my wits, and the alcohol made me braver. The man smirked. Have a good night. When he stayed behind, I sighed with relief. I spun on my heel, but the Man in Black was nowhere to be seen anymore.

How did he know my name? Had he been eavesdropping on us? I would have noticed him. Karolina grabbed me by the hand all of a sudden.

The bottle arrived at that moment on purpose. He was still watching me. Why had he looked at me like that? We spent the rest of the evening wandering around clubs, only returning to the hotel when the sun was rising. I woke with a terrible headache. I adore champagne, but the hangovers it causes are the worst. What normal person binges on champagne? With the last of the strength I could muster, I crawled out of bed and reached the bathroom. I rummaged through my toiletry bag and foundmy painkillers, taking three and returning straight to bed.

When I came to a few hours later, Martin was gone, and I could hear the sounds of people lounging in and around the pool. I needed to get up and catch some sun. It was my vacation, after all. Energized with that thought, I took a quick shower, jumped into a bikini, and thirty minutes later was ready for sunbathing. Michal and Karolina were sprawled on chaise longues by the pool, sipping on ice-cold wine. Cold and… wet. I downed the glass in one go. I lay down on the chaise and spent the rest of the day alone, with only the constantly smooching couple next to me.

You know, more important than work, friends, or hobbies. Martin spends more time chatting with his friends on Facebook than with me at home. Not to mention in bed. Passion just vanishes at some point. Not even that! Am I that ugly? Is something wrong with me? Is it wrong that I just want to have a good fuck once in a while? Just look around! Come on! My companion went to her room for a while to leave her bag and ask Michal about those lunch plans. I went to the bar and waved at the bartender, asking for two glasses of cold Prosecco.

That was just what I needed. There he was, standing right in front of me. He wore off-white linen pants and a bright shirt. It was the perfect counterpoint to his sun-kissed skin. He pulled his sunglasses lower down his nose and fixed me with that cold stare of his again. He called out to the bartender in Italian. Hidden behind my sunglasses, I felt especially courageous and gutsy today—furious and hungover.

He raised his right hand and slowly took my glasses off to see my eyes. It felt like he was taking away my shield. Suddenly I was out in the open. Happy twenty-ninth birthday, Laura.

I was so shocked that I just stood there, dumbfounded and mute. How did he know my age? And how the hell did he find me on the other end of town? I turned his way. I pulled out a credit card and offered it to the bartender. In mangled English he refused the payment, assuring me that the tab had already been paid.

Karolina graced him with a charming smile, grabbed the cooler with the bottle and cups, and went straight back to the pool. I blew out the candle on the cupcake and followed her.

I was pissed off, to say the least. But also disoriented and intrigued. There were dozens of different scenarios playing out in my head, suggesting different personalities for the mysterious man. The first thing that came to my mind was that he was some kind of pervert. Judging by his shoes and expensive clothes, he was far from broke. And he had mentioned something about checking up on guests in that club.

So my next theory was that he was the manager there. I shook my head, trying to get rid of the nagging thoughts, and reached for a cup. What do I care? I thought, sipping the champagne. It must have been a coincidence after all.

When we finished the bottle, our men arrived, looking happy. The champagne I had drunk, today and last evening, made me combative. I was furious about his carefree attitude. Enough of this! I always do what you want, and you always tell me what to do. And lunchtime was hours ago! I crossed the hall and found myself on the street. My eyes were watering. I put my glasses on and started walking. The streets of Giardini were lovely. There were trees speckled with flowers growing all along the pavement.

The buildings were well cared for and beautiful. I felt so alone. I realized I was crying. Tears flowing freely down my cheeks, racked with sobs, I nearly ran. Was I running away from something? The sun was slowly setting, but still I walked. When the first wave of anger abated, I became aware of just how much my feet hurt. My wedge-heeled flip-flops, despite being a work of art, were no shoes for long walks. It was the perfect place to catch my breath, and I found out one of the items on the menu was sparkling wine.

I sat down outside, watching the serene surface of the sea. An old woman brought me a glass of wine and said something in Italian, gently stroking my hand. I sat at the table and stared out at the sea until it grew dark. Then I had tiramisu and it was one of the best I had in my entire life. Better than the best champagne. I felt ready to return and face what I had left by running away.

Calmly and slowly, I headed back to the hotel. I thought it would be fun. I go to buy toilet paper and they take a photo. It's not a comfortable situation.

I don't want to be a star. I want to be Mr. While checking into a hotel in , people at the front desk identified her as "the girl who created Days. I was in a moment in my life where I didn't see a way out. Only a big black hole. I'm a tough woman. A businesswoman. I was tired of deciding.

All the time I had to decide about something—life, work, money. Martin is not the only autobiographical element in Days. It was too emotional. I remembered all of it from my real life. It was really weird sometimes, but wonderful. This was the biggest adventure of my life," she says. Nobody says, If people watch the movie, they'll start to eat people. It's only a movie. It's only entertainment," she says. Still, she urges readers not to judge her books from Days alone, but rather to read the entire trilogy first.

When viewed as a whole, she considers her books to be a feminist cautionary tale.

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