Rose hopes she never sees Jack Dawson again. She still feels red-hot embarrassment when she thinks back on the small corner of private time she shared with him. She's gone over, again and again, every action she could have handled differently.

Dice Willows girls do not remove their clothing upon command.

Dice Willows girls do not get on all fours like a dog.

Dice Willows girls do not offer up their bodies to anyone who asks.

The problem, however, is that Rose can barely remember what it was like to be a Dice Willows student. It seems like someone else spent all those years in classes, in her dorm, walking through the halls in polished oxfords. She doesn't remember what it felt like to have the security that she was loved and wanted.

Cal cares about her, right? But, previously, nothing was expected of her in return for love, security, and affection, except for perhaps a polite thank you. Cal's demands for unrelenting obedience confuse her. She is both frustrated and thrilled at the thought.

However, she can't shake the feeling that he purposely sabotaged her with Jack. He knew Jack was the first person to show any real kindness or affection toward her. He probably even knew that she had a small crush on Jack. So he dragged her into his office and embarrassed her! He knew she was lonely and would try to make the most of an evening she might never get again.

She was so stupid.

Of course there would have been other opportunities to see Jack.

Of course she'd ruined it by being forward and foolish. She could have had a meaningful conversation if she was so eager to make the most of her time with him! She could have asked him about himself, shared something of herself . . . anything! Anything but opening up her legs and making him think she wasn't interested in anything but pleasures and his body.

And who was this other woman, who Jack liked so much, that he took her back again and again? Was she really cheating on him? Hadn't Jack cheated on her during his time with Rose? Adult relationships were so confusing . . . but how old is Jack, anyway? Maybe you would know, Rose thinks to herself, if you had talked to the man, rather than fling yourself into his arms.

Rose paces her room, getting angrier and angrier. Why should she feel guilty? Why does Cal get to do whatever he wants? Oh, to be rich and male! And does Jack feel any remorse? Or is he leering and triumphant, that he got everything he wanted from Rose on his first try? That he didn't even have to try? These stupid, selfish, self-important men! Who made them rulers of the universe, anyway? Who endowed them with all the power and control? All they've done for thousands of years is rape and pillage anyway—start wars and stomp around getting their way!

Rose flings open her bedroom door and marches to Cal's office. She does not knock before entering. She does not wait to be spoken to before speaking. She does not use polite, ladylike language.

"Fuck you!"

Cal looks up from his work. He doesn't respond, and his face remains blank, maybe a tinge of amusement at the corner of his mouth.

"I said, 'Fuck you!' Fuck you and your stupid office! Fuck you and your house! I don't owe you anything! If you want to take me in, then be a good, decent person and take me in! Don't expect me to whore myself out to you or your little business associates just because you grace me with the privilege of a roof over my head, a roof that you bought on the backs of others! It is basic human decency to help someone who's just lost her father. I don't have to grovel and beg. I'm not a plaything."

Cal leans back in his chair and tilts his head back, his eyes never leaving Rose. When he doesn't say anything, Rose licks her lips and continues. "No one asked me if I wanted to go with you. You didn't ask me if I wanted to sleep with Jack. No one asks me anything! No one listens! You might as well cut out my tongue and make me mute! Why don't you do it, Cal? Go ahead. You have no problem shoving your cock wherever the fuck you want to. So cut out my tongue, break my legs, stuff me up with fluff so that I can be the little sex toy you've always wanted. I won't even make you feel bad for it, like Camille does. Or do you not even see how much you hurt her by stringing her along here? Because even a child can see it."

Rose goes silent, spent by her outburst. Her eyes focus, and she meets Cal's gaze. "Say something!" she screams at him. "Stop sitting there, all powerful and superior! I'm trying to communicate with you! You owe me a response! I've given you so much thought and time, not to mention so much of my body—" Cal sees that she's winding herself back up and finally interrupts her diatribe.

"You've always had the freedom to leave, Rose," he calmly reminds her. "Your legs aren't broken. I haven't mutilated you. You're free to walk out of this home and go about your life, even take the clothes and toiletries with you as a token of my affection."

Rose snorts.

"You think that's funny? You think that I don't care for you? I do. I very much do. I want you to be happy here. I want you to feel respected and heard, I truly do. If you don't feel that way, you're free to go."

"Wh-where am I supposed to go?"

Cal shrugs. "That's your freedom to choose."

"But . . . I have no money, no job, no way to buy anything."

Cal nods. "That's true. But you're young and smart and talented. I'm sure you can figure something out."

Cal goes back to his work, effectively dismissing her.

"But . . ." Rose isn't sure how to continue. "I've never been alone before."

"Mmm," Cal doesn't look up.

"I'm scared, Cal."

Cal sighs and looks back up at her. He'd wanted to prove a point. Intimidate her. But now he sees the frightened and frustrated child standing in his office, asking to be wanted.

Tears brim in Rose's eyes. "I miss my dad," she tells him.

"I can imagine," he responds softly, pushing his chair back. "I'm so, so sorry, Rose." Rose walks toward him, and then she is in his arms, cradled in his lap. He strokes her hair. "Do you want to stay here, kitten?" Cal asks.

"Yes, Sir."

"You can't burst into my office like this. You can't scream and make such a fuss. If you want to go, go."

"No, please no. I don't want to be all alone."

"Sweetheart, I don't want to be used any more than you do. I don't want you to feel obligated to stay just because you have absolutely no other option. It pains me to offer this, but what if I sent you back to Dice Willows? Paid your tuition until graduation, and then any college your heart desires? You liked it there, didn't you?"

"Yes, I did," Rose admits. "It was the closest thing I ever had to a real home."

Cal nods. "Okay, let me finish this up," he motions toward the paperwork on his desk, "and then I'll give your old headmistress a call. I'm sure she'll be thrilled to have you back—she had such nice things to say about you."

Rose briefly thinks about returning to Dice Willows. The mazelike gardens and ivy on the walls. The smell of books and floor polish. The starched button-downs and scratchy wool skirts. The giggles and whispers of other girls around her. Girls; they're all just girls, wth ruddy bare skin and short, stubby nails. They don't know what it feels like to sleep in a man's arms. They don't know how to slide their hands under their nightgowns and where to gently rub to make themselves feel good at night. Rose has lived a lifetime since leaving.

"No thank you, Sir," she tells Cal. "I'd much rather stay here."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Why?"

She lightly kisses his neck. "The ballroom," she answers. "Camille. My studies. You." Jack Dawson, she thinks, but doesn't say it out loud.

"I ask for the same from you as before," he reminds her. "Your respect and obedience."

She nods. "Yes, Sir."

"Otherwise . . ."

Rose meets his eyes. "I'll leave."

Camille knocks softly on Rose's bedroom door and enters before Rose can respond.

"Mr. Hockley says you're welcome to come to his room tonight, or you may sleep here and he won't bother you. He said to explicitly remind you that it's your choice." Camille eyes her oddly.

"Thank you, Camille," Rose nods, not offering any further response. Camille glances around the room, then leaves.

That night Rose brushes out her long hair, picks out a gauzy lavender nightgown, and comes to Cal's bedroom. He opens the door soon after she knocks, immediately wrapping his hands around her waist and lifting her up into his arms. She kisses his cheek and neck while he carries her to his bed. He lays her down tenderly, easing himself on top of her and fondling her gently.

Rose bucks her hips up toward his and whispers, "Rougher." For a moment she isn't sure he heard her. Then Rose feels Cal forcefully pull her, until she's horizontal on the bed with her head hanging off the side. Meanwhile, he gets off the bed and stands over her. He strokes her face, then delivers two light slaps to her right cheek.

"Rough, kitten?" he asks her softly.

"Yes, please, Sir," she answers huskily, her eys swimming with desire. He grips her head so that she can no longer move it of her own volition, just kick and grab at the sheets. She feels hot, wet, and eager.

Still holding firmly onto her chin, Cal uses his other hand to lower his pants, his erect cock filling Rose's vision. He slaps her cheek with it and chuckles. Rose licks her lips and takes a deep breath, arching her back and trying to slide even farther back on the bed. She can barely contain herself. What was she thinking? Leave this? She's never met anyone else like Cal. Someone who will degrade her and humiliate, thrill her and love her like this.

Rose tentatively licks his cock and balls, then sucks his index finger when he shoved it in her mouth. Cal groans and holds her mouth open before shoving his cock deep down her throat. "Right where I want it," he whispers, leaning forward to stroke her as she whimpers.