“Sir, I’m sorry, Sir.”
“Good girl.” He presses his lips to the back of my head. When my hair is free of suds, he pours conditioner into his hand and smooths it through the strands. I could get used to this.
After rinsing off, he steps from the tub, pulling me after him. I stumble over the side, but his huge arms surround me, steadying me, protecting me. Ironic, considering how he loves to dole out pain and abuse.
Ares combs my hair, and my fear comes slamming back. Fraying my nerves.
I don’t want to go back to that room, not to the dark, damp cold. But I know better than to beg. I know better than to say anything at all.
When I’m clean and groomed, he places the blindfold over my eyes again and I fight back a sob. I do as he says, standing where he positions me, and then I hear the familiar beep as the door opens. We exit, and I walk forward, the way I know we always go after we leave the bathroom, but he grabs my shoulders and spins me in a different direction, to the left.
“This way, little one.”
“Y-yes, Sir.”
My heart hammers against my chest, terrified of what he might do. I know it can’t be more pain and bloodshed, because ordinarily he bathes meafterhe works me over.
A few more steps, and then he brings me to a stop. There’s more waiting, another loud beep. A keypad then.
The door opens. I swallow hard as he pushes me into a room. It’s air-conditioned, but not cold, not like my cell. It’s temperate, though still chilly enough that my nipples bead, and my skin wakens and forms goose bumps. The door whooshes closed behind him and then I feel his fingers at the back of my hair, tugging my blindfold free.
I blink against the intrusion of light, my gaze zeroing in on the room around me. A big king-sized bed is piled high with pillows and blankets, and a marshmallow duvet stares back at me. The walls are covered in a soothingeu de Nilgreen wallpaper with blush-colored cabbage roses and fat bluebirds in the branches. In one corner sits a dresser with makeup, and a small brass mirror. On the other side of the room is a large walk-in closet filled with lace and other fine fabrics. I don’t understand.
I turn to face Ares. “What are we doing here?”
“This is your new room, Pet.”
My room? With its pretty walls and shiny gifts, silks and laces hanging in the closet, and expensive heels with shiny red soles?
My room. With a soft bed, and softer comforter, and lock on the door that only Ares can enter and exit any time he wants. It might be better than the cell downstairs, but this is no room—it’s a cage.A gilded one.
He watches me closely as I move toward the closet. I feel his eyes on my ass as I reach for the light and turn it on, stepping inside. My eyes peruse the racks, but these are not clothes. They’re instruments in seduction. They’re delicate silk slips, and lacy chemises, and I don’t care that they’re intended for the sole purpose of turning him on. I pull one off the hanger—a pale pink silk slip—and toss it over my head. The soft fabric grazes my nipples as it slides down my body. It feels so strange to wear clothing again. Constrictive, after days or possibly even a week, of being naked.
Ares smiles when I emerge from the closet. “That color suits you, Pet.”
I suppose he likes it because he can see my nipples and the ugly bruises beneath the material. I nod and move toward him, unsure of what to do. I probably shouldn’t have walked into the wardrobe and dressed myself without his permission, and I wonder if I’ll pay for it later. I wonder if I will scream and cry, or if I’ll enjoy it?
“Get up on the bed.” A thrill runs through me at his thick tone of voice.
I climb up on the high duvet, knowing he can see my pussy and my ass as my slip rides up. I deliberately sway my hips, making my movements long and feline and overtly sexual.
“If I didn’t know any better, Pet, I’d say you were trying deliberately to be a tease.”
“No, Sir,” I whisper over my shoulder.
“Liar.” He slides his hands around the front of my thighs and pulls me back to him. He pushes my slip dress up and over my ass. He lowers his head and bites, hard. The flesh is still tender and bruised from the spanking, and all of my senses turn electric as his hand comes down in a series of several sharp slaps. I cry out, and squirm. And then he rubs away the sting before withdrawing. “Don’t fucking move.”
“No, Sir.”
He stalks across the room and opens the top drawer of the bedside table, fishing out an item I can’t see properly because it’s concealed by his large fist. A moment later, the unfastening of his zip rings out in the quiet room. I shiver.
Oh God. He’s going to fuck me, like this. Me on my hands and knees. From behind. Like an animal. I shouldn’t have provoked him.
He shifts closer. Cold liquid slides over the seam of my ass. I brace myself, closing my eyes as I wait and breathe. I can’t see it, but I imagine that powerful body behind me, his thick cock sliding in and out of me. But when his crown butts up against my flesh, it isn’t my pussy he’s seeking entry to.
“No,” I cry and attempt to close my legs. “Please, no.”
“You shouldn’t start things you can’t finish, little one.” He teases the puckered flesh, pushing at me, seeking entry into my body through a hole that in no way should be able to accommodate him.