“You came on a Friday.” He shrugs. “Violet is in charge. Or at least, Fridays are the one day of the week where I let her believe she’s in charge.”
“That means I get to make the rules tonight, little ballerina, and right now, I want our Sir to watch while I have you.” She grabs the fabric of my gown, fisting and bunching it up as she goes, exposing my calves and then thighs to the room before she slips it over my head. She pushes her naked chest against mine. The crystal beads on her tasseled pasties scratch my skin, and the tiny hairs on my arms prickle with awareness.
“She’s never been very good at sharing,” Atticus grumbles, but his smile is full of mischief.
“It’s true. I haven’t.” She leans down and peppers my face with kisses. A strange and delighted little squeal escapes me. “I’m going to make you come first, and when you’re relaxed and pliant, I’m going to hurt you. A lot.”
I shiver beneath her. “Yes, Mistress.”
“Are you aching to be fucked in your sweet pussy, baby girl?”
My breath catches, and heat claws up my neck and cheeks. “Yes, please?”
“Are you hungry for me, my little ballerina slut?” She sits back on her heels and runs her hands across my breasts and down my abdomen, where they hover over my panties. She pushes the fabric aside, and shoves two fingers in deep. I gasp and clench around her, contracting my inner muscles hard, milking her fingers the way I would Ares’ cock. Violet looks down on me with amused adoration, and then her expression changes, becomes cunning. She’s all Dominance and elegant manipulation. “Are you trying to fuck yourself with my hands, baby girl?”
“Yes, Mistress.”
She leans forward and presses her lips to the flesh over my pubic mound. Then she sinks her teeth in. I scream, writhing beneath her, forcing her fingers deeper. The pain is blinding, and I can’t breathe.
“Don’t,” she says coolly, removing her hands from my body. “I’m in charge here, and if I wanted you to fuck my hand, I’d order you to. Are we clear, you filthy little fucking whore?”
Tears prick my eyes, but I blink them away and swallow hard. “Yes, Mistress.”
“Good.” She rubs the marks she made in my skin. I’m not bleeding, but the sting doesn’t abate with her touch either. In fact, it seems to make it worse. Violet’s stroking becomes softer, and she traces my panty-line with her fingertips. “Sir, will you hand me your tie?”
“Whatever you wish, my little Dominatrix.”
I tilt my head back to see Atticus better. He loosens the knot on his tie and pulls it free, holding it out to Violet.
“Thank you, Sir.” She takes the garment from him and straddles my waist again.
“It’s my pleasure.”
Violet smiles smugly and yanks my hands above my head. She slides the silk beneath my wrists and cinches them tightly together. I exhale my satisfaction. She laughs.
“Oh, my sweet little sub.” She rakes her nails down my forearms and biceps, all the way to my breasts where she pinches my nipples and twists the sensitive flesh with startling brutality. “You like to be tied, don’t you? To have all of your choices taken from you? Is that what he did, your former Master? Did he tie you and fuck you senseless?”
I swallow hard and close my eyes. I don’t want to talk about Ares. Not here. Not while I’m naked beneath a woman, begging her and her husband to fuck me in his place. I do answer though, because I’m afraid of the alternative. “Yes, often.”
“At what point did you realize you loved it?”
I stop breathing. My lids fly open. I glare at Violet. “I don’t know.”
She turns her hands just a fraction of an inch, and fresh pain arcs through my breasts. I cry out. “Don’t lie to me, Camille. At what point did you realize you loved submitting to him?”
I draw my bound hands to my chest, wanting to be done with this, but she blocks me. I came here tonight to be free of Ares, not answer questions about him.
“Violet,” Atticus warns. I meet his gaze and silently plead with him to rein in his wife.
“Sir, be a dear and hold her arms for me.”
“No,” I say. I attempt to sit up, a difficult feat with my arms bound, and a woman straddling my waist and pinching my nipples so hard I see stars. I gasp. Both pain and fear take me over, and I begin shaking.
Atticus takes my bound hands and pulls them up the bed, not hard. In fact, it’s the exact opposite. He smooths his thumbs over my skin, calming my frayed nerves.
“Please, please?” I don’t know what I’m asking him. To let me go? To fuck me? To make his wife stop?
“You know what you need to say to make it all stop, little ballerina.”