ANA
When he says my name again, I can hardly hear it over the thundering of my heartbeat in my ears.
Stupid, stupid, stupid.
I was supposed to be listening for him to come home. Instead, I’d been so wrapped up in what I’d found that I hadn’t heard anything, and he’d snuck up on me. Found me here, in one of the only two places he’d clearly said I shouldn’t be.
Now, I know I’m going to pay for it.
I can feel myself starting to shake under his iron grip on my shoulder, the panic rising up thickly from my gut, making my stomach contract, my chest clench, and my head swim until I think I might pass out. Maybe I should—at least then I won’t be awake to face his anger.
But I’ll come to eventually, and who knows what I’ll wake up to then?
Slowly, I turn to face him, his hand still gripping my shoulder so hard that it hurts. He’s never hurt me before, and somehow that strikes me more deeply than the fear, enough for me to say something aloud despite my fear.
“You’re hurting me,” I whisper, my voice quavering, but it does nothing to change the black expression on Alexandre’s face in the dim light.
“Good,” he growls, his voice low and dark. He turns on his heel then, starting to stride towards the couch along one wall, dragging me along with him. He flicks on a Tiffany lamp next to it, the warm yellow glow bathing part of the darkened room in light, and I can see the expression on his face more clearly.
I wish I hadn’t. The anger in his eyes is naked, palpable. His mouth is tight and hard, set in a thin line, and I can see the simmering rage.
“Give me that.” He snatches the paper out of my hand so fast that it nearly tears and looks at it. He instantly sees what I’ve found, and his expression blackens even more.
“I gave you one simple instruction. Didn’t I?” His voice is so cold, so hard. He’s never spoken to me like this before.
I’ve fucked up. I’ve ruined it. Oh god.The terror is bone-chilling. I can’t stop shaking; my teeth are almost clattering together. I don’t think I can answer him, but I have to.
He shakes me so hard that my teeth clack together anyway, painfully. “Didn’t I?”he roars, his voice filling the small room, and I let out a small cry of fear.
“Yes,” I whisper, shivering. “Yes, you did.”
“What was it?” He shakes me again, harder, like a terrier with a rat. “Tell me, Anastasia. What was my instruction to you?”
I swallow hard, but my mouth is too dry, and my throat convulses. “You said—not to—go in your study. Or your bedroom.” The words come out halting, one at a time, and I don’t know at first if he’ll even give me the time to finish. But he does, as if he wants to hear it from my lips.
“Where are you, Anastasia? Are you lost? Or just stupid?”
“Your study,” I whisper. “Alexandre, I—”
“Don’t give me fucking excuses,” he snarls. “You’re no idiot, for all your injuries and fits. You’re a smart girl, I know that. You knew which rooms not to go into. You went looking for something, and you found it.” His hand tightens on my shoulder even more, pressing into the bone until I think he could almost snap it, and tears of pain start to drip down my cheeks.
“Stop sniveling.” He glares down at me. “Yvette was right. I’ve spoiled you, and you thought—what? That I’d come home and laugh at your little misadventure? Forgive you for everything? You forget who you are, Anastasia. You aremine.”
That word that had sent such relief and desire through me yesterday, that had fueled so many foolish fantasies between last night and a few minutes ago, sends another chill of pure terror through me. My worst suspicions feel confirmed. This man isn’t the one who has so gently catered to me like a fragile doll or who had watched me with such controlled lust last night as he urged me to touch myself for the sake of my own pleasure. I’d dropped my guard, and this is where I’ve found myself.
Stupid. So stupid.
I should have known better.
“The evidence of it is right there. You’ve seen it yourself.” He nods at the crumpled bill of sale on the rug. “A hundred million dollars, Anastasia. Can you fathom that much money?”
Mutely, I shake my head.
“Of course, you can’t. But it should drive home that simple point, which surely even you can understand. You aremine. Mine to do with as I please.” His lips pull back in a threatening, humorless smile as he backs towards the couch, sitting down on the edge of it and pulling me facedown over his lap with one swift motion that I’m helpless to even anticipate, let alone fight.
“And right now,” he continues, “what I please is to punish the ungrateful little brat that I paid so much money for and have spoiled so thoroughly. No more, Anastasia,” he warns, and then his hand is on my skirt, pushing it up over my ass and hips, his fingers curling into the frilled waistband of the ridiculous panties that go with this ridiculous outfit, pulling them down to bare my ass to his gaze and his hand.
His palm presses against my bare cheek, and before all of this, it might have still aroused me. Even the spanking could have turned me on under the right circumstances. In my old life, there was a time when I was the old Ana that I’d have jumped at the chance to play out a scene like that with a man like Alexandre. Hot, dominant, sexy, a little strange but kinky.