As I sit up on the bed, my long blonde hair cascades over my robe, the ends skimming the mattress. I swallow around the lump in my throat and answer him honestly, "You're so quiet, Sir. It's making me feel invisible."
"I'm working," he states nonchalant, his eyes unwavering from the document on his laptop screen.
I pout petulantly—hating that I'm inclined to do so—and reposition myself, shuffling to draw his attention.
Only then he says, "What would make my sweet girl more comfortable?" He swivels in his large black chair, pinning me with his blue gaze, and I smile at his attention. At his X-men ability to see through me, just like he can somehow see from the corner of his eyes. Must come in handy in his line of work. "Would you like to sit at my feet, lay your head on my lap, and suck on my cock until you feel better?"
My heart balloons. "Yes, please, Sir."
He nods at his henchmen, who dutifully turn to face the purple and gold wallpaper.The Clay Butcher nod."Grab yourself a pillow and come here," he orders me, tapping his thigh once before returning his attention to the computer atop his desk.
I scurry from the mattress and rush to him. Dropping the pillow at his feet, I sit on it and get comfortable. He continues to work, and I slowly slide his zipper down to release his large length. Weighted and swelling in my hand, a bead of pre-cum surfaces as I rub him to steel. He's smooth like satin, yet hard and unyielding. I lick the salty bead, rewarded instantly with a hiss from him. "Good girl. Now suck. And remember who you are to me."
* * *
It's hours later.I'm sure. I don't know how much time passes, but when I come to, I'm so perfectly tucked into bed that I'm basically Cryovac packed. And I must have fallen asleep on his lap with his cock in my mouth.
Through the window, the city is lit in the night-time sky. I frown. I somehow slept through the entire day.
Peering around, I try to recall the moments before I fell asleep. I rub my tired eyes before dragging my hands down my face.
My half-masted gaze lands on a small white box on the bedside table and a handwritten note.
I tuck my legs behind me, kneeling on them and reach for the box, which is white, silk, andGod, I think it's a present. I don't get presents. Ever. I don't get pointless presents like expensive jewellery.
How do you know it's expensive, Fawn?
How do you know it's jewellery?
Shut up and open it.
Heat behind my eyes threatens to boil tears until I release them. Nope. Not happening. I read the letter instead: "Remember who you are. My queen. And you never leave my sight."
I dart my gaze around the ceiling line, searching for a camera. I notice two small globes like little upside-down spaceships. My mum would have had all sorts of theories about them…"Cameras are deceitful, Fawn. You never really know who is watching you. Or how many screens there are."
I'm reminded momentarily of Benji's room in the basement, the camera, and the recordings, the night of the incident and— I shake my head, dislodging the unbidden recall.
I know who is watching me today, Mum. And I've never been safer.
I smile brightly at one of the little upside-down spaceships and lift the box to show Clay, who I can almost sense watching me from within the dark, ominous void.
Taking a deep breath, I open the box in my lap. My eyes widen on the piece. Within a silk cast is a rose gold necklace with a beautiful pendant encrusted with little pink, white, and peach gems. My hands start to shake. It's a monarch butterfly.
Beautiful and poisonous.
The queen of the butterflies.
I unthread it from the base and turn it over in my hand, feeling the weight, the cool metal, loving it so entirely my heart balloons to uncomfortable proportions.
Then I see that on the rear side, engraved along one swooping wing, the words, "My queen."
A tear bursts from the corner of my eye, and I wipe at it immediately.
Another tear rolls down my cheek and over the swell of my lips, as I reach between my hair and my shoulders and fasten the clasp at the nape of my neck.
I'm never taking it off, Sir.
No more than a few seconds later, the phone beside the sofa rings. I race to it. Grabbing the ringing handset with a start, I answer, "Hello to you, Sir. I love it so fucking much."