I wake, once again, to a hard knock on the door. I’m almost certain it’s Art coming to wake me up for dinner, and I push myself up sleepily, wiping at my sticky, sore eyes. My head is still pounding, and I want nothing more than to stay in the bed forever, but I also don’t want him to come and drag me bodily out of it.
“I’m coming!” I snap as the knocking comes again, harder this time. I stride to the door, wrenching it open, and as expected, Art is standing there. He’s wearing a charcoal suit, not unlike the one I saw Max in last night, and my stomach does another hollow flip, though there’s nothing for me to puke on him now–despite the fact that I want to more than ever when I notice that he’s wearing a red shirt beneath it nearly the same color as the dress provided for me.
“You’re not dressed.” Art looks down his nose at me disapprovingly. “And your hair–were you sleeping?”
“I don’t know what else there is for me to do. Stare at the wall and contemplate my coming demise?” I glare at him. “And I am dressed. Surely you know the difference between a clothed woman and a naked one, with all your experience?”
Art smirks. “More than you could imagine. I’ve fucked my way across most of Europe, Sasha. I assure you that I’ve seen more beautiful women disrobe for me than you could possibly imagine.”
“Gross.” I tip my chin up defiantly. “I’ll come down for dinner. But I’m wearing this.”
Art steps forward, his body filling the doorway as he braces one hand against it, looming over me. He might not have the bulk to intimidate me, but he’s considerably taller than I am, and the expression on his face makes me feel smaller than ever. “Don’t act like a child, Sasha. Put the dress on and meet me here in the hall. You have ten minutes. And do something with your fucking hair.” He flicks a tangled piece of it, and it takes everything in me not to punch him in the face. Not because I care so much about him retaliating, but because I’d probably break my hand. I have no idea how to throw a punch.
“I’ll run a brush through my hair, if it’ll shut you up,” I hiss at him. “But I’m not wearing the fucking dress.”
Something in his face hardens in an instant, an expression of such absolute violence that my stomach clenches and twists despite my best attempts to be brave. Art’s hand closes over my shoulder, hard enough to hurt, and he shoves me backward into the room, hard.
I land flat on my ass. Somehow, against all odds, I manage not to cry out. However, the pain of the impact against the hardwood shoots through my tailbone and up my spine excruciatingly.
Before I can get up, Art stalks into the room after me, slamming the door shut and flipping the lock. He stands there, blocking the door, his face murderous.
“I’m putting an end to this brattinessnow,” he snarls. “Put the dress on, Sasha.”
Somehow, I manage to force myself up from the undignified position, scrambling back to my feet. “I saidno.”
“I will strip you and dress you myself if I have to,” Art growls, his eyes narrowed as he stares at me. “I’m giving you one last choice, Sasha. And if you make it harder still, I may strip you and march you downstairs naked, instead of giving you the option to remain clothed. I can assure you that both Edo and I would enjoy that sight very much.”
I believe him. As much as I want to stand my ground and keep fighting back, I also know that Art is, in the end, stronger than me. I can fight back, I can punch and kick and scratch, and I can make sure he goes downstairs bloodied too. But I know I’ll be going with him, equally bruised and bloodied–and if I continue to piss him off, naked. I know he would enjoy humiliating me that way.
“Fine,” I grit out. “Go outside, and I’ll change.”
Art smirks. “Oh no,mia bella.I gave you that chance already. You’ll change right here, while I watch and make sure you do as you’ve been told. Besides–” His eyes rake over me, and I see his tongue trail over his lower lip, as if he’s imagining how I taste. It makes my stomach turn over again.
“It’s time I got to see what my brother was so enamored with, that he’d break a lifetime’s celibacy over it.”
That statement alone makes me want to dig my heels in and refuse. I don’t want anyone other than Max to ever see me naked again; I hate that anyone else ever has. But worse than disrobing for Art in this room would be sitting at a dinner table naked, forced to eat with his and another man’s eyes on me the entire time.
“Do it now, Sasha,” Art says, his voice low and threatening. “Or I’ll tear that blouse off of you, and I’ll like it. Turn me on too much, and we might even miss the salad course.”
I swallow hard, fighting back the sick feeling of knowing I’ve lost. Slowly, trying not to let the tears in my eyes fall, I reach for the button of my jeans and slide the zipper down. I push them off my hips in a rough, quick motion, jerking my legs out of them and trying to make it as unsexy as possible. The last thing I want is to give this asshole a striptease.
“Good.” Art’s eyes drag up my legs, pausing at the gap between my thighs, lingering on the black cotton of the panties I was given. “A little on the thin side, aren’t you? But that doesn’t matter. You’ll have the curves I want soon enough.” He nods toward me. “The blouse, now.”
I clench my teeth, wishing I’d opted to wear the bra now, if only to add one more layer before Art sees everything I don’t want him to. I can see from the look on his face that his patience is running out, and as he sways towards me as if to take over himself, I take a hurried step back.
“I’m doing it,” I snap, grabbing the hem and yanking it over my head. I feel the cool air of the room on my bare breasts, stiffening my nipples against my will, the moment before I toss the blouse aside and see Art’s hungry gaze focused on my chest.
“Lovely,” he breathes. “Just the perfect size. The things I can’t wait to do to you–”
I swallow back a flood of nausea, clenching my teeth against that and the tears.Don’t show weakness,I tell myself, shouting it in my head.Don’t let him see how you feel. Act like you don’t care.
I step towards the wardrobe, reaching for the dress, but Art’s whipcrack voice stops me.
“What are you doing, Sasha?”
I turn to look at him, confused and exasperated. “I’m putting on the fucking dress.”
“Not yet, you’re not.” He nods towards my hips. “Take those off.”