I take his hand and step out.
He keeps me close to his side, leads me to the wall, and presses his hand on another screen. A metal door opens. We go into a small hallway. It has the same security protocol.
"A bit paranoid?" I mutter.
His body tenses.
I add, "Sir."
He glares at me.
I feel small under his disapproval. I square my shoulders and lift my chin, trying not to appear intimidated.
He seethes, "Maybe if you had taken some precautions, you wouldn't have been in the presence of your father's men."
I don't speak, unable to deny his statement.
"There will never come a time when I won't take all measures to ensure your safety. Remember that," he scolds, then places his hand on the screen.
Another set of metal doors opens, and the L.A. skyline lights up against the darkness outside of the floor-to-ceiling windows. He grabs my hand, steering me into the room.
Black leather furniture fills the space. Candles flicker, creating a soft glow. Soft music plays at the perfect volume, not too loud and not too soft.
"Where are we?" I ask.
He arches his eyebrows.
"Sir," I add.
The same expression I saw on him the previous night appears on his face. Goose bumps break out on my skin. He answers, "Apartment Thirteen."
"Which is...?"
He looks at me with disapproval again.
I quickly fix my error. "Sir. Which is what, Sir?"
He takes a deep breath, filling his lungs with fresh air and making his pecs look more powerful. He steps forward, closing the gap between us, and drags his knuckles up my waist, over my breast and neck. He traces my jaw.
Butterflies flood my stomach, fluttering so fast, I reach for his chest to steady myself and realize his heart's beating faster.
He covers my hand with his palm, stares at my lips, then drags his gaze to mine. He answers, "Where you'll stay until you prove your submission to me at the club."
"You're leaving me here on my own?" I fret.
He grunts, then twists a thick lock of my hair around his fist. "No. You'll always be with your trainer, myself, or both of us."
Blood pumps hard between my ears. My voice cracks as I ask, "My trainer?"
Something flares in his eyes, scaring me. It's arrogant, challenging, and something darker than normal. The quivering reignites in my belly with full force, matching the racing of his heartbeat.
His firm voice declares, "I suggest you focus on the end goal. There's no time to waste, Blakely. Starting tonight, commit to throwing yourself into this lifestyle, become the perfect little pet I know you're capable of, and eliminate all the boundaries that keep you from submitting to me."
"Boundaries?" I question.
He tugs my head back an inch, leaning closer to my mouth. His hot breath hits mine, and my mouth waters. He answers, "Your defiance. The self-limiting beliefs you have about what's pleasurable and what's painful. All the things you believe are taboo and even wrong. Let go of questioning things when I give you orders. Accept that your body and mind want to follow me blindly, so much it's an inherent need deep inside your soul. And give in to the fact I own you. Nothing is yours without my approval, and that includes your orgasms, your reactions, and even certain thoughts."
Panic fills me as his statement sets in. His wishes aren't possible. There's no way everything he wants can be achieved. I'm not a robot waiting for him to give me directions.