I was expecting it, but it still hurts, a heavy weight settling on my chest. I try to turn away quickly before my face crumples into a frown, intent on running back to my room and closing the door behind me. I don’t make it two steps before he calls me back to him.
“Come here,” he commands me. “Now.”
I bite my lower lip, holding back tears, and turn on my heel and make my way over to his desk beside him. I don’t know why I’m so emotional. But something about this moment is off.
He looks up at me, a sadness in his eyes that tugs at my heartstrings. “Kneel,” he commands.
I obey his command immediately, sinking to my knees beside him. Swallowing, I look up at him, not sure if he’s going to punish me, scold me, or both.
I startle when he reaches out and pets my hair softly. “You’ve been a good girl,” he tells me. “You can put your clothes back on if you’d like.”
My heart drops in my chest. I don’t want to put my clothes back on. I want him to take me. Punish me. Anything.
“Okay,” I say, rising to my feet, my throat closing. I try to hide my displeasure, but I can’t keep the frown off of my face. I wish I could just disappear.
Anger sparks in Joseph’s eyes. “I didn’t tell you to get up,” he growls, his deep voice low and dangerous.
My heart skips a beat and then starts racing, excitement coursing through my limbs. Maybe he will punish me after all.
I cross my arms over my breasts and try to think of something smart to say. But before I can say a word, he jumps up to his feet and grabs me by the wrist.
“I can see exactly what you’re doing,” he says in a calm, controlled voice. “I don’t want you to deliberately disappoint me, do you understand?”
I stare into his eyes, my heart pounding. There’s anger there, but a different kind. One that isn’t attached to sexual emotion. I hate it. I hate that he’s making me feel this way, like I’ve done something so horrible to turn him off.
“I wasn’t trying to do anything-” I begin.
“Don’t lie to me, Lilly,” he growls, cutting me off. My heart clenches. I don’t like this. I want to go back five minutes and never step in here.
I square my shoulders, and rather than tell him how I’m feeling, how I’m craving his punishment in the pleasure that he gives me, and how I hate that he’s in whatever mood he’s in right now, I snap, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
His grip tightens on my wrist, his eyes narrowing. I can tell he’s pissed off that I won’t tell him the truth. But fuck him. I don’t have to give in to him when he doesn’t give into me.
His next words are cold and harsh. “Stop denying it.”
Anger tightens my chest at his threat. All I wanted was to have a little playful fun, get each other off. It’s not my fault that I’m begging for sex. He did this to me. He made me want it. He made me need it.
Need him.
Even now, I’m breathless with desire as he stares at me angrily, his lower jaw bulges out from being clinched tightly. But he doesn’t want me right now. And that pisses me the fuck off.
Too angry to speak, I raise my chin in defiance, letting him know that I’m not going to do what he wants. He can fucking punish me.
That’s when something inside of him seems to snap and he pulls me into him with great force, causing me to cry out in shock.
Next thing I know, his powerful fingers are wrapped around my chin, forcing me to look into his eyes. My blood turns to ice as I look into them, and for the first time that I’ve been with him, I feel very real fear.
There’s darkness there. A cold emptiness that makes a chill shoot down my spine.
I don’t know this man. Or what he’s truly capable of.
And that terrifies me.
The next thing he says frightens me even more, his voice low and very dangerous sounding.
“Go to your cage.”
Chapter 18
Joseph
She thinks she knows everything and I’ve been pushing her to find her boundary. To find that breaking point where she’ll realize she isn’t getting what she wants. So far, she’s wanted to obey me. And every command she’s met head on. The perfect slave.
I knew at some point she’d break. I knew I’d ask too much of her. I imagined it would be something much more than simply not telling me that she’s deliberately disobeying me. She’s always had a problem expressing herself though, I shouldn’t be as shocked as I am.
I can read her so easily. I know she was disappointed. But this relationship isn’t me being available to her. It’s her being available to me. I’m restless in the leather armchair in the living room, her laptop in my lap as I read through the scene she’s been writing. I’ve given her permission to write every day. When she feels the inspiration, she can do so. I huff a humorless laugh, I’ve given her permission to do whatever the fuck she’d like when my dick isn’t in her. Maybe that was my first mistake. It’s my fault she’s in the cage.
I take a small sip of the whiskey before sitting the glass back down on the end table.
I scroll through her scene, reading about the collar the hero has given the heroine. She’s romanticized everything. Her perception of what this lifestyle is, is missing an important aspect. The one where I have control.
This is why I didn’t want a submissive. My fingers tap on the short glass in my hand before bringing it to my lips again. I didn’t anticipate that her boundary that would send her to the cage would be refusing to tell me the truth.
I thought better of her than that. Of everything I’ve asked her to do, that seems to be the least difficult. But maybe she doesn’t want to believe it herself.
My eyes gaze over the next scene she’s written, the hero of her book taking the virginity of the heroine. It’s not difficult to see that it was inspired by how I took her. This hero kisses her sweetly, talks to her gently. He makes love to her.
This man is nothing like me. The stark contrast reminds me of where I came from.
I remember the first time I saw my father kiss my mother. She was always quiet. Always in the background and never allowed to be around us. I didn’t quite understand it. She wasn’t allowed to interfere, that’s what my father told us.
She approached him, her eyes wide with worry as she talked in quiet whispers, pleading with him for something. Her eyes kept darting towards us as we sat on the floor of the living room; cleaning the guns.
My father was rough with her. Grabbing the back of her hair so tightly he rips trends out. He kissed her hard on the lips, smearing her lipstick across her face before throwing her down on the ground. I remember how I jumped up, how my heart raced in my chest. I knew how hard my father hit, all too well. She landed hard, wincing with pain as she braced herself. But the look on her face changed when she saw me watching, slowly walking towards them. She shook her head, her eyes warning me to stay away.
That was what we had as an example. It sickened me. I loved my mother, and I couldn’t watch as my father hit her. Day in day out, she became an outlet for his anger. As my mother whimpered on the floor, I looked back to my brother. Wanting to make sure he was all right. We were only children. But the look in his eyes sickened me. It still does. The smile on his face showed what kind of the man he would be. If you can call that a man.