Chapter 18
Grace
“How?”
I shoot the question at him like a bullet, encouraged by his willingness to bargain.
“Simple,” he says, bringing his face so close to mine that the tip of my nose is almost touching his. “Please me.”
I freeze, drunk on his intoxicating scent. Why must he smell so irresistibly nice?
“Please you how?” I breathe, unable to fight the allure of his proximity. I’m stupid to be drawn to him like this, I know that. He is dangerous.
Deliciously dangerous.
I have to hide my disappointment when he retreats, removing his fingers from below my chin and getting back up on his feet, so he’s towering above me again.
“Simple,” he says. “Show me how you please yourself when you’re alone. Show me what you like. I want to see you come.”
It feels like my entire body is going up in flames as the heat of shame rushes through my veins. Dumbfounded, my jaw drops as I look up at him, unsure what to make of this.
“You... you want me to masturbate in front of you?” I stutter, feeling the heat glowing on my cheeks and all the way up to my ears.
He nods “That’s correct.”
“And you won’t touch me?” I implore. “Or use that... toy on me?”
“No magic wand, no touching,” he assures. “Like I said, I want you to do the work this time.”
I huff. This is easier than expected. If he wants me to touch myself and come in front of him, I’ll give him that. After all, I can just fake it. I can just play with myself for a bit, make all the right noises and faces, and then claim that I’ve climaxed as he asked me to. He’ll never know the difference. Women have been betraying men like this for centuries.
“And you better not lie to me,” he warns, as if he was reading my mind. “I’ll notice if you fake it. I can see it in your eyes.”
The hell you can , I think to myself.
“Okay,” I say. “I’ll do it.”
He sighs. “Is that how I told you to respond to an order?”
I roll my eyes, but give him what he wants.
“Yes, sir.”
He doesn’t look happy, and when he bends down in a sudden motion, I instinctively raise my hands, protecting myself from an alleged attack. However, he’s not reaching for me, but the leash on the ground to my left. He picks it up and chokes me with a violent yank, before he marches toward the bed, dragging me with him. He’s moving so fast, the collar tightening around my neck as I stumble to the side, catching myself with both hands on the floor. I’m forced to follow him on all fours, trying to keep up with his speedy steps and losing the protective bathrobe in the process.
I want to yell for him to slow down, but am bereft of my voice, unable to speak as he pulls me over to the bed like an unruly dog.
“Get up there,” he commands. “On your back. Get comfortable.”
“If you’d let me,” I croak, stretching the collar with one hand so I can breathe, while I clumsily climb on the bed.
He stands next to the bed, the leash still in his hand but giving me a bit more leeway so I can position myself on the duvet.
I take my time as much as I can, beating the pillows and piling them up before I make myself comfortable in a half-seated position.
“No, not like that,” he grouses when I move my hand down between my legs.
I frown at him. “But you said-”
“I told you I want to see the real thing,” he cuts me off. “Spread your legs, like a good little whore. Spread them good and show me how you play with yourself.”
I didn’t even notice that my legs are still firmly pressed together, barely leaving enough room for my hand between them. It was instinct. For me, this has nothing to do with giving myself pleasure, but with making him believe whatever he wants to believe right now.
“Spread them, now!” he barks when I hesitate for too long. “Or you’ll regret it.”
I close my eyes as I spread my legs apart, seeking safety in the dark as I expose myself to him in the most intimate way. Why is this so hard? It’s not like he hasn’t seen everything of me. In fact, he has already seen more of me than any man ever has before. It’s too late. It shouldn’t matter.
But for some reason, it does.
I’m trembling when I follow his order, flushed with intense humiliation as my legs open for him. I take a deep breath, before opening my eyes, side-eying him for a split second before my gaze trails between my legs.
He moves to the end of the bed, now standing right before me, as he surveys my exposed pussy. A satisfied smile tugs at the corner of his mouth, before he licks his lip.
“Perfect,” he hums. “Go ahead. Come like a good little slut for me.”
My pulse accelerates at his words. He’s so disturbingly filthy, but something about the way he speaks to me makes my heart race with excitement.
I can’t look him in the eyes, so I decide to focus on the view of his sculptured arms, tan skin stretching across his bulging muscles while he watches me play with myself at my core. He must be ripped, I can tell by his arms alone, and by the way his shirt stretches around his biceps.
I can’t help but wonder what the rest of him must look like. Why has he never shown me? If sex is what he wants from me, why never undress in front me? Why am I always the only one between us who has to be naked?
And could I possibly do something about that?
“I need some visual input,” I claim. “I can’t do this without looking at something sexy.”
He scoffs. “Is that so? What were you thinking of?”
“You,” I say. “I want to see more of you.”
A mischievous smile blooms on his face.
“So, I’m sexy to you, huh,” he says, appearing flattered.
“You are all I’ve got,” I retort. “I can’t come without looking at a man.”
That’s a lie, of course. But a lie that works in my favor.
“You said it would please you to see me please myself,” I remind him. “And I want to give you that. I want to be a good girl for you. But I might need a little help.”
“Don’t overdo it, Grace,” he says. “I might stop believing you.”
I bite my lip, worried that he might have realized what I’m trying to do. But instead of scolding me further or voicing another threat, he hooks his fingers underneath the hem of his shirt and pulls it over his head in one swift motion.
I swallow dryly at the sight of his chiseled chest. Smooth skin, just like his clean-shaven face, stretching across a valley of muscles, sharp and sculptured like a god made of marble.
“Like what you see?” he asks, and I blush.
“Yes, sir,” I utter, not having to lie for once.
He takes a step closer so that his knees are pushed against the foot of the bed while he puts his hands on his hips and juts his chin forward.
“Go on,” he says. “Pleasure me by pleasuring yourself.”
I would never admit it before him, but the sight of him has made me wet in an instant. My core is tingling with need—for him. I’m embarrassed at myself, but decide to use this to my advantage. Maybe I don’t have to fake it after all. I can no longer deny that I’m aroused by him, by all of this, so I might as well go through with it for real.
I have won enough for now. I feel like I can trust him to keep his word, if I do what he wants. I will get to look outside these windows, and I will finally have a clue about where I might be. Even if it’s just a quick look, it will help to begin unraveling the mystery of my being here--and the mystery of him.
Him, that nameless Adonis who stands before me, looking like a Greek god, his unyielding eyes focused on me, savoring the view of my fingers circling around my swollen clit. As the first harbingers of warm delight begin to soar throughout my core, I can tell that he’s getting aroused, too. He twitches, subtly moving his hips in a way as if he was imagining fucking me.
And the view of it only adds to my elation.
He licks his lip, while his hand travels down to his core, cupping the visible bulge between his legs—and my heart almost stops when he reaches for the zipper.