16. Sable
SABLE
“We have class. Get dressed and get your shit.”
My stomach bottoms when the power dynamic switches back to him on top so quickly. “Bu—But I never registered for classes,” I say, sure I must have missed something. Fake confidence can only get me so far.
“You follow my schedule on Wednesdays. How are you supposed to be available to me full-time if you have your own things to worry about?”
I roll my eyes, but when his face deepens in satisfaction, mine falls. “You’re not serious.”
“Oh, I am.” His voice drips with satisfaction. “The stupid act might have worked for you if you kept your mouth shut, but you didn’t. Now I know exactly how sharp your claws are, and I won’t make the mistake of underestimating them. Now, get dressed.”
“I’m not playing dumb.”
“Not convincingly anyway.”
My gaze goes to the doors surrounding my bed, the conversations yesterday about constant access, the two men showing up in my room uninvited last night. I know in my soul he’s telling the truth. I’m at his disposal. This year is all about them.
“Fine, I’ll meet you outside,” I say, trying to cover my fear. I may not know anything for certain, but my situation here is lining up quite clearly. If I learned anything at the bottom of that river, it’s how adaptable I really am.
He laughs at my attempt to send him away. “Then how would I pick your outfit and pinch your naked ass?” He's such an asshole.
Arousal flares along with blinding-hot anger, and I hate myself for that mixed reaction.
“Fine, if you’re that hard up.”
He wants me to be his whore, yet I walk as if I’m a lady, the fucking queen, as I head through the bathroom and into the closet. My hope of threatening him dies as he trails me, never more than a foot or two behind.
Once we’re both inside, he steps forward, cutting me off and moving like he knows the closet well.
I stare at his back in fascination, partially wondering how anyone could be so hot and also how I might escape from this situation.
I’m only comfortable enough to look because he seems so determined with his task.
He’s not paying any attention to me as he pulls out a long, plain white gown.
Okay, that’s not a weird choice or anything.
“Drop the towel,” he says.
“Take it,” I challenge, but God, I don’t mean it. Things are different now with the lights and his eyes on me. I’m beholden to him, forced to follow his schedules on Wednesdays and who knows what else.
When he walks toward me with his hand raised, fully ready to snatch the towel and leave me dripping, I step back, my grip tight.
I’m afraid to have his hands on me. I can't afford to remember how good they feel. This can’t be on his terms. With a tip of my chin, I drop the towel myself.
He stares at my naked body, and his tongue glides across his lips.
We both know what I just did. I blinked.
He won. I’m hot all over, blushing in places I didn’t know I could.
My pale skin stings with my embarrassment.
“Thanks for the help, Sable, but I’m still going to dress you.”
“No—” I reach for the clothes he’s picked. I’ll wear them, but I can’t stand here and let him do something as intimate as dress me.
“Stand there, nice and still,” he says as he pulls his phone out of his pocket and starts taking pictures.
“Stop,” I complain, throwing my hands up and trying to cover myself.
“We both know you’re used to the camera. Smile, Sable.” The flashes keep coming as he taunts me. Rage and powerlessness build in my stomach, and I try not to show just how much he is bothering me because I can tell he likes it.
“Why the fuck are you taking pictures of me anyway?” I demand, trying to sound tough but on the verge of tears.
“Just showing someone what he’s missing.” He takes one more, laughing the whole time, before he types out a text and shoves the phone back in his pocket. My cheeks burn with my humiliation, and my only consolation is that I know I look damn hot naked. I dread how far those pictures may spread.
He steps forward.
“Get away from me,” I say, but he ignores my complaints and drops to his knees.
At least the phone is away. I try to jump back, but he stops me with a hand fully gripping each of my ass cheeks.
He spreads me crudely at the same time he pulls me forward and shoves his nose into my pussy, inhaling deeply.
“Shit, fuck,” I hiss, and I’m not sure if I’m complaining or turned on. Maybe both.
He leans back, removing the contact with my pussy and not offering to take the edge off the intensity he started. He holds out the panties. “Step,” he commands.
Rather than let him win, I put my hands right in his hair and hang onto the strands as I step into the panties like he said.
He doesn’t pull away. In fact, he leans forward, increasing the pressure on his hair as he slides the fabric up and over my ass and pussy.
I don’t let up, but he only seems to enjoy the sting.
He stands and places the dress over my upper body, cupping each of my tits and topping each nipple with a rude pinch. He’s not really going to make me walk around all day with no bra and hard nipples… is he?
His fingers trace my entire lower half as he places the heels on my feet and closes each buckle.
I realize how very stupid I was to allow this.
I’m going to want to fuck him all day. He reaches up and touches my face with my foot still in his hand.
I still don’t know his name, and for some reason, that makes me want him more. What's in a name?
“Do your hair and put on some makeup. I want you to look absolutely immaculate.” He rises and stares at me a little too hard.
“Don’t I right now?” I ask, cocking my head to the side.
“You did last night,” he corrects, stepping out of the closet and leaving me alone to finish the job. I say a little prayer that he didn't send those pictures to the paparazzi. They would kill for them.