Chapter 7
CHAPTER SEVEN
Savannah
This is maybe getting out of hand, and fast. I’m trying to think of how to respond, but I’m having a hard time keeping my thoughts logical.
When he first took my blindfold off, the first thing I did was glare at him, like I’ve wanted to do since he started getting all domineering with me, which was pretty much the first second I was in his presence.
Now, however, I really want to observe this place.
It’s hard to keep my head on straight, though, because how am I supposed to think rationally when my body’s on fire?
I want this, and I don’t even know what “this” is. I can see the way he restrains himself, as if he’s holding himself back from everything he wants to do to me.
I don’t want him to hold back. I want to see what he can do, even if that means he’ll destroy me.
But God, even sex-craving doesn’t give me the energy I need. Right now, half the reason I’m leaning against him is because I’m so damn exhausted my eyes hurt when I blink. I lean my body against him because it’s getting harder to stand.
I stifle a yawn, and he shakes his head.
“Jesus,” he curses under his breath. “You must be completely exhausted. I’m an asshole.”
I raise my eyebrows and don’t respond, because… he isn’t wrong. He is an asshole, but not because he’s forgotten it’s nearly daylight out and we’ve almost pulled an all-nighter.
“Come here,” he says roughly. Taking me by the hand, he pulls me into the center of the room.
I want to take in every detail, from the luxurious strands of lights that form a sort of chandelier over the bed, to the velvety curtains that give us privacy, the enormous bed that sits dead center in the room, elegantly draped in fine fabrics and piles of pillows.
The little hooks mysteriously screwed into the bedposts that make my heart beat a little faster.
It’s like some sordid, luxurious, opulent hotel, and I want to see everything.
This really can’t be called a room. It’s closer to a flat one might find in Paris, or at the very least, a luxury suite, given its huge, walk-in closet, enormous bathroom with a tub the size of a small swimming pool, and an office that juts out on an elevated platform behind the bed.
The kitchen area’s also large and spacious, equipped for entertaining guests and for businesspeople to conduct business
A few days ago, I would’ve lost my shit if you’d told me I’d be alone in a swanky room with threats of a spanking from the likes of Thayer Gerard.
But my eyes are becoming too heavy to keep open. My body begs me to rest, and that bed looks so inviting.
“I considered giving you your own private suite, but I think that’s a bullshit idea. I need to be nearby in case anything happens.”
“What will Fabien say?” I ask on a yawn.
“He’d kill me if he knew I left you unattended.”
“He’d kill you if he knew you tried to seduce me.”
“That, too.”
“A bit of a conundrum,” I say on yet another yawn.
Now, though… here I am.
I walk into the bathroom and quickly scan it, looking for something to wash up with. I find the room well-appointed and comfortable, also as luxurious as before, but I’m so tired I don’t even bother to take in the details.
In a sort of exhausted stupor, I sleep-wash my face and sleep-brush my teeth, then sleep-brush my hair. When I come back into the room, I find a pair of delicate, satin ivory shorts and a tank lying on the bed.
Thayer’s on the phone in the office. He jerks his chin at the clothes.
He’s commanded so much, I figure it can’t hurt to take back a little of the control.
“Mine?” I whisper, gesturing at the clothes. I’m so tired, do I have to change?
He nods. “Yes,” he mouths.
I could get dressed in the bathroom. Or… I could give him a little bit of a strip show.
That thought wakes me up a little.
He’s had a lot of fun bossing me around, or so it seems.
Let’s show him what he’s missed out on.
I paste an innocent expression on my face, as if I’m not fully aware that he’s about ten feet away from me, completely dressed and on the phone.
I yawn and stretch, pushing my breasts out, my eyes closed. Pretending he isn’t here. That he isn’t running his eyes up and down the length of my body.
I run my fingers through my hair and arch my shoulders, then stretch my neck from side to side.
I run my finger along the hem of my bra and yawn again.
I can feel him still.
Next, I unzip my pants and shove them down my legs. I ignore the wince of pain when the fabric rubs against my scratches. Step out of the jeans. Toss those, too, to the basket. Just in case he hasn’t seen it yet, I pretend like I need to turn around so he can get a better view of my ass.
I stretch so he can see me fully.
Oh, what is that on the floor? An invisible speck of fluff. I bend over and pick it up so he gets nothing but the perfect view of my ass.
Smack!
I didn’t see it coming. I quickly stand up and whip around to face him as fire shoots through me, and not just where he spanked. Still, I can’t help but protest. “Hey!”
“You think you’re going to strip tease me?” he asks. His eyes blaze.
“I’m not strip teasing. I’m tired and I want to go to bed,” I say, bordering on a pout.
So much for his phone call, or whatever else he was doing. I’ve got his full and undivided attention.
My pulse races.
“We start now, Savannah,” he says, spinning me around. I can still feel the stinging pulse of his palm across my ass.
I swallow.
“Start what?” I ask, not sure I want to hear the answer.
“We start practicing how you’ll be submissive to me.”
“Your... slave?” I ask.
Strong fingers grab my jaw as he stares into my eyes. “A real slave meets her master’s needs without question. She lives to serve.”
I swallow the lump in my throat and meet his eyes. I nod. “Yes?”
“Have you ever done anything like this before?”
I feel my eyes widen as I shake my head from side to side. My voice comes out in a tremulous whisper. “Do I look like someone who’s ever done this before?”
“That’s like asking if you look like someone who would lie or steal,” he replies, still gripping my jaw. My skin tingles where he touches me. I tell myself to look away. I tell myself we’re not playing games here. I’m only here for protection and I owe him nothing.
“What do you mean?”
“You can’t tell by looking at someone what they’d do or what they wouldn’t.”
Can he tell by looking in my eyes that I’m not a virgin?
Can he tell by looking in my eyes that the only sex I’ve ever had was super shitty and was all about my selfish bastard of a boyfriend getting his? That I’ve never… actually… climaxed?
Does he know I devour romance books to ease my awkwardness and uncertainty around sex, because I don’t want to come across as an inexperienced virgin?
Can he tell what I want him to do to me?
I lick my lips and swallow again.
“You’re tired,” he says. I’m not sure why his tone sends a shiver down my spine.
I nod wordlessly.
“You need sleep.”
I nod again.
“So do you,” I whisper.
“From now on, you let me worry about what you need, and I will give you what you do.”
“That… I don’t know…” I find myself at a loss for words. I shake my head.
“What is it?”
“If you do everything for me,” I ask, as a touch of unease washes through me, “doesn’t that make me like a child?” I shake my head, unsure of any of this.
“Not at all. You’ll always have full autonomy. You can walk away at any moment.” I can hear the implication in his tone. But you won’t want to.
How much of this is “practice” and how much of this is because he wants to do this with me?
Can I trust Thayer?
He’s the one Nicolette sent me to. He’s my brother-in-law’s brother...
Would Nicolette send me to Thayer if he can’t be trusted?
Does she know what this place is?
We stand so close I can feel his breath on my skin. The raw, powerful masculine scent he wears makes me want to run my hands all along his hardened muscles and the flat, solid planes of his stomach.
I’m not sure that’s allowed.
What would it take for him to allow it?
I’m not sure the word allow ever crossed my mind when it came to men, but with him… it’s almost instinctual. I know before he tells me that permission and rules will play heavily into whatever it is we’re going to do.
“For now, we need sleep,” he says, still holding my gaze. Wordlessly, he traces his fingertip along the bridge of my nose, across the outline of my lips, down the length of my jaw. The places he touches feel electrified.
“Sleep,” I repeat with a nod. The backs of my eyelids feel so heavy, I know I need sleep, but it’s hard to reconcile my need to rest with the thrilling curiosity vibrating through my body.
“Are you going to sleep, too?” I have this strange suspicion he’s going to work while I sleep, or sit and watch me, and I don’t know how I feel about that.
The other reason I ask is because there’s only one bed in this room.
“Yeah, baby,” he says softly, his voice gritty with exhaustion. “I’m going to sleep, too. C’mere.”
He curses harshly under his breath, almost as if he’s angry.
I’m so tired, I can hardly hear him, but it sounds as if he says, “Why do you have to be so perfect?” I look down at myself, a little bemused.
Is that really what I heard? Perfect? Me?
Somehow, he’s got the satin pajamas in his hands. Somehow, I end up in his lap as we sit on the edge of the bed. He pulls the shorts on slowly, the soft material gliding over my skin with ease. It’s so comfortable it feels like the height of luxury. Next, the tank.
“Get under the covers,” he orders. He folds the corner of the bed down as I climb in, my body craving the comfort and rest I need so badly. I sink gratefully onto the pillows, my eyes already closed. I sigh contentedly. This bed feels as if it were made for a queen.
I’m dimly aware of water running in the bathroom. Lights dimming. A rustle as he changes out of his clothes. The bed beside me sinking a little when he climbs in beside me.
So much has gone on today, I wonder if I’ll have a hard time letting it all go, but when I feel the comforting warmth of his body next to mine, I find it easier than I thought.