Chapter 31 Sophie
Sophie
The table bites into my knees. It hurt for awhile, but both knees are numb now.
I’ve lost track of time. Two hours? Three? The oven clock ticks somewhere behind me, each second pecking away at my resolve.
His command echoes in my head, the growl of it still vibrating through my chest. Be a good girl and wait for me.
My thighs are shaking. Not the good kind of trembling, but the violent shake of muscles about to give out.
My palms are numb against the wooden surface, too, my fingers tingling with that pins-and-needles sensation.
My knees scream where they press into the wood, the ache spreading up through my hips into my lower back.
I’ve tried to shift my weight, but I find no relief. My body is betraying me.
Knees spread wide, pussy pointing toward the front door, ass high in the air just like I was told. Like a whore. Vin’s whore.
I don’t hate the word. Coming from him, it’s romance. But it isn’t just his praise and attention that keeps me here. It’s devotion.
I want to show him what it means to have someone completely dedicated to him. Someone who will do whatever he says, no matter how difficult, no matter how uncomfortable. Someone who waits, even when waiting is the worst agony.
He’s never had that. I know he hasn’t. All his women want something from him: sex, money, status. And he uses them right back. Valentina clearly taught him that love is just another transaction.
But I’m not those women.
My answer to you is always yes.
I meant it when I said it. I mean it now, even as my body begins the slow slide from pain into numbness. My left calf has gone completely dead, a strange floating sensation like it’s no longer attached to my body. My right isn’t far behind.
The butter he poured over me has long cooled, some of it pooled and congealed on the coffee table under me.
I try to focus on my breathing: in through my nose, out through my mouth. It’s the same breathing exercise I use when my back starts to hurt after hours of standing in the kitchen. This is just another another test of endurance, a labor of love.
A whimper escapes my throat before I can stop it. I bite down on my bottom lip hard enough to draw blood. I cannot quit. I won’t.
I refuse to fail him.
My arms are shaking now, violent tremors running from my shoulders down to my wrists. Any second, they’re going to give out completely. Any second, I’m going to collapse onto this table and ruin everything.
Please, I think desperately. Please come back. Please don’t let me break my promise to you.
The oven clock ticks. And ticks. And ticks.
My vision swims. Black spots dance at the corners of my vision. I suck in a breath, tasting salt. I didn’t realize I was crying.
Just a little longer. He’ll come back. He promised he’d come back.
My left arm buckles. I catch myself, gasping, my elbow locking just before my face hits the table. The sudden movement sends fire racing through my dead limbs, pins and needles exploding everywhere at once.
A sob tears out of me. I can’t. I can’t do this anymore. But even as the thought forms, I reposition, force my trembling arm to straighten, to hold.
Because my answer to him is always yes. Even when yes is impossible. Even when yes is agony.