Her Dom (Beauty and the Captor 3)

“All right,” I whispered.

He nodded and stood up, striding across the room to the closet bare naked. I loved that he was so comfortable with his body. There was something immensely appealing about that kind of confidence. So, I didn’t try to avert my gaze when he came back to the bed with a sweater in one hand. He grabbed one of the other unopened boxes and my breath caught in my throat. I’d seen—and experienced—the things in those boxes. What could he possibly have in mind now?

“Don’t worry, Pet, there are no surprises in this box. Just clothes.”

Thank god. He opened the box and handed me a pair of tights and a t-shirt, along with basic underthings. I hadn’t worn anything like these since before…before I’d been taken from Derek. It felt strange to put on clothes that covered up so much of me, but I couldn’t deny these were better than those old clothes. They were soft against my skin, obviously expensive fabric. And covering up made me feel a little better about meeting the man downstairs.

It wasn’t cold in the house, but Derek helped me put on his sweater, and though the arms hung down past my fingertips, it was better. Like armor.

He brushed my hair back and gathered it into a ponytail at the nape of my neck and then brought me a damp cloth for my face before he turned his attention to his own clothes. He could be so gentle when he wanted to be. It was strange, in the most wonderful way. He could tie me up, pin me down and spank me with just as much ease as when he brushed my hair or held me in his arms. I’d seen every side of him, and the way he embodied them all was fascinating.

He took my hand when he was dressed and lingered only long enough to drop a light kiss on my forehead before he led me out of the room and down the stairs. My hands trembled, but I kept steering my thoughts back to the task at hand—finding a way to get that man to help me. It was all that mattered.

11

Scarlett

We were down the stairs and across the house to the den in what felt like seconds. It was too fast. I needed more time. Except, looking around, there was no one here. Where was the man?

“I left him in the garage,” Derek said with a sexy grin, and my cheeks grew warm thinking what the man would have heard if Derek had brought him in the house when I was still tied to the bed and writhing in rapturous misery.

What difference would it have made? I thought glumly. That man had heard and seen everything in that dungeon.

“Ready, Scar?”

I nodded because I didn’t have any choice but to be ready.

Derek left me with a kiss while I stood, staring at the floor. The hardwood was dark, so dark I had to look closely to see the grain in the rich stain. Mahogany, I thought, but it was only a guess. The planks were narrow. Thousands of them ran together to cover the floor space, though the stairs to the sunken den broke up their continuity. I wasn’t sure when I had become so fascinated with flooring. I suppose after spending a great deal of time with my head lowered, there wasn’t much else to notice down here but the floors.

I heard two sets of footsteps returning. They moved almost in tandem, but just slightly out of sync. As they came closer, both sets slowed as if they were nearing a frightened animal and they were afraid of spooking it.

I was the frightened animal, I realized, and that was precisely what they were doing.

I saw Derek’s shoes first, and I felt the urge to kneel, but I didn’t. I wasn’t supposed to here. Besides, I somehow had to convince the other man I wasn’t a basket case. I took deep breaths and exhaled slowly, trying to ignore the way my heart pounded harder with every step the unfamiliar shoes took toward me. Thankfully, he stopped at least ten feet away. Derek kept coming though and I felt a little calmer when he was in front of me.

“Scar, this is Michael Ramos,” he said. He tilted my chin up, but to look at him, not the other man.

“Hello, Michael,” I said, still looking at Derek. That made it easier. But I couldn’t care about easy. Strong. Competent. That’s what I needed this man to see.

So, I forced my gaze across the room to where he was standing. He looked the same as he had that day. His short, messy-styled hair with just a few strands of grey at his temples, his handsome features and cautious expression. The same. Is that how he always looked? When he watched me on the monitors, is that how he’d looked?