Blyssful Lies (The Blyss Trilogy 2)

“Yes, Sir,” she softly replies, but with a nervous edge lining her voice. I smile amusedly, giving her a false sense of security. I wait her out, massaging every tight knot I can find until she relaxes completely. When I finally see her head loll to the side and her shoulders ease, I figure the Blyss has started to kick in. She rests the weight of her head in the palm of my hand, and I know she’s let her guard down.

Without warning, I thread my fingers into her hair, grabbing a fistful of blonde locks at the nape of her neck, and roughly jerk her head back. She lets out a loud yelp; her doe eyes bolt open wide, forced to meet mine, which I know must look wild.

Waves of turbulent anger roll off me. “You will not sully my reputation, Princess!” My deafening roar startles her, filling the silent room with terror while penetrating through the surrounding walls. “You need to understand who your master is,” I grind out through clenched teeth. I pause in my tirade, allowing my words to hang in the air. Then I watch as the gravity of the situation takes hold behind her distressed eyes and understanding begins to cascade over her body like a cold waterfall.

“Do I have your attention now? I give you an inch and you take a fucking mile. Your blatant lies portraying false ardor piss me the fuck off,” I growl, gripping her hair tighter as she winces in pain. “Did you really think you could get away with pulling the wool over my eyes? Did you actually think I was that stupid?”

She squeezes her eyes shut, but I have no plans to let her go until I have my say. Color begins to fill her cheeks as she begins panting with short, panicked breaths. I sneer as I grit out, “You see, when we introduce women into their new world, they go through what we call Hell Week, even though it usually only lasts a few days. They experience pure hell, so by the time they get to us; they think they’ve hit the lottery. It’s a fucking cakewalk in here compared to that. These women learn real quick what real fear is. They’re more than eager to please and obey by the time they reach us.”

Tears pool in the corners of her blue eyes and spill over. Good, I need to drive my point home. “I didn’t want that for my princess.” I shake my head. “No, I wanted to spare you from such a brutish experience. See? I can play nice.” An angry smile spreads over my lips, but it doesn’t reach my eyes; I only feel menacing anger at this point. “I can only reward you for your obedience. I hope you understand this, because I cannot let your disrespect go unpunished.”

Then I continue, “But now...now I can see it was the wrong thing to do. I’m man enough to take the blame for that poor decision. I sidestepped my own protocol, because I couldn’t wait to have you for my very own. Well, you’re going to get a glimpse of what the other side of hell tastes like, should you continue to defy me.”

Harshly, I release her hair and step back a moment. Letting the reality of the situation sink in, I watch as a few teardrops slide down over her cheek. “Tears are the joker wild, love; they’re kept in a stack of cards women pull out to play every damn time they get into trouble. They think dealing that particular hand grants them a free pass.” I shake my head. “Not here, sweetheart, wrong casino. You’re in the big leagues now.”

I signal to Justin with a snap of my fingers and stretch my hand out toward him. He already knows what I want. He hands me a large pair of sharp scissors, which glimmer and shine, giving off silver, threatening sheen under the bright lights. I clasp my hand around the metal, feeling the cool, solid material against my overheated skin. She shakes her head, panic evident in her voice as her eyes stay glued to the long-bladed scissors. “Are you going to kill me?”

I want to laugh at the absurdity of her question, but I keep my expression even keeled. “No, I’ve got too much time, money, and resources wrapped up in you. However, you might wish I had by the time I get through with you.” I bend down, come to rest on my knees, and slip the sharp, cutting edges of the scissors at the hems edging of her red gown. I begin cutting upward, slicing through the fabric with ease.

“No, please!”

I ignore her pleas as I continue to make my way up her dress, cutting through the expensive gown, sequins and all. I stop to slice through her black laced thong while I’m at it; might as well get those out of the way. The closer I get to her chest, the harder she sobs. Her chest is heaving so violently I have to be careful not to poke her with the sharp tips of the scissors. With one last snip at the top of her strapless dress, the gown falls to the floor in a swoosh and pools at her feet. I stand up and take a step back, taking in the exquisite beauty before me, breathing heavily myself.