Mercedes
Warmth moves over me. Something comforting. Something I want more of. Trapped in the clutches of my sleep, I lean into the feeling, soaking it in, wishing for more of it. How long has it been since I've found solace?
I can't remember. But it's here now, and it smells divine. Leather and spice and something so intoxicatingly unique, I can't stop myself from inhaling it. When I do, it gives me an instant rush, and I imagine this is what addiction must feel like. I've only taken one hit, but I want more. So much more.
A soft moan escapes my parted lips as the warmth spreads over my jaw and down my neck. Within the confines of my dream, it's safe to have these feelings. Nobody will ever know, and in the morning, I can pretend they never happened.
Only, after my visceral sound of appreciation, the warmth seems to freeze in place. Suddenly, it feels more tangible, and I find myself questioning my reality. I know I'm asleep, but I must be half-awake too. Is it a lucid dream? Or am I losing my mind?
The answer comes in the next breath when the familiarity of a rough voice invades my senses.
"Come on, little monster. It's time to wake up."
Horror washes over me as I come to my senses and realize I wasn't dreaming at all. The warmth I felt was Judge's hand gliding over my face. That hand was what I leaned into. That touch was what I moaned for.
Oh, dear God… I moaned for him.
A blast of heat floods my cheeks, and I'm grateful when he pulls away, but I also feel the loss immensely. Now he can surely see my face, see the embarrassment on the surface of my skin. It's too awful to consider.
In vain, I try to hold my breath. I try to sink back into stillness. Maybe if I can convince him I'm asleep, we can both forget this terrible event ever happened.
"I know you're awake." Amusement colors his voice. "You can quit faking now, Mercedes. Either open your eyes and get out of bed yourself, or I will drag you out and haul you to the stables naked. I can assure you it makes no difference to me."
My breath hitches at his threat, and I know this is not something I want to test him on. So far, clothing does not seem to be a luxury he wants to allow. He's in the habit of undressing me for reasons I can't entirely fathom. We both know he can't ever touch me. But does he want to?
I try to shove the thought from my mind as quickly as it enters. He gives me another shake, and reluctantly, I open my eyes and glance at the clock to see that it's only 4:30 a.m.
"What sort of fuckery is this?" I glance up at him in dismay. "I only went to bed two hours ago."
"That's not my problem," he answers coldly. "While you are under my roof, you will learn to keep a schedule. Your days of sleeping in are a luxury that will not be afforded to you in my care."
"Of course not," I hiss. "Because you get off on this. What kind of a sick person do you have to be to enjoy torturing others?"
"That's rich." He snorts. "Coming from you. Why don't you tell me this, little monster? What kind of sick person do you have to be to enjoy it?"
"Enjoy it?" I narrow my gaze on his infuriatingly handsome face and that smug expression I want to smack right off it. "There is not one thing I enjoy about your company. And from what I can tell, I'm not the only one. That's why you have to pay women to do your bidding. And if I were to venture a guess, it must be the same reason nobody ever sees you in the company of your own family. Even they can't stand you."
Almost immediately, I can tell I've gone too far with my observations. Storm clouds roll into his normally calm eyes, and the control he wears like armor seems to fracture almost instantly as his hand whips out and squeezes my jaw in his palm.
"Don't ever mention my family or presume to know anything about me. Do you understand?"
His voice shakes the room, and if I'm honest, staring him down like this is terrifying. I've never seen Judge come uncorked. But a small, twisted part of me also gets a secret thrill knowing I've pricked a nerve with him.
That same part of me relishing in the small victory also wants to know his limits. How far can I push him? At what point will he truly snap?
The broken part of me understands these are important details. I need to know how far he'll go, as painful as it might be. I need to have a full grasp on how badly he can hurt me so I know how to prepare for it in the future.
So despite the fact that I’m shaking, I steel myself in his grasp and stare down the beast inside him.
"What's the matter, Judge? You can't swallow the taste of your own medicine? Is it too bitter?"
When he doesn't answer, I go on, trudging into a territory I know we might never come back from.
"Is it mommy issues? Is that it? Is that why you like to exert your power over me? Or was it someone else? They say the apple doesn't fall far from the tree. Are you taking a page out of daddy's book, or perhaps even your grandfather?"
His nostrils flare, his grip on me tightening to the point of pain. I know I'm throwing salt in the wound. It hasn't been that long since his grandfather passed, something that's common knowledge in The Society. But for a moment, I think it doesn't matter. He knows what I'm doing, and Judge has always displayed an eerie ability to remain calm in almost every situation I've seen him in.
Some of the tension in my body ebbs away when he releases my face from his grip, and I prepare myself for a biting remark. But that isn't what I get. Without warning, he lunges toward me, and my instinct is to flee. I scramble backward, getting tangled in the bedding, and he captures me far too easily. For the first time, real fear streaks through me as he pins me to the bed and climbs astride my torso, locking me in place between his muscular thighs.