“Put it down there.” I point to a chair. I could give a fuck where she puts it but she needs specific instructions right now.
Once she’s set the coat down, she stands waiting.
“Go on. Everything off.” I sip my whiskey. Give her time to process.
She reaches back to unhook her bra and slowly slips the straps from her shoulders. She covers her tits as long as possible, but eventually, she has to let it drop. I wait, patient because watching her fight her inevitable submission is as arousing as seeing her naked. As imagining how her mouth is going to feel wrapped around my dick.
It takes her a full five minutes before she’s standing with her arms at her sides, her eyes on a point somewhere beyond my shoulder.
“You need a lot of prompting. Most women are more…enthusiastic.”
“Why don’t you go find one of those women then?”
“Good one.” I sip, studying her, then shrug a shoulder. “They’re a dime a dozen. But you, Cilla—Jones told me you go by Cilla, is that right?” I don’t wait for her to answer. “You will make the next month interesting.” I drink another swallow. “Now show me your pussy.”
She flushes red and it takes all I have not to laugh out loud. She strips off each stocking then slips her hands into the waistband of her panties and pushes them off, the swift movement angry. She balls it up and throws it at me.
“Happy?” she asks, folding her arms across her chest.
I catch her panties, bring them to my nose and inhale deeply. I let out a satisfied moan.
Her eyes go wide as she watches me. I guess she wasn’t expecting that. I’m a dirty fuck though. She’ll learn that soon enough.
I fold up the panties, tuck them into my pocket. I slide my gaze slowly to her pretty little pussy and examine it while she shifts on her feet.
“Hardly,” I say in response to her earlier question. I painstakingly drag my gaze back up to hers, rise, walk to stand an inch from her. Her hands splay out on my chest to stop me from coming closer. Our eyes locked, I close my fingers over her pussy making her gasp. I’m surprised at the moisture, at the scent of arousal coming off her.
But I don’t care about that just now. Now, I want her to heel.
I curl my fingers in the hair and tug. She winces, pushes at me.
“Do I need to teach you how to be respectful?”
She swallows. I squeeze.
“Do I?”
She shakes her head.
“Words.”
“No.”
I hold on a moment longer, then release her and step back.
“Good.”
When I walk to the side table to refresh my drink, she remains standing awkwardly where she is. I resume my seat and sip. She wipes at her reddened eyes.
“Now turn around.”
She does, and maybe she’s glad to hide her face, so it’s a win-win. I get a view of her gorgeous ass and she can hide from me when I give the next instruction.
“Spread your legs and bend over.”
Her hands fly to her face and I can just imagine the expression on it. I sip my drink and give her a minute before reminding her of our deal.
“Anything. Remember that? You said you’d do anything. Are you changing your mind?” I grin, imagining her mortification. “Bend over and show me everything.”
She continues to stand there, drops her arms to her sides. I think she’s going to do it, she’s building herself up, maybe giving herself a pep talk. What the fuck do I know? What the fuck do I care?
“Cilla.”
Her hands fist at her sides, knuckles going white, and slowly, she turns to face me, her green eyes narrowed to cutting slits.
“You’re a bully. You’re no better than some rapist in a dark alley.”
Everything changes in that moment. As soon as she utters that word, my vision goes red. I hear the pop of glass shattering, feel the sharp pain of shards slicing my hand, the liquor mixing with blood. She screams as I rise but strangely, my heartbeat hasn’t changed. It hasn’t accelerated. I’m calm. Controlled.
But at the same time, so completely out of control.
I take a step toward her and she takes off down the hall. I follow, stalking slowly, deliberately. She throws one look over her shoulder and slips into her room. I’m close though, so that when she slams the door, it bounces off the toe of my shoe.
She screams, backing away, stumbling, falling backwards on the floor.
“I’m not your whore!”
She scrambles up, frantically looking for something, anything she can defend herself with. But she’s no match for me. I’m about to drive that point home.
“You’re exactly my whore,” I say, each word deliberate. I wrap a hand around her throat, and, pressing her backward onto the bed, climb up to straddle her, trapping her thighs between my knees. I lean my face close to hers. I know what she sees in my eyes terrifies her. I see it.