The Mistress ✓

10

What seemed like such a bold and defiant act now seems like a childish prank, and my inner self-talk takes a 180-degree turn. Screw not showing fear; now's the time to beg. She's going to kill me.

But my mouth doesn't receive the orders sent by my brain and it opens, spilling out words I didn't plan to say "You didn't give me any instructions. The note said a driver would collect me at nine. That was it."

Her dark eyes flash. "You don't strike me as stupid enough to miss the implication of thirty grand worth of clothes on top of the note."

Thirty grand. Holy shit.

Again, words fly from my mouth without my permission. "That better not get added to the debt."

One corner of her lips quirks up in what would appear to be a smirk from anyone else, but from her, I don't know what to call it except chilling.

She releases my hair and takes a single step back. "Bend over. Fingertips to your toes."

"What?" I blurt out the question, my shock evident in my tone.

Rihanna's expression hardens. "I don't repeat myself for anyone."

I squeeze my eyes shut, desperately to break her stare. What did I think was going to happen? She'd whisk me from this gorgeous library to a bed where she'd make love to me and make sure I came? Something my asshole of a husband didn't bother to worry about 98 percent of the time.

"Do not make me wait."
The words come slowly but still carry the crack of a bullwhip.

I swallow any reply and bend over, touching my fingertips to my blood-red toenails.

Blood red. It reminds me of the woman she made dance on glass.

Instead of fingers or some other appendage being jammed inside me, a soft fingertip drags along every letter I had inked onto my back.

"Property of no Bitch. Is this permanent?"

"No," I whisper. "It's henna."

"Good, because we both know your ass belongs to me, and I'd hate to have to remove each letter from your back."

The implication that she'd carve them off with a knife is there, but she doesn't voice that piece.

Thank you, Delilah and that guy from Voodoo Ink. I probably owe you my life right now.

On that ridiculous thought, I start to rise, but Rihanna's smooth palm flattens on the small of my back with enough tension to push me back into position.

"I didn't tell you to move. The faster you learn that you do what I say, the easier this will be for you." Wry humor enters her tone. "Hell, you might even enjoy it."

Rage, like the kind that pushed me in every action before she entered the room, fills me again. "Rape? Who enjoys that?"

Her touch is gone from my skin as quickly as it came, leaving behind nothing but the heat from her skin.

"Stand up. Face me."

She barks out the orders and I follow them, finding the courage to meet her gaze. If I thought I felt rage, the same emotion is mirrored in her eyes.