“You have a great ass,” he said, running a hand over her skin. “Show me what else I want to see.”
“Don’t, please.” Natalie shook her head. “You saw me—everything. You had to see. Who took off my clothes?”
He barely touched her shoulder, encouraging her to turn.
Flinching away, she spun, her loose hair landing upon her shoulders. With a steely expression, she faced him. What difference did it make? He’d obviously undressed her.
Silence prevailed as only his eyes moved up and down her body. Like his touch, his gaze was fire—a scalding hot poker raking her skin. Finally, he spoke. “Legs shoulder-width apart.”
Her eyes squinted in the dim light, as if seeing him clearer would give meaning to his words. “What?”
Dexter lunged forward.
Natalie gasped.
His hard body stopped inches away from hers as her chin became locked in his iron grip. Pulling her gaze to his, he said, “I’m running out of patience.” The ocean of his eyes was deep and murky. “I’ve waited for you to wake. I’ve waited for you to turn and show me what’s mine. I won’t wait again. Don’t ask me to repeat myself. You heard my instructions.”
When he didn’t release her chin, she slowly repositioned her feet, moving one and then the other.
“Hands at your sides, palms away from your thighs.”
She had reached up to his hold upon her chin, trying unsuccessfully to loosen his grip. It took conscious effort to make her hands obey, to untangle her grasp from his, lower her arms, and turn her palms out.
“Shoulders back and breasts out.” He made a show of stepping back and admiring her breasts. “I like them. They’re not large, but oh, the possibilities are limitless.”
Her eyes closed.
When he released her chin, it began to fall forward.
“No.” He lifted it. “You’re a proud woman. I don’t intend to change that.”
She audibly exhaled at the absurdity of his statement.
Dexter grabbed her hair and yanked it backward, causing her to wince. “Don’t do that. Don’t make assumptions. Don’t assume that I’m debasing you to make you less. When this part of our journey is complete, you’ll be more than you ever imagined.” Releasing her hair, he took a step back.
“Before I entered this room there was a noise, a buzzing sound. Did you hear it?”
“Yes.” She’d thought it was the pipes.
“When you hear that sound…” He tapped the floor with the toe of his boot. “…you’ll stand here, facing the door, offering yourself.” His gaze narrowed. “Do you need me to make an X?”
“No.” She wanted to make an X—on his chest and use it as a bull’s-eye.
“You’ll stand as you are right now. Legs parted so I can see your pretty pussy. Chest out, so I can watch your nipples bead. Hands at your side, surrendering yourself to me, and most importantly, your shoulders back and chin high. Do you know why?”
A tear fell from her eye. “No.”
He stepped closer, caressing her jawline as he’d done on the plane. “Because you may be my bug, my Nat, but you’re no one else’s. You’re a queen, no longer your daddy’s spoiled princess. A queen who’ll learn to appreciate the spoils of life. That understanding will give you a regal comprehension that others will see and respect.” His smile widened. “And a queen bows to only one person.” He walked around her, daring her to move from the position. One circle and then another. “Tell me, my queen, to whom do you bow?”
The answer was obvious; it was right there. But Dexter Smithers wasn’t her king. He never would be.
When she didn’t answer, he pushed her down, commanding her new position. “On your knees.”
The concrete floor bit into her knees. She fell forward, her hands extended, when all at once her head was yanked back by a fistful of her hair.
“No. Get off your hands. You aren’t crawling, not this time. Kneeling is like standing, only lower. You’ll assume the correct position.”
The tears fell faster. “I don’t know—”
Crouching down on his haunches, he secured her head back until their gazes focused upon only one another. “Have you knelt before another man?”
“No.” The word was choked with tears of both pain and humiliation.
“Never put a cock in your mouth?”
She shook her head. “No.” More tears.
“That’s it, bug…” He leaned forward and kissed her cheek, tasting the salty emotion. “…you saved the tears for me. I’m expecting many more.” He licked his lips. “They’re so good. Now, as with standing, knees spread…” He released her hair and using the toe of his boot eased her legs apart. “Back straight, sit back on your heels with your toes as your support.”
Without instructions, she rested her arms at her side and turned her palms up.
“Very good. Now tell me, which is a more comfortable position, standing or kneeling?”
She swallowed. “Standing. The floor is hard.”
“You didn’t turn when I told you. Where will you be the next time I enter?”
“Standing where you said…” Her heart ached, but the words came easily. “…how you said.”
Dexter nodded. “Good girl, but no. In the future, but not next time.”
Her eyes opened wide.
“I promised you punishment. This is it. You’ll remain as you are.” He looked up at the window, at the camera. “You already know that I can watch you. Don’t move, shift, or so much as readjust your pretty pink pussy. If you do, your next punishment will be worse, and the next one even worse, until it’s your blood I’m tasting instead of your tears.”
Her entire body clenched. He couldn’t possibly mean what he was saying. The concrete dug into her knees as her toes bent uncomfortably. She couldn’t imagine staying this way. “How long?”
Her stomach again rumbled.
Dexter smiled as he stood. “I almost forgot.”
The buzz filled the air as he walked behind her. She was facing the bed, but the warm air entering the room told her the door was open and that it was warmer beyond the doorway. If only she could turn and look, but just as quickly, Dexter was back, carrying a tray.
“I’d planned to discuss so much more, all my expectations and rules for our relationship. I’d planned to do that over coffee and pastries. They really do make amazing baked goods here. The Sachertorte is my favorite.” He removed the cloth napkin, uncovering a tray.
The aroma of coffee and rum-infused cake replaced the musty air. Like Pavlov’s dog, her mouth watered.
Dexter set the tray on the bed, turned over one of the cups and poured rich, warm coffee from the decanter. Bringing the cup to his lips, he hummed. “It’s too hot, but the mug feels nice and warm.” He sat the mug on the tray. The plate was filled with Sachertorte, a famous Austrian cake.
Did that mean they were in Austria? Or did they serve that in Germany?
Natalie couldn’t think as her lips parted in a silent plea and her fingers ached to touch the warmth of the cup.
“I had plans, bug. Plans that you decided weren’t to your liking. Plans you sabotaged by disobeying.” He poured the second mug. “This would have been yours.” He shrugged. “I suppose technically it still is.”