“I gotta go,” a deep voice says. I open my eyes again, searching for the voice. Bric is here. “It’s New Year’s Eve and there’s a lot of shit to do before the party.”
He’s buttoning his shirt. Almost dressed. I just stare at him as he reaches for his tie. What in the ever-loving fuck is he doing here? There’s no way I was drunk enough to bring him home. Not like a… a date or a one-night stand. Or, God forbid, a relationship.
I do not bring men home with me after a party. Not even Bric.
He finishes with his tie and goes for the coat, shrugging it over his broad shoulders and adjusting his collar. It’s wrinkled as all hell. And he’s got dark circles under his bloodshot eyes. He looks like I feel.
“Do you want me to pick you up? Or just come by?”
I have no answer for that. Because I don’t know what he’s talking about.
“Be there before nine then. We lock everyone in at nine.”
And then he walks over to me, leans down, and gives me a kiss.
A goodbye kiss, I realize.
“I hope you’re not planning on going back on our deal, Nadia. I gave you control last night. We did it your way, inside your world. It was fun.” He shrugs. “But now I get to have it my way. And we do it inside my world.”
“Yeah,” I croak out. My throat is dry and thick and that’s all I can manage.
“Good.”
He walks out. I hear the jingle of his keys, then the small squeak of the front door. The click as he closes it behind him.
“What the fuck did we do last night?” I say it as I attempt to sit up, but my head is fucking spinning.
Then I remember the brandy. A whole bottle of brandy. As if on cue, I see the empty bottle sitting on my nightstand. It’s bejeweled with sterling silver and crystal. A collector’s item decanter and not really a bottle, which is probably why we brought it home with us.
“Yuk,” I say, trying to get some moisture in my mouth as I get up, walk into my bathroom, stick my mouth under the tap, and gulp water.
I stop drinking when my stomach feels like a water balloon and drag the back of my hand across my face. Stare at myself in the mirror.
I’m naked. So yes, I brought him home and fucked him in my bed.
I glance at it, appalled.
My pussy is sore. My tits ache and there are bruises on them. Little fingerprint-shaped bruises. My hair is a tangled mess of darkness that mimics my eyes. I’m pale, and skinny, and not at all attractive.
I remember letting Chad, Matt, and Kevin play with me at the table. Bric’s attentive glare taking us in as I made them get me off. Then I remember Bric pushing them aside and bending me over and holding my face against the wood as he fucked me from behind.
The rest of the night… dancing? Drinking, obviously, and more fucking. Which I do not remember.
I crawl back into bed, pulling the soft fluffy blanket around my body, glad it’s cold in here because I feel hot. And then pass back out.
Sometime later my phone wakes me dinging a text.
Jordan.
Sending a package. Open the fucking door.
I realize someone is knocking at the door. Probably has been knocking at the fucking door for a while and I didn’t hear them, which is why Jordan needed to text.
I drag myself out of bed, pull a robe around me, and stumble out to the front room. I don’t look at myself in the hall mirror—I can only imagine it’s worse than the last time. I pull the door open.
“Delivery,” the guy says, looking pretty pissed off. “Sign.”
I sign his clipboard and he reaches down to pick up a large black box with a white bow. Hands it to me. I don’t have a tip, but he knows this. I’m in a fucking robe. So he says, “I’ve already been tipped. Enjoy your package.” And then he turns away and walks down the hallway.
My phone rings in the bedroom and I know this is Jordan, so I get my shit together and run, almost fall on my face when I stumble over a rug, and catch it before it goes to voice mail. “Hello?” I say, breathless and disheveled.
“I’m picking you up. Bric thinks you’re going to stay home and you two made a deal. I heard all about last night, Nadia.”
“Yes…” And then I realize we’re in character. “Sir,” I finish.
I can feel him smile on the other side of the phone. “You’re going to need those manners tonight. Bring them with you.”
“Are you going to be there?”
He’s silent.
“Sir,” I add, rolling my eyes.
“Of course I’m going to be there. I’m playing the game, aren’t I?”
I wasn’t sure, asshole. I was just asking a simple fucking question. But I don’t say any of that out loud. Instead I say, “What time would you like me ready, sir?”
“Eight-thirty. Be dressed and downstairs. I don’t want to come up. And Nadia, wear the capelet I bought you for Christmas.”
Jerk. “Yes, sir—”
But before I can finish I get hang-up beeps.
How is this my life? Any of it. Well, besides the dancing. I don’t even remember having fun last night and I know I’m sure as hell not going to have fun tonight. They’re going to boss the hell out of me. It’s not going to be anything like the other night when they softened me up with that massage. It’s going to be humiliation to the extreme.
So don’t go, a little voice says in my head. Stop all of this. Put it behind you. Let go of the past and start over.
I would. It’s a good idea. But I can’t.
Because I like it.
I like when Jordan forces me to obey him. Not because I want to submit, but because he expects me to fight about it. He expects me to rebel. He expects me to be bad.
I am bad.
And that makes me smile.
I go back out into the living room and pick up the package. It’s heavy and big.
The box is glossy black and the ribbon is smooth white satin. I set it down on the couch and pull the bow, making it fall apart and puddle into a soft heap.
Then I whisk it aside, lift off the lid, and peel back the white tissue paper.
The gown is exquisite. I know this before I even pick it up and lift it out.
Silver, with elegant beading down the middle of the deep v-neck of a sheer bodice. My tits will show through. My nipples will push against the thin mesh, peaking and eager. They will probably be pinched.
My hand goes to one. It’s already sore from last night. Tonight they will use clamps, I bet. But I have tomorrow off, is all I think about that. I will have a day to recover from whatever they have planned.
I check the time and realize it’s late already. Almost five o’clock. So I run the bathtub, making the water as hot as I can stand to bring some pink life back to my pale skin, and soak in soft bubbles. This tub is so big, three people could fit in it. I wonder if I will ever get Bric and Jordan in here with me?
And I feel stupid. Because… Bric. In a tub. Ridiculous.
When I’m done I take a long time to dry and brush my hair, blowing it out perfectly straight and glossy. I will leave it down tonight. So they can pull it.
And then I start on my make-up. I go light. Silver accents on my eyelids, black lashes, and a blush of pink on my cheeks.
I’m glowing again. Last night’s abuse already behind me.