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That's when I realize that he has placed candles on stands and in a circle around a flat table in the center of the room. There is enough space between the candles for someone to walk through. He lights another candle, then another. He doesn’t stop until all the candles are lit. The light falls over the table which has a padded surface like it’s intended for someone to lay down on it. I glance up at the walls, take in the painting on one side—a woman surrounded by flames. There’s something haunting about her face. I walk closer to study her features. Her eyes are half closed, her mouth open, her head thrown back in the throes of—
"—ecstasy," he murmurs, his voice right behind me again.
I jump, press my hand to my chest, "You need to stop scaring me like this."
"You need to actually start trusting me like you say you do."
I toss my hair over my shoulder, then turn away to stare at the opposite wall on which hangs a paddle, a rope, a whip, and some other device which looks like a spreader. A spreader? I scowl. It would lock around the ankles and force the person on whom it is being used to spread their legs.
"Oh," heat flushes my cheek, "this is your—"
"Now, not-so-secret room."
I turn to face him, "Is this where you bring your women?"
"Yes."
I bite the inside of my cheek. Why did I expect him to say anything else? Of course, he has had lots of women, but to bring them here to his house? Why had I thought that I was the first person he’d brought here?
I turn to leave and he grabs my wrist, "Where are you going?"
"Back to my room."
"Our room."
"I am going to sleep in one of the guest rooms. Surely, you must have guest rooms in this space."
"You are my wife; you sleep in my bed."
"So you can fuck me?"
"Do you want me to fuck you?"
I hesitate.
"You’re a terrible liar, so don’t even try," he warns.
I swallow, not sure what to say. I glance down at where his fingers are curled around my wrist, then back at his face.
"I—" I open and shut my mouth. I can’t bring myself to say it. "I—" I try again, then shake my head.
He releases my wrist, only to nod toward the padded table, "Get on it."
"Excuse me?"
"You heard me." He folds his arms across his chest, "On the table, Sunshine."
I turn to leave when he snaps, "Now."
I pause. Damn it, I hate it when he uses that tone of voice. When I can’t disobey him. When everything in me insists that I do as he says. I do hate that, right?
"Theresa," he warns me.
I blow out a breath, then stomp over to the table and heave myself onto it. I fold my arms across my chest, mirroring his stance. "Happy?" I huff.
"Part your legs," he commands as he walks over to stand in front of me.
"Wh…what?" I blink.
