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“Are you sure?” He closes the space between us as he asks the question. Before I get a chance to even think about how to answer, he’s kissing me.
His hand goes around my back, pulling me close to him. His tongue slides into my mouth so possessively, it’s like he owns me, like he’s always owned me.
I want to fight back, push him away, tell him this isn’t happening.
I don’t do anything. I can’t do anything. My body is betraying me, melting in his embrace, my mind shifting to the things on the shelves.
Is he planning to use any of those things on me?
He pulls away at last, leaving me staggering. “You sure you want to leave?” he asks.
“Yes,” I reply, turning away and heading for the door. It’s too much for me to take. I can’t handle this. Not for my first time.
“You’re going nowhere,” he says, grabbing my wrist and spinning me around. “For you to convince the world that you are my wife, you must not just act like a submissive. You must become a submissive. You must obey my word without question or thought. For the next month, you will learn how good it feels to let go of all those questions whirling around your mind right now.”
I shake my head. “You’ve no idea what’s going on in my mind.”
“I know you fear this room but it intrigues you. I know you want me but you’re too scared to admit it. I know more about you than you realize. In this space you will be safe to discover who you are. I know you want to submit to me, I can see it in your eyes.”
“You don’t know me,” I snap, turning away and again heading for the door.
He gets in front of me, blocking my passage. “Get out of my way,” I snap.
“Answer me one question and then I’ll move.”
“I’m not playing games with you.”
“One question. Just one.”
I sigh heavily. “All right. One question. What is it?”
“Do you know how many people I’ve brought down here before?”
“How many?”
“None. There have never been any women I felt anywhere near close enough to. I could not share this space with anyone until I was certain they would appreciate it. I’ve been preparing it for years, waiting for the right woman. You are the right woman, Ophelia. You know that, in your heart.”
“You asked your one question. Now out of my way.”
He looks like he might not. Then he nods, stepping aside. I pull open the door and march up the stairs, feeling more like myself again when I get into his study. I’m about to head out out of it when I stop, looking back behind me. He’s not coming up.
I could walk out of the house. But where would I go? We’re in the middle of nowhere.
I could find his servants up on the top floor or wherever they’re hiding. Someone would call the police for me.
But what would I tell them? I was shown a room and then left it. Not exactly a crime, is it? I could tell them he’s in the mafia but what proof do I have? Nothing. I have no proof of anything at all.
I feel furious but as I stand perfectly still and look down the stairs a realization washes over me. I’m not angry at the idea of him locking me in. What I’m furious about is that he read me so well. I hide all my feelings so no one can guess them. Apparently, he didn’t get the memo.
Because the truth of the matter is that I do want to submit to him. I do want him to show me what all the things are in that room down there.
I sit down on the nearest chair, my heart thumping in my chest, my throat dry. A shadow falls over me. He’s looking at me from above, a mixture of compassion and anger visible in his face, like he’s fighting an inner battle between two opposing versions of him.
Same as me.
I want this but I’m scared. I want to leave, I want to stay. Which part of me is going to win?
“What’s the matter?” he asks. “Something is troubling you and it’s nothing to do with the room, is it?”
