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As hard as I try to conceal my frustration, I know that the rage behind my eyes is obvious. Why does he want this to be as painful as possible?
“Listen, if you just get me out of the house every once in a while, I’ll make sure to stay out of trouble. It’s not right for my father to have me locked up in the house all the time. Even you can agree with that, I’m sure,” I say, making a final plea for escape.
He sighs heavily, losing his resolve against my barrage of unsuccessful conversation starters. Hehasto be going insane from boredom, even if he spends half his time leering at me when he thinks I’m not paying attention. That has to have some entertainment value to him in some capacity, but I can feel the walls closing in the longer we’re forced to sit in silence.
“You know what? Fine, we can go out today. Anywhere you want. But the second you start giving me issues, we’re leaving. I’m not about to get bossed around by a girl in public just because your dad is paying me. Understand?”
His sudden authoritative tone startles me after so much apathy and indifference. I straighten my back, feeling embarrassed that I would give him even a crumb of respect automatically like that. I’d hate for him to get the impression that he’s the one in charge here.
“Um, okay, but I need to change first. I can’t go out wearing this,” I stammer, grasping for an excuse to leave his watchful eye for even a few minutes. My outfit is fine, but I feel compelled to put on something more revealing just to make his job even more difficult.
Nodding as he rolls his eyes, he leaves the room to give me the rare luxury of privacy. I already know what I’m going to wear - a clingy, thin sweater with no bra and a short red skirt, just like the one I was wearing when he tied me to the bedpost. He seems to have a particular attraction to them, and the easy access makes it even more tempting.
Not only does it make the men that I’m out with want to fuck me, it makes the menaroundus want to fuck me, too. When a stupid, simple man sees someone else looking at a woman that he wants, he gets so angry and restless that he nearly self-destructs. I’d love to see how long it takes for Dominik to get to that point. He doesn’t seem particularly smart, at least not yet.
Would I actually let him touch me in the back of the car? Probably not, at least not any time soon. If sex is what he wants, I’m going to tease him relentlessly until he caves and gives me whatever I want. If he’s going to be a stubborn asshole about not giving me space, I’m going to make it as difficult as possible.
I slip the sweater over my naked breasts, pinching my nipples a bit to make them protrude through the fabric more. The skirt hugs my body perfectly, just long enough to cover my ass and pussy while being short enough to give a little peek if I sit the right way. I’ve worn this skirt on nights when I used to sneak out to bars, and I always loved the attention and free drinks I got from guys who I had no intention of sleeping with.
I’m not sure why or when it started, but I’ve always enjoyed disappointing a man. They always have such high expectations for every woman that they meet, especially if they find her sexually attractive. They think that if I look good and they like it, then I need to give them a blowjob. If they purchase something for me, another blowjob. Sex is so transactional and devoid of purpose when men want it first.
He’s just like any other man, horny and stupid enough to let his urges distract him long enough for me to sneak away. Isaac was the same, and I doubt there’s anything about Dominik that makes him impervious to his desire for my body. All men love to pretend that they’re stronger than the next, or that they’re smarter, but no man will deny being horny for someone like me. None of them have enough dignity for that.
Every time I leave my room, I have to knock on the door to signal that I’m ready to exit. I’m not allowed to just open the door. That would be far too much responsibility for me, according to my father. I could run right out! Having such an unruly daughter must besoexhausting for him.
When I knock, Dominik opens the door, and his eyes are immediately drawn to my breasts. Damn, is it really going to be this easy? He didn’t fight the urge to look at all. It’s almost disappointing. Watching them struggle is half the fun for me.
“Are you sure you want to wear that? You might get cold,” he says, reluctantly drawing his eyes back up to mine.
“I don’t get cold, I’m Russian,” I tease, intentionally brushing my shoulder against him as I exit the doorway.
He rolls his eyes again as I pass him, and I’m not sure if he meant for me to see him or if he thought he was being subtle. I can tell that his patience is already fleeting and thin, so tempting it to the very edge will be more fun than I expected it to be. I wonder how long it’ll take for him to quit.
He’d never shout at me in public unless he wanted my father to shoot him in the back of the head, but I do want to see how angry he gets before he loses his shit.
When we make our way down the stairs, I step directly in front of him to ensure that he’s seeing me as much as possible. I need to get him worked up long before we get into the city. He needs to be rock hard by the time we stop for coffee.
He follows me, and I can feel his eyes all over my ass and back where he wishes he could grab me. I wonder what it’s like to want something that you can’t haveso badly.It must be torture.
But I’m not the one being tortured, so why do I give a shit?
4
DOMINIK
I’ve been able to make a few observations about Mika, and they’re details about her that I’m certain she’d be mortified for me to know.
For example, she swings her hips when she walks in a way that appears just a bit too intentional. It gives me the impression that she wants to project a sexual, mysterious persona that she doesn’t actually embody. She doesn’t carry herself like a woman with a long history of sexual exploration, but she wants me to believe that she is one.
Another thing I’ve noticed about her is that she uses a higher-pitched voice when she talks to me than when she talks to her father. The last guy who worked as her bodyguard was probably not as adept at analyzing someone’s quirks or characteristics, so I wouldn’t be surprised if she played him like a violin every chance she got.
Well, I hope she realizes it’s not going to work on me.
Remi’s mansion is just as any rich man’s house would be if he refused to listen to his wife at all—every surface wall-to-wall is hard, cold and unfeeling, which also makes it much easier to listen in on conversations happening across the house. The noise reverberates throughout the hallways easily, even if the speaker uses their lowest voice possible.
Because of this, I’m able to hear Remi speaking to somebody on the phone in the main living area as Mika and I walk towards the front door. He’s got such a loud voice that he constantly sounds like he’s yelling, which makes him difficult to ignore even if I wanted to.
This time, though, he’s talking about Mika. I can hear her name being mentioned throughout the conversation.
