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She meets my eye with a fresh stream of anger. She whispers, "Please don't do this."
I crouch down, tilt her head, and drag my knuckles over her cheek. "Don't do what, pet? Don't train you? Don't do everything in my power to keep you as mine?"
She closes her eyes.
I lean into her ear and assert, "This only works if you trust me. And listen. It's clear you've not heard a word I've said since we got together."
She inhales sharply, puts her hand on my arm, and insists, "I have."
"Have you?"
"Yes!" she cries out.
I shake my head. "In the last minute, you've broken rules one, two, and seven. And if you trusted me, nothing about this situation would bother you. You'd know that every action I take is carefully constructed for your benefit."
"This is cruel," she claims.
"Cruel is what happens if I lose you. And that will be your choice. Now, I'm going to rise. Decide if you're going to learn or if we should stop everything now. If you want to quit, I'll turn you over to the club and you'll remain under their protection until the year is up. You won't have to worry about your father or his men. You have my word. But I'll be damned if I take you to the club in a few weeks unprepared," I threaten and stand tall.
A moment passes, and I hold my hands out.
She hesitates, then slowly takes them.
"Good girl," I praise and pull her to her feet.
She sniffles.
I wipe her cheeks and question, "Do you remember what I asked Aria?"
Blakely pins her eyebrows together as if confused.
"Let me remind you. I'm not a Dom who plays around, pet. What I do, I do for you because you need it. Now, dig down and find that trust you had for me the night you signed an unread contract after I told you I'd own you."
She takes a few deep breaths, straightens her shoulders, and lifts her chin.
Pride sweeps through me. She's perfect in so many ways. Her confidence at this moment, whether she knows she has it or not, is something I've rarely seen. "Good girl," I commend her and give her a peck on the lips.
She tries for more, but I retreat, guiding her down the hall and into the playroom.
She gasps when we step inside.
I freeze, letting her take in the numerous pieces of sex furniture, wall of toys, floggers, paddles, and different restraints, as well as the fourteen-ringed, steel St. Andrew's Cross. Her eyes grow wider, and a flush creeps into her cheeks until her gaze rests on Aria, who's in the kneeling position in the middle of the room, head bowed. Blakely's body tenses again.
I slide my hand on her ass and murmur in her ear, "This time, learn from your punishment."
She looks at me in question.
I grip her waist, turn my head toward Aria, and boom, "Go pick a flogger, Flower."
Aria lifts her head, her green eyes practically glowing, and rises. She walks to the wall and chooses a black flogger, putting it next to her nose and deeply inhaling. The long, full-grain buffalo leather tassels are perfect for inducing different sensations. It doesn't surprise me she chose it. It's her favorite. She spins and waits.
I move Blakely behind the St. Andrew's Cross.
Her eyes widen, and she stares at me.
I command, "Spread your legs and arms so they're in line with the metal."
She arches her eyebrows.
