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His face hardens. More time passes until my chin quivers against his palm. Then arrogant satisfaction erupts on his sharp features. In a haunting voice, he states, "You don't belong in this club without me." His eyes drop to my collar. Anger and hurt fill his expression, and he lifts his blues, locking them on mine.
Anticipation flares, and I inhale sharply.
He reaches for the platinum choker and slides his fingers under the metal, gripping it so it's tight against my neck. He tries to keep his voice steady, but I hear the emotion as he accuses, "Did you plan on allowing someone else to play with you, pet?"
"No!" I blurt out.
Daggers fly from his eyes.
I correct myself, saying, "No, Sir."
He purses his lips together, tugging on the choker, positioning my face in front of his. The scent of woody spice laced with orange peels assaults me, escalating the throbbing I can't stop. He speaks louder, "Who do you belong to?"
"You, Sir," I reply.
He grits his teeth. "Then why did you wear this to come here without me?"
I stay quiet, pondering how to answer him.
Rage grows on him, swirling with the pain I seemed to have caused him. It adds to the tiny hint of fear I always feel. It's comforting and disturbing all at the same time.
I reiterate, "I only belong to you, Sir."
My answer doesn't seem to appease him. He snarls, "Yet you wore this here without me."
"I-I..." I exhale an anxious breath, trying to come up with the words to express my thoughts.
He doesn't give me time to figure it out. He jumps to his feet, slides his hands under my armpits, and pulls me off the ground. He fists my hair, tugs my head back, and leans over my face.
Heat spikes in my veins. My heart pounds frantically. I squeeze my thighs together and hold my breath.
He seethes, "Your actions speak louder than words, pet."
I open my mouth to reply, yet nothing comes out.
He declares, "Punishments exist for pets who wander off."
"I haven't ever—"
He puts his hand over my lips. He continues staring at me, calling out, "Permission to record the session, Papi."
My stomach flips. All the recordings of me he sent my father blaze in my mind. Will Riggs send more footage to further destroy him, and thus me?
"Permission granted," Papi answers.
"Riggs—" I try to speak from behind his palm.
He leans into my ear and states, "Rule six, pet. Either use your safe word or walk over to the X on the floor, face the crowd, and wait for me." He points to the middle of the stage and gives me a challenging stare.
A million thoughts race in my mind about what he could do with the video. All of them hurt me. The longer I look at my husband, the more our reality shines.
He releases me and taunts, "Say the safe word, pet."
I lift my chin, scared of what he might do but unable to say it.
"What's the safe word? Assure me you remember it," he demands.
"It's stop," I answer.
