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His lips curve into a tight smile. "Good. Now say it and this will be over."
I can't. No matter how much my brain screams at me to say stop, I can't.
With his eyes pinned to mine, he shouts, "Permission for the microphone, not just video footage."
My stomach churns. I glare at Riggs.
Papi replies, "Granted."
Riggs once again orders, "Say the safe word."
I blink hard, trying not to cry, yet unable to end what's about to happen.
Riggs traces my collarbone and continues, "Permission to use the footage however I want, outside the club."
My insides quiver. My breathing turns shallow, and the stale air never leaves my lungs.
Papi repeats, "Permission granted."
Riggs crosses his arms, commanding, "Say the safe word or assume the position for your punishment."
My mouth turns dry, and I open it, but once again, nothing comes out.
He purses his lips, arching his eyebrows, daring me to say it.
I swallow hard. My throat feels like it'll crack from the lack of moisture, and I square my shoulders. I cross the stage, stand on the X, and focus on the back wall so I avoid the eyes of the other members.
The lights dim further, or maybe it's my eyesight from staring for so long as my pulse pounds between my ears. Then the grinding of metal agitates my senses further as a pewter contraption lowers from the ceiling and a bench rises from the floor.
Riggs steps behind me, slides his palm over my hip, and tugs my hair so my head rests on his shoulder. His lips graze my ear, and new tingles shoot through my spine. He asks again, "Why did you wear your collar and come here without me?" He moves his thumb to the front of my thigh, caressing my skin until I shudder and close my eyes.
"Answer me, pet," he gently prods.
I stare at the ceiling, the high of having his body against mine rushing through me, wanting to tell him how I can't stand the thought of not wearing a collar because it keeps me as his. Yet I can't find the words, nor do I want to admit this to a roomful of strangers.
He softly chuckles in my ear, stating, "There's my defiant little pet."
I shift my gaze to try to glance at him, but he holds me firmly.
He asks, "Remember when Aria stared at you, taking her punishment?"
The anger I feel toward his close relationship with her flares. I hate her name on his lips, yet my cells also buzz with excitement. Still, I stay quiet.
"Answer me," he orders.
"Yes, I remember, Sir."
He takes a deep breath and kisses the curve of my neck. He declares, "Punishment time." He traces my slit, then orders, "Lie on the bench." He pushes my thong over my hips and it falls at my feet. He releases me, steps back, and the cold air hits my back.
I obey his command, lying down and grabbing the legs as Aria did.
He crouches in front of me and shakes his head. "No, pet. It's not going to happen like this."
"I-I don't understand, Sir," I reply, confused.
He rises, reaches for something, then yanks a chain from the ceiling.
My heart pounds against the bench, unsure of what's happening.
