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“Looks like the princess is finally awake,” Adrian mocks as he steps out of the bathroom with only a towel around his waist. With a small gasp, I cover my eyes and look away. The bastard chuckles like it’s funny. “No need for such modesty,malen’kaya mysh’. You’ve already felt every inch of me.”
“Doesn’t mean I want to see it,” I gripe, making sure to keep my head turned away and my eyes closed. Just in case. He chuckles again and I hear the familiar sound of the closet opening to my right. I hear some rustling and then the sound of the closet closing.
“You can open your eyes now, little virgin,” he laughs. “I’m dressed.”
I slowly turn my head, cracking open one eye just in case he is lying to me. A sigh of relief escapes when I see him fully dressed in suit trousers and a white button-down. He turns to grab something from the dresser and then dumps it on the bed in front of me.
“Get dressed,” he orders me, the amusement at my perceived prudishness fading. “We’re going out.”
If that isn’t a red flag, I don’t know what is. My hand hovers over the box, uncertain and afraid.
“Out?” I ask. “Where?”
He scoffs as he puts on his tie.
“Do you honestly believe that I owe you some kind of explanation, Vanya?” he sneers arrogantly. I don’t push any further because I can see the unhinged look in his eyes that is just begging to punish me again. Grinding my teeth, I lean forward and pull off the lid and pull back the black tissue paper inside.
My eyes round as I stare at the dress inside.
If you can call it a dress.
It’s blood red, thin, and so short it resembles more of a top than a dress. Oh, hell no. There is no fucking way I am wearing this. I pick it up, the fabric feels cheap in my hands. Beneath the dress is a pair of black heels that look as if they will crack my ankles the moment I put them on.
What the fuck?
“I’m not wearing this,” I tell him, dropping the items back into the box. “If you want a hooker, I recommend heading down to the Strip. They’re a dime a dozen and certainly more your speed.”
Adrian tilts his head and studies me. His face is blank, unreadable until suddenly he is pulling me from the bed by my hair. I claw and scratch at his hand as I attempt to kick him, but my feet are tied up in the blankets.
Once my feet are firmly on the ground he yanks my head back, his hand grasping my chin and forcing my gaze to his. I can see the fire slowly building within the black depths. His touch sends electricity skating up my skin.
Fucking hussy. He is selling us, remember?
My body and vagina don’t seem to give a shit.
“You either wear the dress,” he threatens with a low growl, enunciating every word. “Or I can walk you out of this house naked. Either way is good with me.”
Seriously?
I’m half tempted to call his bluff, but the thing with Adrian is this—he doesn’t bluff. I know him well enough to know he will follow through on his threat and enjoy every moment of my discomfort and humiliation.
Biting back my pride, I jerk my head in a nod and he lets go of my hair.
“Good girl.”
Ugh, fuck that phrase, and fuck my body for responding to it. I need a shit ton of therapy.
Grabbing the box, I scoot around him to go into the bathroom to change. Adrian has other plans.
“You can change right here, little mouse,” he orders. “I’ll give you five minutes before I put you in that dress myself and if I do, I’ll be expecting something for my troubles.”
Tyrant.
Dictator.
He’s phrasing it like I have a choice, but there is no real choice here. They’re nothing but thinly veiled threats tied up in a pretty bow. Fine. He wants a show, I’ll give him a show.
Tossing the box to the floor, I slip the sundress I am wearing over my head and throw it at him. He just smirks, holding the fabric to his nose and sniffing like a pervert. Another thing my body responds to. Great.
