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I shake my head. “No, you do it.” I don’t want to see the tightness on Markus’s face when he tries to hide his reaction to the things Grigory does to me, and I don’t want him to see the blush on my cheeks when the memories of Grigory’s special brand of sadism flicker through my mind.
He studies me a moment longer, then nods. “Okay. It might be better like this, anyway.” He pushes a stray lock of hair behind my ear and offers me a careful smile. “Little subs shouldn’t be involved in such plans, anyway, right?”
I nod, and my lips tip up in a small smile that has Markus’s eyes lighting up in return.
“I really love you, Clara.” He draws me back into him, conveying the profoundness of his words in a tight grip. “And I’m glad that you can have those needs fulfilled with Grigory.”
“Thank you,” I say, pressing myself close to him as I suck up the intimacy. But it’s not without a residual feeling of unease.
***
The black Mercedes is already waiting at the curb when I come down to the street in the evening. The chauffeur rounds the car and opens the back door for me.
“Fräulein.” He greets me with the GermanMissand a tip of his hat.
A light tremble has taken residence in my hands, and my heartbeat speeds up when I feel Grigory’s eyes on me. It’s always like this when I see him, but the nervousness isn’t as fluttery as usual. It’s more tense—full of dread, really.
I slip onto the smooth leather and stare into the back of the passenger’s seat, my hands fidgeting in my lap.
“Give us a few minutes,” Grigory says to the chauffeur. His dark accent wraps around me in this strange mix of danger and comfort that makes my pulse beat a little faster even as my body calms.
The door shuts, and we’re alone, the air thick with tension. I expect him to pull me across the seat and into his arms, breaking this gnawing uncertainty, so when he lets me stay on my half, my anxiety ramps up.
A long moment passes before I can finally choke out the words I want to say. “I’m sorry.”
Another minute of silence drags on before it’s Grigory’s turn to speak. “What are you sorry for?”There’s a strange quality to his voice, so unlike him. Uncertainty.
“For safewording,” I mutter, my shoulders bunching up at the memory.
In one sudden swoop, Grigory has me sliding across the seat. Relief knocks the tension straight out of me, making me collapse forward into his lap with an intense need to bow to him in a display of submission.
Grigory rakes his hand into my hair, his fingers flexing against my scalp with some hidden emotion I can’t decode.
“Are you mad?” I ask, my throat tightening with emotion.
“God, no, Clara.” His fingers keep flexing against my scalp, his other hand curling around my arm in that firm grip that usually says he’s got me, but right now I’m not sure what it means. “Don’t ever apologize for using your safeword.” His hand clenches around my bicep. “Do you hear me?”
I nod in his lap.
“I’m sorry, Clara. I shouldn’t have called you a whore. That was taking it too far.” His hand leaves my hair, and I think it’s to rake it through his own. “You make it so damn hard to keep control. It just slipped out.”
“I liked it,” I mutter into his thigh, feeling very self-conscious at the admission.
“You did?” Grigory sounds confused, and when he lifts me by the shoulders, I see the confusion edged into his features. “Why did you safeword then?”
My chest lifts with a sharp inhale as I stare down and say, “I can’t stand Markus seeing me like that... Humiliated. Ugly.”
“You’re not ugly,devochka.” Grigory cups the back of my head gently, urging my attention back to him. “You’re so damn beautiful when you submit.”
I blink my eyes up and down between his suit jacket and his face. “You really think so?”
“Of course.Seeing you bend to my will is…” He shakes his head like he can’t find the words. “It’s the best damn thing I’ve ever seen.”
He closes his fist around my hair, and suddenly the energy shifts. Fire burns in his eyes, dangerous and wild. I struggle to breathe as the air thins, and that feral twitch of his nose is the last thing I see before he shoves me back into his lap.
I stare into the seat in front of me, eyes wide, pulse racing, heat pooling between my legs as my world becomes his—his dominance becoming my world.
He hooks his finger into the side of my mouth like he did yesterday, and I pant loudly, feeling utterly helpless. But I don’t feel ugly this time. I don’t feel anything but his power.
