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"Excuse me?"
"I said… take off the robe. I want to see what I bought and paid for."
I flinch like he slapped me. My head turns toward Agnes, but she makes it a point to look away. I blink rapidly, knowing I don't have anyone in my corner. No one by my side to save me if this goes south.
I knew the day would come when he would want to see all of me or what I look like without my clothes. I lower my head, focusing on the red wood on the floor, and undo the tie at my waist. The center of the robe opens, and I close my eyes and let it slide over my shoulders, hearing it pool around my feet.
I feel the cold air of the room blanket my skin, causing the tiny hairs on my arms to stand. My nipples harden, and it's not because I'm aroused but from the cold.
I open my eyes and raise my chin defiantly, staring at his mask, not caring anymore that he can see me as naked as the day I was born or that Agnes is in the room.
"That will be all, Agnes."
"Yes, Mr. Cross."
She leaves the room and closes the door with a muffled click. I can hear his audible breathing under the mask like he just finished running a marathon.
"Turn around."
I do as he asks, relieved to give him my back. "Why are you doing this?" I ask in a shaky voice.
His hand slides around my neck, wrapping his fingers around my throat and pulling me close to his warm chest, leaning close enough to my ear that I feel the smoothness of his mask on my skin. "Because I can." He pushes me toward the bed, and I place my hands flat on the mattress to keep from falling face-first. "Get on your knees and stick your ass out."
I turn my head, my hair tickling my elbows to see him with his head cocked, waiting until I can get on all fours. I place my knees on the bed like a dog, but I keep my head turned, watching him, feeling his eyes staring at my bare pussy and ass like I'm a piece of art he is studying.
I try to bring my knees together. "Stop," he snaps. "Keep them open." I try, but I'm wet. Him watching me like this is turning me on. I'm open to his gaze, and I can't see what part he’s looking at, but I feel his eyes everywhere. Every inch of my skin feels like it's being lit on fire.
I hear his boots on the wood floor when he steps forward and grips the globes of my ass, spreading them wide, and I gasp. "You're wet."
My elbows shake, keeping me from jutting my ass out more. Seeking what, I don't know. I think he likes his women in this position, or maybe he doesn't like what he sees. He fucks women from the mainland who are, according to Ciro, his friends. Maybe he doesn't like what he sees. Maybe he was curious or dreads having to sleep with me, and he’s trying to figure out how he’ll get through it.
Maybe he's in love with the dark-haired girl I have caught him with, and he is trying to figure out how to get through it to keep up the pretense of staying on the island by having to sleep with me.
But all the thoughts scrambling in my head pause when I feel the bed dip when he places his knee right behind me with my ass in the air. I whimper shamelessly when I feel my arousal leak down the insides of my thighs. The feel of his cock in his pants when he presses it against my pussy. His fingers dig in the skin at my hips, holding me tight against him while he grinds himself over my slit.
"Mmm, you feel that, Lillith? I think you're making a mess."
I feel my pussy throb against the pulsing of his cock through his pants.
"Tell me, are you horny, Lillith? Do you need to be fucked?"
I want him to fuck me. Hard. But I would never admit that to him. My pride won't allow it. I'm not like the women who spread their legs begging to be fucked by him. He already proved to me what and who he wants and that person is not me.
"No," I grit, trying to hold back a moan.
He pushes forward and rubs my sensitive flesh with the fabric of his pants. I close my eyes, struggling not to grind my hips, letting him know that my words are lies spilling from my lips.
Please, God.
He leans over, snaking his arm around me, and his fingers hold my neck. "Liar," he whispers. "I can tell by how wet you are that you want me to fuck you. I bet you want me to fuck you like I do my friends, but here's the thing between you and me, you’re not my friend. You're my wife, and you do what I say." He releases my neck and pulls my hair back hard enough so my neck arches. "Don't you ever take a man's jacket to keep you warm that isn't mine." He slides his other hand and cups my pussy from behind with his warm fingers. "This… is mine," he growls, releasing me and then pushing himself off the bed.
I turn into a sitting position on the bed, watching him adjust himself in his pants trying to make sense of what just happened. He was spying on me. He bends at the foot of the bed, and I see the robe being tossed in my face.
"What the hell, Kill?"
He stiffens, and in a menacing voice, he says, "Don't you ever call me Kill. Only my close friends call me that."
My bottom lip trembles, and I bite the inside of my lip to keep him from noticing. A surge of anger mixed with hurt filters inside my veins like I'm about to breathe fire aimed to burn. Fuck him.
