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“Jenica,” he said, his voice low and underlined with warning. “Are we going to begin this scene with a punishment, or are you going to do what I asked?”
He wasn’t even looking at me, yet he knew I hadn’t moved an inch.
Swallowing, I debated my options—obey or disobey.
The former seemed easier.
So I tugged at the zipper along my side to begin removing the dress.
I’d chosen sexy black lace to wear beneath, just in case I found someone to spend the evening with. Never in my wildest dreams had I imagined that someone would be Pierce.
But I was eternally grateful that it was him.
And that I’d worn this thong and a thin-strapped bra.
They were both mostly translucent, but with enough of an embroidered design to make the lingerie pretty.
“Good choice,” he murmured as he lifted up a bottle to read the label. He still wasn’t facing me, but I suspected he’d heard the rustle of fabric.
When I finished, I folded the dress and set it on the bench at the foot of the bed.
“Kneel for me on the rug,” Pierce said, still not looking at me. “Hands in your lap, just like Adalyn demonstrated. Head bowed.”
He set the bottle down and grabbed a glass, then started playing with the ice cube bucket.
For someone who had claimed to want me out of my dress, he didn’t seem all that interested in seeing the results.
Rather than question him, I moved to the only rug in the room—which happened to be near the bench at the foot of the bed—and carefully went to my knees.
The braided fabric smarted against my skin, making it an uncomfortable sensation. Somehow, the marble floors of the main room had felt better.
But I didn’t comment or complain.
Instead, I bowed my head and waited.
Pierce said nothing, his movements across the room all I could hear.
The clink of ice cubes against a glass.
The sound of liquid being poured.
The bottle being returned.
Silence.
I swallowed, the desire to lift my head nearly overwhelming my thoughts. But I suspected that would defeat the purpose of this pose.
My palms began to sweat, anticipation warming my veins. What is he doing? Is he looking at me right now? Is he still staring at his glass?
It took physical restraint not to look for him.
My knees began to protest, the rug biting into my flesh.
Don’t move. Don’t move. Don’t move.
Seconds turned into minutes.
He still hadn’t said a word. Did he leave the room?
