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Perfect…
I picked up the colloidal serum and opened the lid. A silver drop trickled into my palm before I touched it with my fingers and leaned close to the mirror, spreading it across my cheekbones and watching the glimmer sink in. “Oh, shit, that’s fucking nice.”
I pulled backwards, eyeing the gorgeous shine as I turned my head this way and that. “No.” I lowered my hand, shaking my head. “Just no. I’m not using this, not playing his fucking game.”
Be smart about this…I stared at my reflection, then shifted my gaze to the locked bedroom door behind me. I wasn’t getting out of here. It was that simple. No matter how much I hated it.
Wear the makeup.
Wear the clothes.
But make sure I remain in control.I glanced at the camera above me...
That incensed look in his eyes when he'd had me on the bed returned to my mind. I was the one in control here. I was the one he wanted…
He could force me.
But would he?
My pulse thundered…no, I didn’t think he would. He wanted this game, wanted me…yielding.
I licked my lips. Yeah, that’s what he wanted. Me on my fucking knees.
I turned back, my focus drifting to the foundation that had the gold undertone for my skin and set to work…making myself beautiful. My past trickled in, the same hurt…the same sense of abandonment. This was just another one of those times, the same rejection. The same fucking power play.
But that game I was well versed in…
I could play, just as well as he could.
Dark, smoldering eyes, the highlight of bronze against golden skin high noon my cheekbones. I yanked open the cupboard, found a hairdryer, and set to work, rubbing product in and blowing the strands out until they were sleek and shining. “It’ll do,” I murmured. “It’ll do.”
Control slipped in as I made my way back to the bed. It wasn’t a trickle, or a rush. It was jagged and savage, sawing a gaping hole inside me to push its way in. I didn’t think, just snatched the panties from the bed and yanked them on, then I followed with the rest of the clothes and stepped into the nude Prada heels.
I fought the urge to turn and look at myself in the full-length mirror opposite the bed. I didn’t want to see myself in his clothes, didn’t want to see him in the soft material as it brushed my skin. I didn’t want to see him…
But I did, unable to help myself. My gaze shifted, catching the peek of tan. One step and the split widened, revealing my thigh. My knees trembled, my pulse turned sluggish and slow. Humiliation moved through me and dragged with it desire.
The woman in the mirror wasn’t me.
Not the fighter…or the loner.
No, she was the whore.
The‘vessel’they'd created at The Order.
One I’d use any way I had to. “I hate you,” I whispered, scanning her jutting breasts, small waist, and olive skin. “I fucking hate you so much.”
That hate stayed with me as I moved toward the door. But I didn’t scream or wail this time. No, I was done with that. Instead, I lifted my hand and rapped my knuckles softly against the wood. The sound barely reached my ears, yet the lock snapped open almost instantly and the door slowly opened.
He was there…
Dark eyes glinted with that criminal fucking stare. He slowly lowered his gaze, taking in my face, breasts, and my waist, then slowly lowered to my thighs and heels. I looked away, then my focus fixed on that cold stare. Heat rolled through me as his stare lingered between my legs, then shifted to my breasts…
Was he thinking about the thin strap between the cheeks of my ass? I hoped so…I really fucking hoped so.I swallowed hard, hating how good he fucking looked right now. He was always so infuriatingly immaculate. The charcoal gray suit was buttoned, the pressed white shirt spotless underneath. I wanted to ruin that shirt, wanted to smear the makeup I wore all over it.
The thought of that assaulted me. My cheek pressed against the white shirt, the dark smear left behind. My pussy pulsed, clamping tight. No. Just fuckingno.I forced the tremble from my voice. “I want out of here.”
He didn’t answer, just pushed the door wider and stepped to the side.
