THE OUTFIT he holds up on a hanger looks like nothing but scraps of random leather. It doesn’t look like something that can be—or should be—worn. For most of my life, I’ve danced in a leotard in front of hundreds. On stage with spotlights shining on my every movement, I thought that was the most exposed I could possibly be. Rafferty has just proved me wrong.
“That’s what you want me to wear?” I gape, pointing at the… I don’t even know what I should call it. Saying it’s an outfit feels too generous.
“I picked it myself.”
“Of course, you did.” It’s the kind of thing someone would wear when they’re suspended from the ceiling of a BDSM dungeon. There’re even silver rings connecting pieces of the leather which I would bet are meant for exactly that. “I never thought for a single second that you didn’t.”
“You always knew what I liked.” While his statement sounds void of emotion when it comes out of his mouth, to my ears it’s the equivalent of someone poking at a healing bruise.
I’m proud of myself when I’m able to keep my face from reacting to his words. I don’t want to be sad anymore, but more importantly, I don’t want him to know he’s succeeding at doing so.
Lifting my chin, I boldly meet his cold gaze. To think, once upon a time, I found warmth in those icy depths. “Just give me a minute to catch up again, Raff. You know I’m a quick learner.”
“That was a skill I once admired about you.” I wonder if the same memories that are circulating in my head are also in his. All my firsts, Rafferty claimed as his own, and as he did, he became my teacher. He taught me everything I’d need to please him. He was happy to do so, and I was an overeager student. “But I’m not interested in your ability to learn right now, Posie. I’m interested in seeing how well you can follow an order.”
Walking to the door of the small dressing room we’re in, he reaches for the handle and locks us in together. There’s not much in here. A vanity with various kinds of makeup thrown across it takes up the majority of the far wall, and there is a silver rolling rack of outfits similar to the one in Rafferty’s hand on the other side. In other words, there’s no escape and there’s nothing in here to defend myself with if I need to. I have no clue what he’s planning on doing, but I don’t think a tube of mascara is going to help me much if push came to shove.
Swallowing, I find the courage to ask, “What is it that you want me to do?”
Returning to stand before me, he widens his stance and crosses his arms over his chest. The fabric of his button-down pulls at his shoulders as he does this, reconfirming my theory about his dedication to the gym. The daunting outfit is still draped over the hanger dangling off his finger, mocking me because we both know I’ll be wearing it soon enough.
“Get undressed.”
Taking a deep cleansing breath, I nod my head. There’s no point in arguing with him over it. I might as well just get it over with. “Okay, give it to me. I’ll be out in a minute.”
Glancing between my outreached hand and my body, the corner of his mouth lifts arrogantly. “We’re already having a communication problem. I told you to get undressed. At no point in time did I allude that I would be leaving while you did so.” Oh … shit. “I’ll give you one more chance to do what I ask voluntarily.”
Knowing Raff, if I don’t start stripping down right now, he’ll take the knife he always keeps in his pants pocket and cut my clothes from my body himself. He’ll leave me with nothing to get home in, and I refuse to sit in the back of that driver’s SUV again while wearing only that leather thing.
“Fine.” Teeth clenched so hard, I’m worried I’ll crack a molar, my fingers grip the hem of my black cotton shirt. The first time I got naked for Rafferty, I was shaking like a leaf. Any before-show jitters I got paled in comparison to that first time. To my surprise, I’m not anywhere near as nervous now as I was then.
Maybe it’s because this time around, I already know he’ll like what he sees. He can hate me all he wants for what I did, but my body never betrayed him. Fuck, my body has been more loyal to him than I’d like. Any attempts to move past my first love were met with resistance.
Never once breaking the intense eye contact between us, I pull the shirt over my head and toss it at his feet. It lands on the tip of his leather dress-shoe, but he doesn’t bother looking at it or kicking it away. His attention remains firmly on me.
There’s nothing sexy about the bra I’m wearing. It’s simple and made of black cotton. Had I known he’d be making me take it off, I wouldn’t have bothered strapping it on my chest in the first place.
Leaving it in place for now, I toe off my white Vans so I can get my pants off without obstruction, and while I do, I reach for the elastic waistband of my Lululemon leggings. They cost me a fortune but they’re worth every penny. If he doesn’t give them back to me, I’ll lose it.
Just as I’d done with my shirt, I toss them at his feet. Standing before him in nothing but my black thong and bra, I try not to shift on my feet with restless energy as his piercing eyes scrutinize the pieces of my bare skin. He looks at me now like he can’t decide if he wants to devour me or kill me. Or both.
As far as deaths go, being devoured to death by Rafferty Wilde wouldn’t suck.
My fingers have just brushed against the clasp of my bra when he gives a terse shake of his head. “Stop.”
I do what he asks, my hands returning to my side.
“Turn around.”
“Why?”
The harsh look contorting his features silences any other questions I might have. Doing what he wants of me, I turn in place and give him my back. They’ve always told us when faced with a dangerous predator, we should never turn our backs on them. Yet here I am doing exactly that.
I’ll just add it to the list of reckless things I’ve done tonight.
Hands opening and closing at my sides, I wait for his next move with trepidation. My body is bracing for the possibility of some sort of pain when he pushes the long strands of my hair over my shoulder. It’s a tender move, and I hate that I enjoy every second of it. I shouldn’t like anything he does, and yet, I find myself exhilarated when his fingertips travel from the collar at my neck and down to the clasp of my bra.
My cheeks heat when a rush of air escapes through my parted lips involuntarily. I expect for some shitty comment to come from him, but he doesn’t acknowledge it. Which is a more alarming move than when he unhooks my bra from my body.
Rafferty pushes it from my shoulders and continues to trace a trail down my spine with a touch that’s causing goose bumps to erupt across my skin. I’m glad I can’t see his face right now because I can pretend he’s looking at me with the same ache I’ve always had for him and not his permanent mask of hatred.
I hate that mask and I hate even more I’m the reason he wears it.
His touch reaches the edge of my thong, and instead of stopping there, he drags his fingers along the entire waistband. My heart skips in my chest when his light touch skims past my hip bone and continues to move toward the front of my body. His arm circles my torso in a move that could almost be considered an embrace, but I’m not naive enough to believe it. It takes everything in me to remain perfectly still and not lean into his strong frame.
Heart pounding and blood rushing in my ears, Rafferty’s path comes to a stop on my thong’s waistline directly below my belly button. If he moved two inches lower, he’d be touching me. I would have lost a lot of money if someone had asked me all those years ago if Rafferty and I would ever be in this position again. But he’s so close now, and it’s making me second-guess every thought I’ve ever had.
I’m just close enough that I can feel his chest expand with each breath he takes. It’s coming in a ragged and fast rhythm now. Knowing that I’m affecting him as much as he is me fills me with a sense of victory.
Unfortunately for me, the sensation only lasts another second or two because Rafferty catches on to his mistake. His hand leaving my thong to wrap around the leather collar is like ice water being thrown on the heated situation. Like a switch being flipped, the euphoric energy returns to the hostile one I’m quickly growing used to.
“It’s pathetic how much you enjoyed that,” he growls in my ear. His fingers curl around the collar, making it pinch the sensitive skin of my throat.
I can stand here and let him hurt my feelings, or I can throw his words back in his face. The hurricane of varying emotions storming in my veins has me choosing the latter. “I’m pathetic? That’s a bit hypocritical coming from a guy whose dick is currently poking me in the fucking back.”
I didn’t notice until he took hold of the choker and pulled me closer to him. Now it’s all I can feel.
“I’m allowed to get turned on. What’s the point of having a good little whore if you don’t give her jobs to take care of?”
Using his grip on the collar, he violently pushes me away from him. While I’m trying to soothe the ache now on my neck, he throws the outfit at me. I bite back a wince when the leather slaps against my skin and the metal hanger scratches my chest.
I manage to catch it before it can fall into a tangled mess on the floor.
“You have ten minutes to get ready.”
