“A necklace,” I say. “I think some people call things like this a day-collar… and it is your collar. In a way.” I stroke my thumb over her cheek. “Really, it’s a symbol of my ownership and of your value. I figured precious jewels should adorn the neck of the most precious person in my life.”
She blinks a few times and looks away, appearing a little lost. “I don’t want that,” she murmurs.
“I wasn’t asking, Scarlett. You belong to me. This necklace will remind everyone of that—including you. You will never not be wearing it.” Cain made it quite clear that all of the chosen women should wear symbols representing their status and their owner—whether it be a tattoo, brand, or collar. I don’t want to mar Scarlett’s beautiful skin with a tattoo, let alone a vicious brand, and a plain leather collar seemed far too simple for her. I had this piece commissioned and created nearly half a year ago, during one of the lowest points in my search for Scarlett.
There were no signs of her. No traces of her existence. It was as if she’d dropped off the face of the earth. Toby told me he had nothing, Max looked at me with pity, and Cain told me that it was probably for the best that Scarlett disappeared, considering the trouble she’d caused.
It was when it felt like I’d lost all hope of ever seeing her that I had this necklace made. It’s sat in my nightstand drawer, in a velvet box, for six months. Now, it will adorn the place it was intended for—Scarlett’s elegant neck.
“Why are you doing this?” Scarlett asks, still staring at the wall. “You can’t actually believe you love me. This is… infatuation of the chase atbest, and an obsession that will lead me to my death at worst.” She gives a short laugh. “I suppose, either way, this will end up with me in a grave.”
“I’m not going to kill you,” I repeat yet again. “You are literally the only person in my life I can say that about with complete certainty. And, please, stop assuming I’m delusional or don’t know myself. I do. I know what I feel for you, and while you might never reciprocate those feelings, it won’t change that I love you. I know I shouldn’t, I have no right to, but I do.”
She doesn’t respond to that aside from a slight shake of her head.
“Your hair,” I tell her sternly, lowering my tone. “I won’t ask again.”
She whips her head around to glare at me. “I’d prefer a horrendous piece of leather as a collar over the lie that choker represents. You say you value me, you love me, but you don’t hold a person you love captive. You don’t put them in a room built to remind them of the worst things you’ve done to them.”
“This room isn’t meant to retraumatize you, Scarlett. It’s going to help you replace every single bad memory in that cell with very different ones.Lift up your fucking hair.”
“Go fuck yourself!” she hisses, and stands up.
I push her back down with a hand flattened on her chest. “You have ten seconds to comply before this devolves into punishment.”
Her next breath is shaky. She squeezes her eyes shut. Inhales a few lungfuls of air. Then opens her eyes and pins me with a hateful glare, even while her shaking hands move to gather her hair and hold it up.
Good girl. I carefully wrap the necklace around her neck and lock it in place. It requires a special magnet to open, one I’ll keep far out of her reach. She’s not going to get this collar off without my permission and help, and I never want to see her without it. I lean back and gaze at the way the diamonds glitter around her throat, pleasure unfurling insideme. She’s now stamped with an eternal reminder of my possession over her, something she’ll never be able to ignore because she’ll never take it off.
“Beautiful,” I murmur. “It looks good on you, Flower. I chose well.” I stroke a hand through her hair, suppressing a grunt of irritation at her flinch. “Would you like to see it?”
“I plan to pretend it doesn’t exist.”
I smile. “Good luck with that. Now, be a good girl and spread your legs for me.”
“Nofucking way,” she snaps. “Go to hell.”
“Alright.” I give her a moment of silence, just enough time for confusion to overcome her—surprise that I’m not using force to gain her compliance.
Then,I pounce. It’s the work of ten seconds to lift her ass onto the metal table and flatten her against it. Ignoring her screeches, I fetch the restraints hidden beneath the table—ones specifically made for instances like this. Her hands go in cuffs that stretch her arms over her head; then, I yank her legs down. She kicks, screams, curses at me, acts like a woman possessed rather than the beautiful little Flower I know she can be, but I persevere forward, spreading her legs and locking her ankles into cuffs attached to the end of the table.
I take a step back, watching as her gorgeous breasts bounce and her diamonds clink with each of her jerks and wiggles. She’s almost completely immobile with barely an inch of room allowing her to shift around, her bare pussy inviting me for a taste. I walk around the table, examining her panting figure from all angles, deciding which part I want to touch and explore first—howI want to explore.
It only takes me a few beats to make a decision. I lengthen the chain holding her arms and jerk her ass right to the edge of the table. Then tighten the chains around her ankles until they’re held firmly apart,attached to the legs of the table. Her pussy is spread wide for me, inviting me for a taste.
“Not here, not here,” she chants, shaking her head furiously. Her breaths are too quick, sweat coats her body, and it only takes me a moment of examination to realize she’s bordering on a genuine panic attack. I walk to her head and lean over her, gripping her chin and directing her gaze to my own.
“Scarlett. Breathe.”
She shakes her head wildly. “I—Ican’t.”
“Breathe with me,” I command, deliberately taking in a deep breath and blowing it out. “Like this.”
Her trembling is so poignant it’s shaking the entire table. Her eyes are filled with the sort of fear that not even she’s comfortable sitting in—my Flower isterrifiedright now, and the look in her eyes is almost enough to convince me to let her go.
Almost.
The thing holding me back is that I know this needs to be done. This has to happen. She needs memories ofpleasureon this table and chair to override the memories of pain. I don’t particularly like this table set, either; it reminds me of the single worst thing I’ve ever done. The one mistake I’ll regret forever.
