"There now," I say softly, reaching for my blouse. "Was that so hard? One honest reaction instead of pretending you're made of stone."
I slip the blouse back on, but I don't button it immediately. Let him look at my breasts. Let him want what he can't have.
"The dresses," he says, his voice rougher than before.
"What about them?"
"Try them on. All of them." He moves to the chair by the window and sits down. "But understand something, Camilla. I'm not the enemy here. I'm the only thing standing between you and men who would break you for sport."
"And what does that make you? My savior? My knight in shining armor?"
"It makes me the devil you know."
He has a point there.
I examine the three dresses with new eyes. Not as strategic tools, but as symbols of everything that's been taken from me. My choice, my dignity, my future.
"Fine. Still want your fashion show?" I grab the burgundy dress. "What's wrong, Renato? Suddenly shy about evaluating your merchandise?"
His hands grip the chair arms. "Camilla—"
"No." The blouse slides off my shoulders. "You said this was business. You said you needed to see how these dresses looked on me." I reach for the clasp of my bra and the black lace falls away. "Take a good damn look."
"Jesus Christ," he breathes.
"Getting uncomfortable?" I step out of my pants, standing before him in nothing but black panties. "This is what Al-Rashid will see. This is what Kozlov will touch. This is what other men will own."
I pick up the burgundy dress and slide it over my head, the silk caressing my bare skin. No bra, as intended—the fabric clings to every curve, every line, making it obvious what lies beneath.
"There." I do a slow turn, letting him see every angle. "How's that for presentation? Do my nipples show through the fabric? Can you see them? I believe that’s the point, don’t you? Think Al-Rashid will be satisfied with his purchase?"
Renato's breathing has gone ragged. "You're pushing me too far."
"I'm fighting for my life. And if making you lose your precious control helps me survive, then I'll strip naked and dance on your fucking lap. Should I do that?” I move closer to him and straddle his legs. “Do you like what you see now? Want to touch my breasts? It’s taking every bit of control you have not to reach out and touch me, isn’t it?”
"Stop."
"Why? Because you're finally seeing me as something other than inventory?" I lean down, bringing my face inches from his. "Because you're realizing what you're really selling?"
"What I'm realizing," he says roughly, "is that you're more dangerous than I thought."
"Maybe dangerous enough that you'll think twice before handing me over to these animals." I straighten and reach for the black dress. "Ready for outfit number two?"
"Camilla, don't—"
But I'm already pulling the burgundy dress over my head, tossing it aside. I stand before him again, nearly naked, watching his control fracture in real time.
"This is the view Kozlov gets," I say conversationally. "He likes to see what he's raping, doesn't he?"
I slip into the black dress, and this one is even worse—or better, depending on your perspective. The silk molds to my body like a second skin, the neckline plunging low enough to show the curve of my breasts.
"Perfect for a man who wants to break innocent things," I observe. "Think he'll be gentle while he's destroying me? Should I act afraid? Is that what gets their rocks off?"
"That's enough." Renato's voice is strained.
"Is it? Because we still have one more dress to go." I reach for the white silk. "The pièce de résistance. A virgin rape fantasy come to life."
"You don't have to."
