But Christ help me, I'm going to walk into it anyway. Because I can’t walk away.
"Lesson one," I say, my voice rough with need I can't quite hide. "Submission isn't about being broken. It's about choosing to give control to someone who knows how to use it."
"Show me."
The two words are all the invitation I need. My hands move to the straps of her dress, and I slide them off her shoulders.
"The first thing you need to understand," I murmur against her ear, "is that your body belongs to whoever owns you. Every curve, every response, every breath. It's all theirs to command."
The white silk pools at her feet, leaving her naked before me. She doesn't try to cover herself, doesn't show shame or fear. Just stands there like a goddess accepting worship from a mortal.
"And right now," I continue, my hands mapping the smooth expanse of her skin, "your body belongs to me."
"Does it?"
"Yes." My fingers trace along her collarbone, down between her breasts, watching her breathing hitch. "Until I sell you, every part of you is mine to explore. Mine to train. Mine to prepare for the men who'll own you next."
"Show me more," she whispers, and I hear the challenge beneath the submission.
Chapter 13: Camilla
His hands on my skin feel like fire and ice at the same time.
I stand naked before him, every nerve ending hypersensitive as his fingers trace patterns across my collarbone, down between my breasts, mapping territory he claims belongs to him. The clinical way he speaks about my body should humiliate me.
Instead, it's making me wet.
Which is either the most fucked up response possible, or exactly what I need to survive this.
"Your skin is flawless," he murmurs, his voice taking on that professional tone that drives me insane. "No scars, no marks. Premium buyers appreciate perfection."
"How nice of you to notice."
His eyes flash with something dangerous. "Sarcasm isn't attractive."
"Neither is pretending this is purely business." I meet his gaze directly, refusing to be cowed. "You're not as unaffected as you want me to believe."
"Professional interest," he says, but his voice is rougher now.
"Professional interest doesn't make a man's pupils blow wide. Doesn't make him swallow hard before speaking." I step closer, eliminating what little space remains between us. "You're barely holding on to that control you prize so much."
"You're in way over your head with these games you're playing."
"I'm not playing. I'm stating facts." My voice drops. "And the fact is, this training is going to destroy us both."
His hand shoots up to catch my wrist, fingers wrapping around it like a manacle. "Stop pushing."
"I'm surviving. If that means pushing a man who won't admit what he wants, then so be it."
"I'm not pretending anything."
"Aren't you? Because the way you're looking at me right now doesn't look very professional." I tilt my head, studying his face. "It looks hungry. Possessive. It looks like ‘want’."
His grip tightens on my wrist. "Careful."
"Why? Because you're starting to see what you'll lose when you auction me off?"
"I want you prepared properly. That's all."
