"You're such a terrible fucking liar, Renato. You want to be the one touching me. You want every part of this before you have to give it away."
"Enough."
His command cuts through the air, but I don't stop. "You want this to mean something. You want me to be more than a transaction."
Something primal flashes in his dark eyes. "You’re wrong."
"Then prove it. Go ahead, let’s do it. Show me this clinical assessment you keep talking about."
He releases my wrist and steps back. For a moment I think he's going to walk away. Instead, he moves to the chair by the desk and sits down.
"Turn around," he says, his voice taking on that commanding tone that makes my stomach flutter. "Slowly. I want to see every angle."
I obey, rotating in a slow circle, hyperaware of his gaze tracking every inch of my naked body. When I complete the turn, his expression has shifted to something hungrier.
"Again. Slower this time. And arch your back slightly—buyers like to see good posture."
The second rotation feels different. More intimate. I can feel the weight of his stare like a physical touch, and by the time I face him again, my skin is flushed with heat.
"Better," he says, but his breathing has definitely changed. "Now come here."
I walk toward him, letting my hips sway naturally with each step. His hands clench once on the chair arms before he forces them to relax.
I'm standing directly in front of him now, close enough that he could reach out and touch me.
"Al-Rashid will want to inspect his purchase. You need to know how to present yourself submissively."
"How?"
"Hands behind your back. Chest out. Eyes lowered unless instructed otherwise."
I assume the position, and I hear his sharp intake of breath.
"Like this?"
"Yes." His voice is strained now. "He'll want to examine the merchandise. Make sure it meets his specifications."
His hand reaches out to touch my collarbone, fingers tracing along the bone with feather-light pressure. "He'll want to assess your responses."
"And how should I react?"
"Like you enjoy it. Like you want more." His thumb brushes across my lower lip. "Even if you don't. Even if his touch disgusts you."
"Show me." The words slip out before I can stop them, and I see his pupils dilate further.
"Show you what?"
"How to fake enjoying a man's touch. How to make him believe I want what he's doing to me."
For a moment, he doesn't move. Just stares at me with those dark eyes that seem to see straight through every defense I have.
Then his hand slides from my lips to my throat, fingers wrapping around the delicate column with just enough pressure to make me gasp.
"Your responses belong to your owner," he says roughly. "If he wants you aroused, you become aroused. If he wants you desperate, you become desperate."
"Even if I'm not feeling it?"
"Especially then." His thumb traces along my pulse point, and I can't hide the way my breathing hitches. "But the secret is that the body follows the mind. If you let yourself feel what he wants you to feel, the response becomes real."
