For the first time, his amusement dims. It’s slight, barely noticeable, but I see it, the briefest flicker of something he’s struggling to restrain.
I may be in his house, but I am not tame. I will not fear him.
And that may be my greatest mistake.
Hayden’s stare continues, gaze locked to my own, expectantly waiting for me to begin eating.
When he raises a threatening brow, and I refuse to budge from my stonelike position, he gestures to the ground beside him, a silent command that makes my breath catch.
I stare at him, stunned, unable to process the audacity, the sheer dominance in the motion. My pulse pounds in my ears, but I don’t move.
He can’t possibly think I would...
“Kneel.”
I freeze. My breath catches. I laugh, sharp and full of bitter bewilderment. “Not a fucking chance.”
Hayden simply watches me with a gaze full of expectation. His patience needles at me and digs under my skin. He knows I’ll break. He’s just giving me the space to do it myself.
“If you’re going to behave like a poorly trained pet, you’ll be treated as such,” he says far too calmly.
Minutes pass. I don’t move. The tension tightens and squeezes around my ribs. The pressure builds until I can’t breathe. I want to fight, to spit in his face. To scream at him. I want to throw my perfectly portioned plate of food at his smugly handsome face.
Instead, my knees shake as I resist the pull, my pride cracking piece by piece.
His expression is growing darker, and I realize I've been given a request that would have me on my knees, whether I wanted to or not. And I refuse to give away my choice.
“You’re unbelievable.”
“And you’re exhausting.”
I can’t submit to him so quickly; if I do, how will I successfully persuade him to meet my demands? But his stare, so unwavering with a tinge of darkness that makes me terrified, halts my schemes.
Because there’s a sick curiosity inside of me that wonders what reward I may get if I do, in fact, behave. Will he pet my head in pride?
Is the secret to my whims a single bend of the knee, and a larger bend of my pride? The bright defensive anger burns angrily inside of me, making it hard to hear the small part of me that's desperate to behave. But I hear it nonetheless. It’s curious to follow directions, and hungry for the treat that comes with behaving.
And yet I refuse. I refuse. I refuse—
And then I break.
I’m on my feet in seconds, my knees hit the floor, shame curling hot and tight in my belly. Humiliation burns through me, but so does something else. The feeling of disgrace trumping success is a feeling I hate more than anything.
But the humiliation of giving up my control is sickly intoxicating nonetheless.
Hayden’s gaze darkens, satisfaction rolling off him in waves. He pushes his chair back and crouches down, so close I can feel his breath against my cheek.
“Good girl.”
I bite my lip, hating how the words make my stomach tighten, how they make my thighs clench together, how they speak to that small, curious depth inside of me eager to play along. Eager to be a good girl.
I feel the wetness that has bloomed on my panties.
He picks up a piece of buttered roll between his fingers and holds it out.
I hesitate as I stare at his hand. I want to slap it away, down to the ground. I’d find sick satisfaction if I spat in his face. Maybe I'd scream.
But my body has already betrayed me once, and my knees now hurt because of it.
