Her nostrils flare. “You can’t make me.”
She has no idea what I can make her do, and while I would prefer her to be willing, I don't require it.
I move before she can brace herself, grabbing her chin, tilting it up with just a bit more force than needed to remind her who’s in control.
“Oh, darling,” I murmur, my voice laced with dark amusement, with certainty, “I can make you do anything.”
She trembles beneath my grip. It’s subtle. A flicker. A crack. But I see it.
She doesn’t move.
She kneels there, her body wound tight, her breath ragged from holding back the storm inside her. Her pride won’t let her obey. But her fear, herawareness, is starting to sink in.
I see the way her throat works, the way her fingers flex against her thighs like she’s imagining wrapping them around my throat instead.
I smirk.
I tighten my grip on her chin, just enough to make her feel it. Just enough to remind her what she already knows.
“I don’t like repeating myself,” I say, my voice velvet-soft, laced with something dangerous. “But I’ll give you one last chance to listen.”
She swallows, her pulse beating against my fingers like a drum of defiance. Her lips part, her breath shaking.
Then, “Fuck you.”
I laugh. God, I love the fight in her.
Without breaking eye contact, I move. One hand tangles in her hair, gripping, twisting just enough to tip her head back, baring her throat to me. The other ghosts down her cheek and across her puffy lips, smearing the ruined lipstick further, tracing her parted lips.
“So vulgar,” I murmur, dragging my thumb over her bottom lip before pressing enough to make her mouth open wider. To remind her who’s in control. “But I’ll allow it. For now.”
Her breathing is sharp, uneven, her body betraying her no matter how much she wants to hate me.
I release her chin, but keep my grip on her hair, keeping her tilted to force her to hold my gaze. “You want to walk out of here with your head high, don’t you?” My voice drops lower, quieter, like I’m letting her in on something dark. “You want to pretend you have control.”
Her jaw clenches.
“But you don’t.”
I tug her hair,hard.
She gasps.
“Crawl.”
She shudders a ripple of resistance and rage, and I drink it in.
And then, finally, she moves.
Slowly. Stiffly. Every muscle in her body was trembling with fury.
But she moves. And I don’t like how it untangles my hand from her hair.
Lowering onto her hands, she bows herself to the floor. I watch in pride as she obeys my command.
A slow, satisfied smirk spreads across my lips as I watch her.
“That’s better.”
