And then I hear it.
A sound too soft for anyone else to catch, but I know it’s her. A muffled whimper bleeding through the hallway, like she’s trying to hold it back and failing.
Christ.
She’s unravelling out there, and I’m the bastard making her do it.
My hand tightens on the curtain. I should let it go, leave her there until she crawls to bed humiliated and wrecked. I should draw a line before I burn everything to the ground.
But the truth is, I want to watch.
I want to open that door, step into the hallway, and see her shaking because of me. I want to make the next dare crueller, filthier. I want to keep pushing until there’s nothing left of her pride—only the proof that she belongs to me.
And I will.
Because she asked for this, the second she looked at me like I was the only one who could break her.
I opened the door.
She’s exactly where I left her—on her knees in the hallway, bare skin flushed from the cold draft, arms loose at her sides like she doesn’t know what to do with them. Her eyes dart up when she hears me, wide, defiant, wet.
Christ.
I lean against the doorframe, slow, deliberately, so she feels every second of my gaze crawling over her. “Still here,” I murmur. “Good girl.”
The words make her shiver, though she tries to cover it with a glare. I smile, sharp, cruel, because she hates how much she needs that praise.
“Open your mouth,” I say.
Her lips part instantly, tongue trembling in the air. I let the silence drag until she squirms, until her cheeks burn with humiliation. Then I press two fingers in, slow enough that her throat works before they even reach the back.
“Not a word,” I tell her, voice low. “You only nod or shake your head. Understand?”
She nods, choking around my fingers, saliva pooling on her tongue, dripping down her chin when I slide them free.
I tilt my head, pretending to think. “Let’s make this interesting. Truth… or dare?”
Her brow furrows, but she whispers, “Dare.”
I crouched so close my breath brushed her ear. “Crawl to the living room. All the way. Don’t cover yourself. Don’t stop. If you do, I’ll tie your wrists behind your back and make you finish the crawl blind.”
Her breath catches, but she obeys. Palms and knees on the carpet as she crawls down the stairs, her body moving forward like prey that knows it’s being hunted. I follow, silent, every scrape of her knees on the floor winding me tighter.
Halfway there, I let my voice cut through the quiet. “Truth or dare?”
She freezes, chest heaving.
“Dare,” she whispers.
“Touch yourself while you crawl.”
Her head jerks back as if she misheard me. I arch a brow. “What’s the matter? Suddenly shy? You wanted dares.”
And fuck, when her hand slides hesitantly between her thighs, I feel my restraint fracture. She keeps moving, hand dragging with each crawl forward, face flushed with shame, body slick and desperate.
I stalk behind her, watching every faltering movement, every sound she bites back. My cock is straining, but I don’t touch myself. I won’t—not yet.
This isn’t about me losing control.
