“And what if I did?” he challenges.
“I fucking hate you,” I say through clenched teeth.
His hand moves higher until he’s wrapping my throat in his grip. My heart thumps loudly as I feel his fingers press against my pulse point. My eyes bulge, and panic rises in me. Skipping over flight, my body goes straight to fight mode.
The mirrors that surround us feel like they’re closing in on me, and then I see something in the reflection. My saving fucking grace. I reach my arms behind us both and pull the gun out of the back of his waistband.
Cocking the weapon, I point it directly at him. My hands tremble with anger as I wobble slightly on my heels before regaining my balance.
“Get on your fucking knees, asshole.”
Chapter 22
Efren
As someone steeped in my own depravity, I’ve never struggled to recognize it in someone else. I often wonder if it’s something that was passed down to us through genetics or just the way our environments molded us so we could survive.
Alma and I are survivors. We’ve both been searching for a small piece of our identity so that we can find a purpose in this world. It’s why her eyes flicker to the bruises still visible on me, but she pushes her empathy aside.
Lifting my hands in surrender, I lower my knees to the ground. Her hand with the gun in it trembles, and I let out a small laugh. Her nostrils flare, and the weapon steadies in her hand.
I picked this room for a reason. I’ve seen the things she’s been googling on her phone the last few weeks.
What is the difference between a dominatrix and a sadist?
I don’t know, try and we’ll find out.
Why do men like being dominated?
Why not?
Is dominance trauma related?
Yes. Let’s trauma bond.
“What are you doing here?” she asks again with more confidence.
I don’t answer as I take in her outfit. The fishnet tights, the baby-blue mesh see-through dress and her nipples hardening underneath.
“What are you doing here?” I ask playfully.
That twitch in her nose returns. Her eyes a mix of desire and fire. Crazy looks sexy on her. I want nothing more than for her to unleash that wrath on me.
“I’m in charge now.” Her words cut through the silence. “I’m asking the questions now, not you.”
She walks backward until she reaches the large wall of toys, the gun still aimed at me. I recognize most of them—restraints, paddles, floggers, ball gags.
Anticipation thrums beneath my skin. If I wanted to get up and take control of this situation, I could. But where’s the fun in that? I watch as Alma’s fingers dance between the barbed wire flogger and braided whip. The moment she chooses the whip, I feel the charge between us snap tight.
She studies it, her brows pinched in confusion, lips parting slightly as if tasting the moment. It’s too fucking adorable. I can’t stop the laugh that slips out. Her cheeks flush, and she covers the embarrassment with a scowl that only makes me want to push her further.
“Do you want me to show you how to use that?” I offer.
She clenches the leather grip and snaps it free in one clean line, hitting the concrete floor next to me. She swings it down again, and the whip cracks against the floor, the sound ricocheting off the mirrors, mimicking that of a gun shot. I can see the way the power plays in her eyes. The excitement and thrill of dominance building in her.
“Did you do it?” she asks, her voice shaking. “Did you kill him?”
I don’t reply because it’s more than a yes-or-no answer. A shrug seems to suffice, but that only enrages her.
