She lowered her lashes at once.
He circled her slowly, fingers brushing her arm and hip. Even through fabric, she felt branded by his touch.
“Third,” he murmured near her ear, “you do not flinch when I touch you.” He stepped back. “Remove your clothing.”
This wasn’t unexpected, and he’d seen her before. But her hands still trembled as she obeyed.
When she stood nearly naked, he added, “The panties go too.”
She pushed them down and stood silent, unflinching somehow, as he circled her once again.
This time, he paused behind her.
“I don’t recall you having this,” Rhys murmured, tracing the blue butterfly on her shoulder.
“After Enzo, we were at a dead end,” she explained. “I got it to feel connected to Natalie. Same design, different color. It’s silly.”
He paused so long the silence grew heavy. She almost turned, but then his shirt brushed her back as he moved closer. “I don’t think it’s silly. You’re sisters. You’ll be connected again when we get her back.”
Emotion tightened her throat. “I’ve never thanked you—”
“No need.” His voice returned to cool command. “What we need is practice.”
Rhys moved in front of her and took a seat on the master’s throne. No sense pretending it was anything else. He looked up at her, posture self-possessed, effortlessly in command, dominance as natural to him as breath, making it easy to follow him.
She reconsidered at his next order.
“Kneel at my feet.”
Her brain resisted the indignity, especially naked, but she reined it in and lowered herself onto the hard, stone floor between his gleaming black shoes. Close but not touching, she could feel his body heat in the cool room.
“Hands behind you.”
She interlaced her fingers at the small of her back, head bowed.
“Better. But you’re thinking too loudly.”
Gaby looked up, startled. “I’m what?”
“You hesitate. Camille doesn’t. For this to work, your performance must be flawless.” He stroked his thumb along her lower lip. She didn’t dare breathe. “You belong to Blackwood. Your entire world revolves around him. You exist for his pleasure.”
“You’ve done this before.” The observation slipped out in her nervousness.
“I’ve been a dominant in the lifestyle for nearly two decades. The master/slave dynamic isn’t for me. Control and willing submission? Very much so. Lucien Blackwood is as much a role for me as Camille is for you.”
This seemed like a good time to discuss a concern. “What if Álvarez, or one of his guests, asks to, um, use me?”
“We should be prepared to field offers. But the answer is no,” he said flatly. “I’ll make it clear I’m a selfish bastard and don’t share what’s mine.”
Relief washed through her.
“You’ve been worried about that?” he asked.
“It crossed my mind. I’ve seen that happen at the club.”
“With the consent of all partners, Gaby.”
“Muses don’t get to consent.”
