I cover my mouth with my hand. “Oh shit. What have I done?”
I turn the burner phone toward Brielle. She grins and lets out a low whistle.
“Girl, he’s gonna fuck you so deep you’ll taste him when you breathe.”
Fuck.
Chapter 21
Bastien Montclaire
Laurette thoughtI’d come running when she invited, but that’s not how predators work.
She doesn’t get to schedule me like room service or a fucking Uber.
Silent surrenderhas to be earned. It has to surprise her.
She thinks ten o’clock means something. That I’ll walk in, tie her down, fuck her while she struggles against me.
Nah, I don’t perform on cue.
If she wants to feel afraid, she needs to wait for it.
I’ll make her sweat. Make her wonder. Make her doubt.
She’ll settle into the idea that I’m not coming, that perhaps she misread everything, and I’ll appear. Because for her to have a true sense of fear, she has to decide I’m not coming.
Ten o’clock rolls in, and I watch through the camera feed locked on her bedroom. She replicates every instruction from last night—bare, blindfolded, and kneeling on the bed with her ass up. The room is dark, but the curve of her spine, the tautness of her thighs, and the way her body waits is all perfectly clear.
She lifts the edge of the blindfold enough to glance at the clock.Golden candlelight skims her cheekbones and illuminates her lips in firelight. Her mouth presses into a thin line, her patience fraying.
A shuddered breath escapes. Arousal twists through her, frantic but contained, straining against its own cage.
She rolls her hips and lowers her chest to the mattress. She repositions, trying to ease the ache.
Time marches forward—ten minutes, fifteen, twenty.
She curls into herself, thighs squeezed together. The flush rising across her chest says everything. Desire bleeds off her skin. It’s almost visible, pulsing in the dark.
Is she second-guessing? Is she aching for me, or furious I haven’t shown up to touch her yet?
She sent the invitation, but she doesn’t control the pace. Not tonight. Not when waiting is part of the breaking.
10:30.
11:00.
Her body gives out. She stretches and rolls her shoulders. An hour facedown and ass up. Her back arches, legs trembling. Stillness doesn’t suit her—not like this, when she’s impatient for my arrival.
One leg drops from the bed, her toes brushing the floor. She’s torn between holding out, giving up, and the fear of what happens if she does.
She thinks she’s still playing her part in the game.
Butthisis the game.
And she’s losing.
Silent surrender.
