Chapter 12
Caleb
Go. Or Stay.
These are her choices. It's just that simple.
But to a girl like Scarletta, nothing about sex is simple. She's got a dark side. A dark side she's been hiding her whole life. A dabble here with that sick fuck, Derek. A dabble there, writing down her fantasies isn'tnothing. But it's still a fantasy.
She's breathing very hard now. Shaking like a little bird. Teeth chattering, even though it's seventy-two degrees in the foyer. Whimpering like a puppy. Completely lost all her composure.
"I'm gonna need an answer, little slut."
She gasps at the insult. Except, it's not an insult.
I pet her cheek. "My good little slut, I should say. If youwantto be. If you're ready."
"Ready for what?" she asks.
My fingers are playing with her lips now—soft, full, slightly parted as she struggles to catch her breath. I'm picturing them doing all kinds of things to my cock. Wrapped around it. Stretched wide. Those perfect lips forming a perfect O as I push inside. The visual alone makes my dick throb against my zipper.
"To become the woman you've always wanted to be," I tell her, my voice low and measured. "To free yourself from the shame that's been eating you alive for years. To not only understand your desires—those dark, twisted, beautiful desires you've been pouring into your stories—but to actually experience them. To live them. That's what I can give you, Scarletta. That's what this night is really about."
I pause, letting that sink in, watching her pupils dilate even further.
"In addition to the forty-four thousand dollars, that is." I let my thumb drag across her bottom lip, just enough pressure to feel how soft it is. "Because if you leave right now, if you walk out that door, you don't get paid. Not a single fucking cent. I'm not going to force you to stay here with me—that would defeat the entire purpose. But you need to fully understand exactly what you're walking away from if you go."
I lean in closer, so close I can feel the heat radiating off her flushed skin. "If you want the money, you need to earn it. Every. Single. Dollar."
"What do you want me to do?" Her voice trembles, barely a whisper.
I let out a low scoff, sharp and dismissive. "It's not what I want you to do, my little slut. It's what you wantmeto do." I watch her chest rise and fall in rapid succession. "That's why you checked those boxes, isn't it? Why your hand probably shook when you filled out that form, heart pounding, pussy getting wet as you imagined each scenario playing out in vivid, excruciating detail."
She sucks in a long, shuddering breath, and I can hear the war playing out in her head—the part of her that wants to deny it battling with the part that's desperate for this.
"You want me to play with you," I continue, my voice dropping lower, more intimate. "Tease your pussy with toysuntil you're begging. Spank you until you can't sit comfortably for days. Heavy bondage—rope, leather, steel, whatever strikes my fancy—until you can't move a single inch without my permission." I pause, letting each word sink in. "But that's not even the best part, is it?"
Her breathing hitches.
"You want me to degrade you too. Control you. Everything. What you eat, when you eat it. When you're allowed to piss. Every sexual act, down to the smallest detail. You want me to fuck with your head, treat you like furniture when the mood strikes, make you confess your sickest, darkest, most disturbing desires—the ones you've never told another living soul. The ones that make you question if there's something fundamentally broken inside you."
I reach up quickly, my hand fisting in her hair with enough force to make her gasp. Then, slowly—agonizingly slowly—I pull her head back until she's looking straight up at the ceiling, her throat exposed, vulnerable, the long line of her neck a pale offering in the dim light.
I lean in close to that exposed flesh, my lips barely grazing the sensitive skin just below her ear, and whisper, "Just so we're perfectly clear, you already gave me permission to do all of these things, Scarletta. Every single one. This isn't a negotiation. I've bought these permissions. The transaction is complete. It's done." I let my breath ghost across her skin, feeling her shiver. "And if you stay—when you stay—all of that is going to happen. Not some of it. Not the parts you think you can handle. All. Of. It."
A single tear appears from a gap in her blindfold. It slides down her cheek, catching the dim light as it traces a path along the curve of her cheekbone.
I lean in slowly, deliberately, and press my lips to it—tasting salt and fear and surrender all at once. The intimacy of thegesture is at complete odds with the brutality of what I've just promised her, and I can feel her breathing stutter in response.
"It's okay," I murmur against her skin. "It's okay to be scared, my good little slut. It's completely normal. Natural, even." I pause, letting that sink in. "Youshouldbe scared. You don't know me—not really. For all you know, I could be someone truly evil. Someone who would break you and leave you in pieces." My thumb traces the wet track the tear left behind. "Being afraid right now? That's your job."
I lean in again, this time pressing my lips to the exposed column of her throat where her pulse hammers wildly against my mouth. I let my lips drift lower, trailing down to the curve of her shoulder, taking my time, savoring every tremor, every stuttered breath. I register the quick, sharp intake of air when my teeth graze her collarbone. I notice the way her nipples have drawn up into tight, hard points—her body responding even as her mind tries to process the enormity of what she's agreed to.
"My job..." I continue, my voice a low rumble against her skin, "is to keep you afraid until you don't care anymore. Until the pleasure I deliver is so delicious, so perfectly overwhelming, so goddamnheavenly—that it completely overpowers your fear. Your pain. Your doubt. Until all that exists between us is—us."
She bites down on her quivering lower lip, her chest rising and falling rapidly, each breath shallow and labored. "What... what if I can't take it?" The words tumble out in a rush, barely more than a whisper. A sob catches in her throat, and her whole body shudders with it. "What if I'm no good at this? What if I disappoint you? What if?—"
"Shhhhh." I press a single fingertip to her lips, silencing the spiral before it can drag her down further. The touch is gentle, but the command behind it is absolute. "That's not going to happen, Scarletta." I hold her gaze, refusing to let her look away."Because if you're not good at it—if you struggle, if you stumble, if you break—it's not your fault, darling. It's mine."
