Page 81 of Damsel in Disguise

Tonight, I don’t need her identity. I only need her mouth and the delusion she’s clinging to.

I walk us out of the bedroom and put her back on her feet.

“Don’t leave,” I murmur in such a way as if offering her a choice she doesn’t actually have. “If you do, I’ll find you out and fuck your decapitated head.”

She nods ever so subtly.

I turn away inside, leaving the door slightly ajar, and head into the closet to grab what I need.

Once I do, I walk back to find her like a statue waiting to be given purpose, standing exactly where I left her.

A slow smile tugs at the corner of my mouth.

I lock the bedroom door, sealing Delilah inside her artificial sleep.

Afterward, I take the leash in my hands, step behind her, and slide it around her neck with controlled care. I seal it tight enough not to cut off her breathing, but to remind her who her life will belong to from now on.

“Get on all four, little kitty.”

Surprisingly, she follows compliantly.

No questions. No defiance. Just lowering her body to the floor, hands and knees meeting the ground with too much obedience.

My grip tightens on the leash for establishing direction, leading her down the stairs.

I can’t see her face—not beyond the outline, the shape, the masked anonymity she hides behind. The only thing I can do is to feel her obeying just like a good girl as I walk her to the guest room.

Ariella Keinston. The perfect spoiled little princess to the whole world—filthy-rich bloodline, perfect grades, elegant demeanor.

But not here. Not in front of me. Not anymore.

I step aside, holding the door open, letting her enter first. “Ladies first.”

The feigned chivalry is an irony, considering I’m literally walking her like a leashed pet. And she obeys like one.

I follow next and slide the lock into place without looking away from her, who’s waiting for the next command from her master.

The leash coils tighter around my wrist as I shorten its length, leather biting into my skin as I tug her upward. The force drags her onto her knees, pulling a sharp, startled gasp from her.

“You want to suck my cock so much?” my voice comes out rougher than intended.

Her silhouette dips in a nod, barely visible in the dimness.

I yank hard on the leash. “How about I fuck your throat instead?”

There it is—that soft, helpless whimper slipping past her lips.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” I murmur, already reaching for the spider gag I bought with her in mind. Always her.

Another sound leaves her, softer this time but edged with resistance as she tries to turn her face away defiantly.

I bend over and wrap my fingers around her chin, forcing her face up to look at me.

Her skin is warm and too soft for someone who thinks she can fight me and walk away like a winner.

“If it makes you feel better,” my thumb pressing to feel the indents of her teeth, “I bought these only for you, little kitty.”

The shift is immediate. I feel it in the way her body loosens beneath my grip, the tension melting into something more pliant, more willing.