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“Good.”
I was lying, but I was good at that. Practice makes perfect.
This was why Gregor had let us be together, so he could torture me with dread between now and tomorrow.
The rap on the door came way too soon. Pieter had to pry my fingers loose.
Chapter 8
When they pulled off the sack and I saw her, standing there under the lights waiting for me, I nearly turned around and said no.
I didn’t because I couldn’t. In those few seconds, I’d flashed through what would happen. They’d kill me. They’d hurt her worse than I would. The consequences ruled out self-sacrifice.
I’d done this before. Each time, would I have to argue with myself? Or would it get easier?
Though it was a new problem that had shocked me. I was looking forward to this, just a smidgeon, just enough to creep myself out.
Fok this.
Her lonely figure in the center, beneath the dangling chains, spoke of the purest of vulnerability.
There was so much room in here and so much equipment lining the wall. Diabolical stuff. Good things, depending on your point of view.
I walked to her, saying, as I drew near, “It’s me, Pieter.”
The poor girl was quivering already.
They’d left it all up to me this time. No tying her down in position. Just her, standing, with her plain dress, and her head covered by the black bag they used on her. Her wrists were cuffed at the front, but that was it.
Me, I was in suit, pants, black shoes, and tie. My best guess – this client had a fetish for women being molested by men in suits.
The speaker came on. “You have a blank canvas, Mister Pieter. A pretty woman to draw on. Do what you wish to her. But make it good.” I could hear the amusement in his voice. “Wait. There is one proviso. Our client wishes you to cut off her dress.”
Christ.
I held up my empty hands.
“Harrison, please, a knife for Pieter.”
After a heavy pause, my friendly guard, lazing by the door, heaved himself upright and slid a knife across the floor to me. I picked it up by the brown handle and rotated it. Light curled across the steel.
Lekker. Very nice. Pity I couldn’t stick it in Gregor.
“And Pieter, no excessive chatting to her this time. The mic registers it. We will know.”
No talking? Shit.
The edge of the knife was well honed. The guard tensed when I stared his way, but there was no point in angering him. I turned to Jazmine, walked a slow circle around her, while she vaguely followed the sound of my path by tilting her head.
They wanted me to cut off her clothes? She knew I had to be rough. I should do it properly.
Her dress was thin and soft and my grasp of the hem made it ride up the back of her thighs. I gathered it some more until I pulled her off balance and she gasped and staggered into me. The knife carved through the fistful of cloth. Casually, I tossed the weapon in the direction of the guard before I tore the top of each sleeve. The dress slipped to the floor.
Naked and, damn, that ivory-white expanse of female skin. No bikini tan lines. I sucked in a long breath. Pervert that I was, I couldn’t help looking.
With her head covered, she appeared more of an object, a thing, than my wife had ever been in our S and m scenes. But what a cute thing. The slope of her spine as it curved into her waist, the tease of her glossy hair across the small of her back, the tremble of her hip when I rested my hand there and pulled her to me, her ass to my groin.
I held her tighter, fingers digging in. So soft. My fingers dug in more, as if they were obeying another, deeper call, until she squirmed the smallest amount...and whimpered.
