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I think I knew, dimly, somewhere in the back of my mind, what “you’re mine” meant to a man like Mal. I didn’t dwell on it, but Iknewthe full extent of his threat and his decree that I do as he says, on pain of spilling my darkest secrets to the world.
But for the first time, I’m being faced with it head-on. It’s right here, full in my face, leering into my eyes with a hungry demand on its lips.
Strip.
I know deep down it’s not going to stop with taking my clothes off. This isn’t the end goal for him. It’s merely the beginning of my submission. My unraveling. My downfall.
So why thefuckis my skin tingling like this? Why is my heart racing, not with dread but with a nervous energy bordering on excitement?
“If you needassistance…” His low, dark voice cuts through the room, sending a shiver down my spine. “Just ask.”
I shake my head, my mouth dry.
This should be easy. It’s just taking my clothes off. And it’s not like I’m some naive teenager. I’m twenty-fucking-six years old, for fuck’s sake.
But I don’t have to ask myself why this is so difficult. I already know.
Because I’ve never done this before.
I’ve never been naked in front of a man.Ever. And the fact that it’s about to happen is both terrifying and thrilling.
With a final deep, shaky breath, I begin to strip. My hands tremble as I pull off my hoodie. I try to keep my expression neutral as I turn to the side and peel off my black yoga pants. Then my black tank top.
When I’m down to just my underwear, I feel the full weight of my vulnerability as I turn back to him, half-heartedly hugging myself.
Mal arches a brow, his eyes raking over my body with both hunger and amusement, zoning in on the French lace demi-bra and bikini cut thong.
Again, it’s my one “girly” indulgence.
Before I ran away from my old life, I had wealth. But I was too young to be spending it myself. After I ran away, it was a daily struggle for survival, first on my own and then with Anni.
Then one day, finally, we had money. Lots of money.
When people who have been without disposable income for a long time—or forever—finally get some cash, they all do different things. But generally, the normal response is to blow at least a little of it.
Some people buy a fancy car, or a new piece of tech like a big screen TV or a high end laptop. Some people go out to a ridiculously expensive dinner, or travel.
When I first got my taste ofrealmoney, I went out and bought a thousand-dollar set ofultrahot lingerie from Dita Von Teese’s line: stockings, panties, garter belt, corset…theworks.
Now why did I of all people—the girl who dresses in black hoodies and studded boots, who literally never takes her clothes off for anyone—go out and buy sexy lingerie?
Well, I’m no psychiatrist, but I can make an educated guess. I’m sure some of it was that I was just relieved not to be scrounging to survive on the streets. When you’re scamming the machines at laundromats to wash the three changes of clothes you own, “sexy” and “lacy” aren’t in your wardrobe.
I’d bet another part of it was that even though I had no interest in sleeping with or being intimate at all with anyone, I still wanted to feel sexy and like a woman—at least privately, for myself.
Elegant, expensive lingerie became my guilty pleasure, to the point that it’s all I wear now. It’s a perfect compromise. On the outside, I’m the walking, shit-talking, gothy middle finger held up to the world. Underneath it all, I get to be whatever suits my mood. Sexy. Confident. Slutty, even, without ever making myself vulnerable to another person.
The point is,it’s all for me.
And now, for the first time, the lace armor I wear is on display to someone else. As if it’sforsomeone else.
A hungry, predatory smile curls the corners of Mal’s lips, his jaw resting on his thumb and a finger tracing up and down his cheekbone.
“You shouldn’t have gotten all dressed up for me.”
I scowl, defiant. “I didn’t. This is how I always dress.”
His lips twitch into a smirk as he eyes me, his finger still tracing up and down his cheekbone. “Well, considering you belong to me now?—”
