Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 87887 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 439(@200wpm)___ 352(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87887 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 439(@200wpm)___ 352(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
“Excuse me?” The question is out before I remember why I’m here, what the next seven days will entail.
“Strip, Zurielle. One item after another until I tell you to stop.”
I reach for the back of my dress without another thought, responding to the command in her voice. I should be questioning this, should still be demanding answers, but I want to obey. Still… I unclasp the top of my dress and pause. “I thought you and Alaric are friends.”
Ursa’s red lips curve. “We are.”
“You don’t think he’s going to have a problem with you and I having seven days’ worth of sex?” It was one thing when I was giving myself to a stranger. Ursa is a stranger, technically—but only to me. Alaric knows her. He’s known her in the most biblical of senses.
“Alaric understands how things work in Carver City.” Her expression doesn’t change. “Sex is only sex, until it’s not.”
I frown. “That doesn’t make any sense.”
“The dress, Zurielle.”
I release it and let it flutter to my feet. I was more naked than this on stage, but I can’t help holding my breath as Ursa drinks in the sight of me. She peruses me from the top of my head, down the length of my body, pausing on my feet before retracing the same path upward. By the time she reaches my face again, I’m trembling.
She licks her lips. “First things first. Hercules explained to you how safe words work?”
A word that’s an emergency failsafe if something happens that I don’t want. A way to make everything stop, even in games where “no” doesn’t really mean “no.” It seems strange and almost too good to be true to trust someone to honor a single word, but Ursa’s expression is deadly serious as she waits for my answer. “Yes, he explained it to me.”
“Pick one. Something you won’t use in casual conversation on accident.”
I swallow hard, this entire situation suddenly becoming that much realer. “Hurricane.”
Ursa considers me for a moment and nods. “Very well. Did you like being on stage with Aurora?”
I flush hot. “I think everyone could tell that I did.”
“That’s not an answer.” She snaps her fingers. “Kneel.”
I obey. The rug cushions my knees, the floor catching me even as the room seems to spin. It’s so solid. A strange thought, but I can’t help it as I look up at Ursa. She seems larger than life, a goddess to be worshiped with words and actions. I want to worship her.
“Did you like being on stage with Aurora?” she asks again.
This time, I don’t try to dodge the question. “Yes. I loved it when she touched me. I loved how she whispered in my ear that everyone was getting off on it, and I really loved it when she stroked my clit. I wanted more.”
She nods and moves closer until the hem of her dress brushes my knees. Ursa sifts her fingers through my hair, petting me in an almost innocent way. I’m still trembling, poised on the verge of something I don’t understand. This is pleasure, yes, but it’s something beyond that. Kneeling at her feet, knowing that I’ll obey any command she gives right now, having her touch me… It all combines into a need that takes my breath away. “Please.”
“Please what?” She still sounds warm, welcoming, completely at odds with the look in her dark eyes. I don’t know why the contrast pulls at my chest—lower—but it does.
I want the warmth.
I want the bite.
I want it all.
“I feel…” I’m not sure how to put it into words. “I need.”
“Ah.” She twines my hair around her fist and tugs sharply. She inhales as I gasp, as if she can taste the sound on my lips despite the distance between our faces. Using that hold on my hair, she urges me to my feet. It hurts a little, but the pain does something funny to my head. I feel floaty and warm, warm, warm, my pulse throbbing in my pussy until I’m shaking.
Ursa releases me. “Take off everything. I want to see what my million dollars purchased.”
A million dollars.
She paid a million dollars for me. Or, more likely, for some kind of revenge, but it’s hard to remember that with her staring at me like I’m a dessert she’s about to sample. It takes me several tries to get my bra undone, and even longer to work the clasps on my faux corset. As I slide my panties down my legs, she turns and walks away. I pause. “Um?”
“Did I say stop?” She doesn’t look at me.
“No.”
“No, Mistress,” she corrects.
“No, Mistress.” I listen to her heels click down the hallway and then keep stripping. It’s tempting to just shuck off the garter belt and thigh highs, but I make myself undo them first and take them off properly. I’m removing the last stocking as she reappears with a glass of red wine in her hand.