back, the man stood and adjusted his jacket. "Come along. We have more to do."
Copying him, I cast a curious look at the kitchen as we left. What were they making all that food for? There was so much I didn't know. Leonide was keeping me in the dark, his smile making it clear he enjoyed the power over me. I need to be patient. My gaze was stuck on the back of his neck, imagining the fork from breakfast stabbing in.
I need to keep playing pretend.
"This way." It was a winding hall, curving along until a row of pale purple doors appeared. Leonide waved me through one of them, shutting it softly behind us.
It was a tall room, lit only by a number of lamps in the corners. Iron closets covered the walls, mirrors reflecting the sight of myself back to me. It felt... wrong. Seeing myself in lingerie, ankles chained, lit by the glow of yellow lights; my intuition rippled. "What is this room?"
His first response was the hard click of the door lock. I spun, seeing him slip the key away in his pocket. "One of the many things my clients—future grooms—expect from the brides I produce is women who can dress well." His face was sharper, contrasted by the lamps as he approached. "Women who swing their hips, excite their husband and make other men jealous."
My back hit one of the closets, the handles rattling like teeth. He makes dressing up sound so god damn obscene.
"Let's get started," he said, pausing a foot from me. "Unless you like running around in just lingerie, my lovely girl."
My eyes flicked to the exit. "Why did you lock us in?"
"Because I don't trust you to behave."
I couldn't argue his reason. Though showing him my back made me feel vulnerable, I opened the closet. Inside, the variety of colors and cuts was overwhelming. "What should I be putting on?"
Leonide hovered close. I wondered if he could smell my perspiration. "Often, it will depend on who chooses you. However, to be safe, you should be able to pick a number of things. Choose something... sexy. How does that sound?"
"Awful, sir," I admitted.
His laugh was genuine. "Pick it anyway."
One breath. Two breaths. I dug inside, wondering what to choose. The dress I'd taken to Vegas had been the sexiest thing I owned. Would something similar work? He did seem to like it on me—stop. I crushed my lids shut, buried the memory. I wouldn't think about Leonide, let alone that night.
The silky dress I pulled into the light was deep blue. It was slit along the side, the back dipping even more than the plunging front. Too revealing. I went to hang it up; his hand on my arm froze me.
"That one." It wasn't a plea.
Stepping away, I lifted the garment high. Then, I looked pointedly at my chained and bare feet. "Will you be undoing those?"
Crossing his arms, he shook his head. "As I said, I don't trust you. Slide the dress over your head." I moved to do so, he stopped me with a gesture. "Take off the lingerie first."
"What?" In the mirrors, I saw my flushed face. "I can't just strip in front of you!"
"You're forgetting your place again." He wound an arm around my waist. I became a statue, unsure what to do. "Remove them, or I'll do it for you."
I worked my brain over, chasing an excuse. "But—but, sir, if I'm supposed to marry someone else, won't they be mad when they find out you saw me naked?"
"It's my job to prepare you." His grip tightened, fingers snapping the waistband of my panties. "My clients know this. If you were a virgin, perhaps it would be worth it to have some modesty. But you, my sweet Celeste, are being billed as the quintessential American slut."
Acid swam up my throat.
"So," he went on, lifting goosebumps where he stroked, "quit stalling. Show off your naked body. I've already seen it, after all."
Could I be any redder? Slipping back from him, I gave myself room. Holding the dress like a life-vest, I reached behind and unhooked my bra. Letting him do it for me might have been easier, taken the responsibility from myself. No. Take control, just
Copying him, I cast a curious look at the kitchen as we left. What were they making all that food for? There was so much I didn't know. Leonide was keeping me in the dark, his smile making it clear he enjoyed the power over me. I need to be patient. My gaze was stuck on the back of his neck, imagining the fork from breakfast stabbing in.
I need to keep playing pretend.
"This way." It was a winding hall, curving along until a row of pale purple doors appeared. Leonide waved me through one of them, shutting it softly behind us.
It was a tall room, lit only by a number of lamps in the corners. Iron closets covered the walls, mirrors reflecting the sight of myself back to me. It felt... wrong. Seeing myself in lingerie, ankles chained, lit by the glow of yellow lights; my intuition rippled. "What is this room?"
His first response was the hard click of the door lock. I spun, seeing him slip the key away in his pocket. "One of the many things my clients—future grooms—expect from the brides I produce is women who can dress well." His face was sharper, contrasted by the lamps as he approached. "Women who swing their hips, excite their husband and make other men jealous."
My back hit one of the closets, the handles rattling like teeth. He makes dressing up sound so god damn obscene.
"Let's get started," he said, pausing a foot from me. "Unless you like running around in just lingerie, my lovely girl."
My eyes flicked to the exit. "Why did you lock us in?"
"Because I don't trust you to behave."
I couldn't argue his reason. Though showing him my back made me feel vulnerable, I opened the closet. Inside, the variety of colors and cuts was overwhelming. "What should I be putting on?"
Leonide hovered close. I wondered if he could smell my perspiration. "Often, it will depend on who chooses you. However, to be safe, you should be able to pick a number of things. Choose something... sexy. How does that sound?"
"Awful, sir," I admitted.
His laugh was genuine. "Pick it anyway."
One breath. Two breaths. I dug inside, wondering what to choose. The dress I'd taken to Vegas had been the sexiest thing I owned. Would something similar work? He did seem to like it on me—stop. I crushed my lids shut, buried the memory. I wouldn't think about Leonide, let alone that night.
The silky dress I pulled into the light was deep blue. It was slit along the side, the back dipping even more than the plunging front. Too revealing. I went to hang it up; his hand on my arm froze me.
"That one." It wasn't a plea.
Stepping away, I lifted the garment high. Then, I looked pointedly at my chained and bare feet. "Will you be undoing those?"
Crossing his arms, he shook his head. "As I said, I don't trust you. Slide the dress over your head." I moved to do so, he stopped me with a gesture. "Take off the lingerie first."
"What?" In the mirrors, I saw my flushed face. "I can't just strip in front of you!"
"You're forgetting your place again." He wound an arm around my waist. I became a statue, unsure what to do. "Remove them, or I'll do it for you."
I worked my brain over, chasing an excuse. "But—but, sir, if I'm supposed to marry someone else, won't they be mad when they find out you saw me naked?"
"It's my job to prepare you." His grip tightened, fingers snapping the waistband of my panties. "My clients know this. If you were a virgin, perhaps it would be worth it to have some modesty. But you, my sweet Celeste, are being billed as the quintessential American slut."
Acid swam up my throat.
"So," he went on, lifting goosebumps where he stroked, "quit stalling. Show off your naked body. I've already seen it, after all."
Could I be any redder? Slipping back from him, I gave myself room. Holding the dress like a life-vest, I reached behind and unhooked my bra. Letting him do it for me might have been easier, taken the responsibility from myself. No. Take control, just
Similar Books
