Page 53 of Slave

“Number?”

“Four,” I whispered out.

“Look at me,” he said firmly. I opened my eyes to find him staring intently at my face. Once he had my attention, he said in clear disbelief, “Only four?”

I swallowed. What was I supposed to say?

But before I could answer or reassess, he asked, “What if I walked to that store over there and left you standing here?”

No! Please no.

There was no doubt he saw the panic in my eyes. “What number, Brianna?”

“Seven,” I gasped.

He nodded. “I’m not going to leave you alone today. So take a deep breath and get back to that four. Or better yet, down to a one or a two. I’m not going to let anything happen to you. Remember, Brianna, this is about trust.” Again I swallowed and tried to do what he said.

Finally, he seemed satisfied and began walking again. We made our way into a store at the far end of the mall. It was a small boutique, but it had some very beautiful clothing.

A woman greeted us and asked if she could help us find anything, but Master said no. Instead, he pulled me farther into the store and took several items off the racks before ushering me to the dressing rooms. Turning toward me, he put the items in my hands and told me to go try them on one at a time and then come out and show him.

I felt a little awkward, but I rationalized that it really was no different than what I did every day. It wasn’t like he was watching me dress or anything. Then the thought crossed my mind that that didn’t really matter either. My Master had seen all of me.

Okay, well maybe not all of me, but enough.

Getting out of my clothes, I selected the first outfit. It was a fitted pair of jeans that sat low on my hips and a rust-colored shirt that dipped a little lower than I would ever pick for myself. It showed my cleavage, but not overly so, and the hem ended about an inch above the waist of my pants. With a look in the mirror at myself and a deep breath, I walked out of the dressing room so that he could see me.

He’d been looking at a magazine when I stepped out, but quickly his eyes rose and skimmed over me. I felt instantly uncomfortable. There was something in his eyes that was almost predatory.

With practiced grace, he stood and walked toward me, only adding to my nerves. Silently, he walked slowly around me like a cat stalking its prey. I felt my panic rising.

Then I felt his breath caress my ear as he whispered, “Number?”

What number? It was hard to get my brain to think, but I tried and settled on a five again.

“Why?”

I closed my eyes and tried to answer honestly. “I’m afraid.”

“Of?” he prompted.

The next words were so hard, but I was determined not to lie to him as he’d asked. “You,” I squeaked out.

He was still behind me, hovering over my shoulder with his mouth so close to my ear I could feel every breath he took. “Why?”

How could I explain to him my fears when I wasn’t sure I understood them myself? Our entire conversation was done in whispers. The shop was empty except for the lady who had welcomed us, and she was on the other side of the store. So I just simply said, “I’m afraid you’ll . . . touch me.”

His response did not come right away, like he was thinking about how to answer me, but then, “Do you not like it when I touch you?”

I closed my eyes. This was one of the confusing parts because, yes, I did.

My breathing was unsteady, coming in short pants. His hands came up, rubbing up and down the sides of my arms as he spoke the next words. “I will not have sex with you until you ask me to, if that is what has you worried.”

What? He wouldn’t . . . Why?

And before I could stop it, I heard myself utter, “Why?”

Within seconds, he was in front of me. His hand came up to grip the back of my neck more aggressively than he’d ever touched me, angling it until I had no choice but to look at him. “I want you, Brianna, don’t doubt that,” he said in a voice that made me shiver. “But you will give yourself to me willingly. If I have you, I want all of you.”

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