Page 37 of Vienna Bargain

She wanted him to touch her. Not as he had last night. Not in a way that made her feel cheap and small. She wanted him to touch her the way he had in Vienna. Maybe if he did, it would ease some of the hurt that lingered.

“You slept well?” he asked softly.

“I did once I found the blanket,” she said softly.

Alexander walked towards the bed, but stopped short of being within touching distance. “Who are you, Alena?”

Irritation pricked at her. Couldn’t he see she was trying? Didn’t he understand what she was offering, what she needed from him?

Last night he made it clear that he doesn’t care about your needs. He’s not your play partner. Not your Dom who has to take care of you.

“I told you already.”

“Your name, but that’s not who you are.”

“Google it,” she shot back.

“Mind your manners.”

“Google it, Alexander.”

“Try again.”

“Oh, of course. How dare I? Google it, Master Alexander.”

That soft needy feeling was gone, and in a way she was desperately glad. It would be easier to live with herself if she didn’t succumb to this pathetic urge to be soft and hope that in turn he would behave like the man, the Dom, he’d been in Vienna.

She crossed her arms over her breasts and smiled at him.

“Arms down.”

The urge to ignore the command, force him to manipulate her limbs, simply so he’d put his hands on her, was both petty and appealing. But she didn’t want to play dumb or be bratty, because she didn’t want him to think of her like that. Still, the way he’d approached her—cold and aggressive, wasn’t what she’d hoped for, didn’t match her feelings. She wanted him aggressive, yes, but hot and passionate.

In her fantasies and daydreams he did exactly what she wanted. They were, after all, her fantasies. But the reality of him, the real Alexander who was standing only a meter away was his own person with his own desires. A man who could, and would, do what he wanted, with no regard to what she might want or need, because that was the relationship they’d agreed to.

The only thing she could do was to retreat within the cloak of her confidence.

Very few people knew or understood exactly how powerful it could be to move through the world projecting confidence. She’d seen the occasional article titled Confidence Is the New Black, or The Sexiest Thing You Can Wear: Confidence.

It was more than that. Confidence projected authority, and as many a sociologist had proven, people backed down from authority. They hesitated to question it.

But that rule didn’t really apply when it came to facing down men like Alexander. Men who didn’t have to think about projecting their authority. They were born to it. Knew no other way of being.

Alena dropped her hands back to her thighs. “I’m sorry, Master Alexander.”

“Off the bed. Stand at the footboard.”

She brushed against him as she went past, but he didn’t touch her, didn’t even acknowledge her.

Alena swallowed hard, then forced her chin up. When he finished digging in a drawer and approached her with a pair of padded cuffs, she arched a brow and held out her hands.

He attached the cuffs. “Turn around.”

Alena waited until she was facing the bed to close her eyes and let a grimace of fear twist her lips.

He bound her then, arms stretched out above her head, cuffs secured to the chains that dangled from the bedposts. Her legs were similarly bound, cuffs around her ankles, then ankles spread wide and the cuffs secured to the legs of the bed with more chain. Her bad knee was sore from the previous bondage, but this position was tolerable.

She was now spread wide and bound tightly, pelvis bumping the bed when she shifted forward. Rocking her body back and forth was the only movement she could manage.

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