Page 7 of Wanted
That he didn’t love or cherish her. That had stung, though truly she should have been used to that.
That he wasn’t above punishing her for her disobedience if she pushed him into it, and that he’d make sure she hated every bit of it. She wished she knew what his methods were. From the moment he’d threatened her, all she could think about was being punished. That was exactly what she needed, what she deserved for months’ worth of failure, for being so inept and unlovable that Master Ethen’s only avenue to be rid of her was to shoot her.
She stared out the window, watching as an old white farmhouse came into view beyond a freshly mowed pasture where round grass bales waited to be picked up. The old Virginian-style architecture with its peaked rooftops and wraparound porch was one of the nicest she’d seen, though not as nice as Master’s home. It looked big. Much too big for just one person to live in. Two now, since she was here.
“Home sweet home,” Marcus said, pulling up to the driveway. He clicked the garage opener on his visor, and then idled until the automatic door raised enough to let him ease into his parking space. He shut off the engine, then closed the door before unbuckling his belt. He looked at her in the rearview mirror again. “Are you going to give me trouble?”
She’d always worked so hard never to cause Master trouble, but Marcus wasn’t Master. She shook her head.
“All right.” He got out of the car and came around to let her out too. At the hospital, he’d walked her to the car with his hand on her elbow, put her in the back, and gave her the command to buckle her seatbelt. After only the smallest hesitation, she’d done it. Now here they were, in the privacy of his garage. Early spring in Virginia meant his garage was cold. She felt the coolness of the air moving up her legs from the moment he opened the door.
“Unbuckle your seatbelt,” he told her.
She did it and then sat waiting, her back stiff, the fine hairs on her body prickling as she ached for him to command her to get out. Master wasn’t even buried yet and here she was, in the home of another dom, not just following his commands but wishing for them.
She really was a traitor. A loyal submissive never would have come here so willingly. A submissive worth keeping would not now be waiting for Marcus’s next command, all while contemplating disobedience just so she could bear the soothing, comfort of the punishment that might follow.
“Step out of the car.”
She tried to hold herself immobile, but already her feet were moving to obey. Standing now between him and the car, she fisted her sweaty hands and swallowed convulsively. Her stomach was rolling. She felt sick in the pit of it.
“This way,” he said, stepping aside. She followed him, two steps behind and a little to his right, halting when he stopped to close the car door, waiting until he started walking again so she could follow him into the house. She kept her head down, her posture perfect even though she no longer had her heels. She didn’t have shoes at all. They must have fallen off her when she got shot and no one had thought to collect them before rushing her off to the hospital.
“Welcome to your new home,” he said, opening the door from the garage into the kitchen. Dark wood cabinets clashed strikingly with stark white granite countertops and floor tiles. The appliances were silver. It was utterly clean, without so much as a stray cup on the dining table in the adjacent eating space or a spoon in the bottom of the double sink. “Wake up is at six sharp. I take my coffee black, no cream, no sugar, and you won’t be making it. Breakfast is at eight, lunch at one, and dinner at seven. You won’t be making those either. While you are here, you will take care of your own needs. You will do the chores that you are given. The more you progress, the more you’ll be rewarded. Failure to progress will be met with consequences. Do you understand what I’ve just told you?”
“Yes, Sir.”
His face didn’t exactly harden, but his jaw clenched. His tone, however, was patient incarnate when he asked, “Are you my submissive?”
As if she needed the reminder. She fought not to wilt. “No, Sir.”
His jaw clenched again. He shifted, clearing his throat before trying again.
“You are not,” he emphasized, “my submissive. You aren’t my employee, either. Don’t call me sir. It’s just yes or no. Do you understand?”
Every fiber in her rebelled. Her stomach rolled harder, knotting so violently she thought she might throw up. “Yes, Sir.”
He studied her a moment, before tilting his head in a half-nod. “First test, first punishment, coming right up. Come with me.”
Turning on his heel, he marched out of the kitchen.
Her deliberate disobedience didn’t feel half as good as she’d thought it would. She followed him past the living room, down the hall and into a mostly empty cream-colored bedroom. The only furniture consisted of a four-drawer dresser and a double bed with a pale-yellow bedspread.
“Stand.” He pointed to a spot in the middle of the floor.
She assumed her place and watched him leave. The minutes bled painfully by while the knots in her stomach grew tighter and tighter. Was he going to come back? Was this the punishment, being sent to her room and left there? The door was still open. She could hear his footsteps retreating further down the hall, and then nothing but silence. Her pounding heart thumped against her ribs, growing so intense that the dull ache in her head sharpened back into stabbing icepicks as she strained to pick up the slightest sound.
After only a few minutes, back down the hall he came, reappearing in her doorway carrying a full-sized medical scale. He muscled it over the threshold and set it on the floor in front of a narrow strip of bare wall by the empty closet.
“Strip to your underwear and get on.” Turning, he walked out again, leaving her alone all over again.
She looked at the scale. Slowly, she removed her clothes, folding the ruined, blood-stained blouse and placing it on top of the dresser, hiding it under her neatly folded skirt. Naked, she returned to her designated spot.
She didn’t have long to wait. Marcus reappeared in the doorway with a blank paper in one hand and thumbtack in his other. He froze when he saw her, and for just a blink, all she saw on his face was the dark disapproval of a dom who was done having his orders tested.
Only the vaguest hint of disapproval trickled down into his voice when he said, “I told you to strip to your underwear.”
“I don’t have any, sir.”
