Page 75 of Kingmakers, Year Two

I couldn’t have been more wrong. He’s the most determined person I’ve ever met. When he says he’ll do this, I believe him. It’s absurd and unimaginable, but I trust him all the same.

“I believe you,” I say.

Miles kisses me again, without reservation this time. He kisses me like he’s already accomplished what he promised. Like he owns me now, fully and completely.

He stops only to pause the movie, switching to music instead.

The vintage light of the movie screen glows on his skin, glinting in his shining, dark curls. He selects the song he wants without even glancing at the hand-held remote that operates the speaker. Miles does everything the way he dances: with swift, flawless coordination. I’ve never seen him stumble or hesitate.

He’s always three steps ahead of everyone else, including me. I wonder if he can see the future, like the girl in my script. Unlike her, Miles seems to have full power to achieve his goals.

The music is sensual and intent.

Miles looks at me with an expression I’ve come to know well.

The look he gets when he’s decided on his plan. When nothing will stray him from his course.

“Take off your clothes,” he orders.

I swallow hard.

“I . . . I don’t know if we should . . .”

“You trust me?” he says.

“Yes.”

“Then do what I say.”

“I . . . alright.”

“Stand there. In the light.”

I stand in the reflected light of the projector, trembling a little, but not from cold. My skin burns in the heat of Miles’ stare.

“Take your clothes off,” he repeats. “Slowly.”

I start to unbutton my blouse. My fingertips are tingling, so stiff that my hands feel like they belong to someone else. Maybe to Miles . ..

I’m mesmerized by his stare. I feel like itishis hands doing this, as if I’m not acting on my own volition, but purely according to his will.

I go down the buttons one by one, then I open the blouse and let the silky material slide down my arms and drop to the ground.

The beat of the music vibrates under my skin. I find myself swaying in Chay’s high-heeled shoes, my hips moving slightly to the song. I turn around so my back is to Miles, then slowly unzip the skirt, revealing a slice of thong and asscheeks.

I can hear the ancient springs of the sofa creaking as Miles shifts position.

Slowly, I slide the skirt down over my bottom, bending over slightly as it, too, drops down to puddle around my feet. I step clear of the skirt.

“Keep the heels on,” Miles barks.

I look back over my shoulder at him. His eyes gleam in the pale light. He leans back against the cushions, his arms resting along the back of the sofa. He looks like a king surveying his concubine. Far from feeling degraded by this, I get a rush of warmth between my legs.

I turn around again, wearing only a lacy black thong and bra now.

Miles’ eyes roam over my body. I watch him, feeling equally aroused by his admiration of me. Finally my figure is my friend, because it’s securing the attention of someone I actually want. I’ve never felt as sexy as I do in this moment, seeing myself reflected in his eyes.

I reach around behind my back to unclasp my bra. My breasts fall from their hoisted-up position. Just that movement, that bounce, makes my nipples spring to attention, giving me a deep, desperate ache down low in my belly.

---