Page 9 of Kristoff

Kristoff flips lights on as he walks farther into a room. We pass a couch. The rug changes from blue to gray. Another door opens. And another.

I’m dumped on to the middle of a bed, and immediately I scramble to my knees, shaking my head to get the hair out of my eyes. It’s not long, only shoulder length and thin, so it’s not usually a problem. But hanging upside down makes it more so.

“Stay.” He points a finger at me then walks back to the door, slamming it shut and bolting it. Who would he need to keep out of the room?

Shuffling on my knees, I move as far away on the bed as I can get from him without falling to the floor. My chest aches from my heart beating too damn fast, and I can’t seem to get enough air. I’m locked in a room with the massive man who already has shown me nothing but pain.

He barely glances my way as he moves around the room, opening drawers and digging through them. He slams the last one shut and curses under his breath.

“Don’t move from that spot.” He jerks his finger at me, like it’s my fault he can’t find whatever the hell he’s looking for. I give him a nod since he seems to require acknowledgment before he gets moving again, and he unbolts the door.

While he’s gone, I sweep my gaze around the room. It’s just a bedroom. A fucking huge, luxurious bedroom, but just a room. No torture devices, no weapons hanging from the walls. If I’m not mistaken, there’s even a walkout patio through the French doors. He took me up two flights of stairs, but were we underground for the first set? How far up are we really?

As I’m trying to figure out how high up of a jump I can survive, the door opens again and he’s back.

He ignores me and walks past the dresser through another door that I assume is a bathroom when water starts running. Then a shower turns on. He’s taking a damn shower? Now?

I move from my knees to a sitting position in the bed, wincing at the tenderness still covering my entire backside. Even the plushness of the bedding isn’t enough to make me comfortable.

I’m just starting to ease off the bed when the bathroom door pulls open again and he calls me.

“What?” I ask, not having heard the last of what he said.

“Come here,” he says and crooks that fucking finger of his again. I’m going to break that finger.

“Why?” I tense, knowing if I piss him off, he’ll hurt me again, and I don’t want to be hurt. But I don’t really want to walk into a room that for all I know has been prepped to drown me.

He squares off with me, his dark eyes focused on mine, his jaw clenched. “When I call you, you come. You don’t ask questions. You do what you’re told.” He crooks his finger again. “Here.” And points to a spot on the carpet just in front of him.

I roll my eyes. Yeah, I’m not playing this game. Not with him.

“Magdalena, I saw the bruises on your ass and your thighs. They will hurt much more today if I have to take my belt to you again. And I won’t go easy on you just because of some bruises - it will be worse because you’ve earned a second punishment in such a short time.”

The way he talks reminds me of a Dom I used to play with back in New York. He was a stickler for obedience. It was fucking hot, I won’t lie. But this is different. This isn’t just being a good girl to get the orgasm at the end of the night. This is survival.

And I’d prefer to survive.

I slip off the bed and walk across the softest carpeting I’ve ever felt and stop just short of where he pointed. Some habits are hard to kill, even with his stern glare fixed on me.

“Don’t think to win. You’ll never win.” A clear warning to not push him. “Now, get to your knees.”

There isn’t a part of my body that isn’t aching and moving down to my knees still bound isn’t going to be easy - or graceful. The air swirls thick between us, his irritation becoming palpable.

With a heavy sigh, I sink down to my knees. Flicking my head to the side, I throw my hair out of my face so I can look up at him. His jeans are tight around his thighs, and his black t-shirt is snug around his chest. The man is more muscle than flesh.

“I’m going to uncuff you for a shower. Everything you need is already in there. Don’t do anything stupid and when you come out, we’ll talk.”

“I had to get on my knees for you to tell me that?” I can’t seem to stop myself.

“You had to get on your knees, Magdalena, because that’s where slaves belong.” He says it so gruffly, it’s almost hard to understand with his accent, but my body reacts to it easily enough. It comprehends him.

“I’m no one’s slave.” I thrust my chin up.

He responds with a slow, easy grin. And for a moment, he almost looks pleased. “We’ll see about that.” He pats my cheek. “Shower.”

I’m hauled up to my feet and spun around. The man handles me like I’m a damn rag doll and not a woman. After my cuffs are removed, I rub my wrists. They hadn’t been too tight, but it’s nice to have my body back under my control again.

He steps to the side and gestures for the shower. It’s a walk-in with a glass door that’s steamed up. With a quick glance back at him, I open the door and step inside.

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