Page 54 of The Puppetmaster

“On the floor,” I command her, grabbing the strings a little closer to her wrists and yanking them down so she’s forced to bend over.

She mewls and manages just in time to catch her fall, tumbling down on all fours, just as I wanted her to.

“If you don’t want to talk to me, you’ll have your breakfast on the floor today,” I snarl.

She tries to gather herself up, protest written all over her pretty face when she looks up at me, but I shove her back down. I kneel next to her, attaching the ends of the strings to a high chair that’s standing close by. Just like the knots I used on her first day, these are not strong enough to stop her from getting away, but this is not about physical restraint; it is a mental one.

I tie the strings so close to the chair that she’s forced to remain bent over, resting on her elbows so her hands are placed right next to the chair, her ass sticking up in the air. I increase her humiliation by pulling down her cute little thong and exposing her center to the room.

She’s breathing heavily, and while I know the noises she’s making right now are meant to be in protest, they sound like horny little moans to me.

“Stay.”

I get up on my feet and stand next to her for a few moments, watching her half-naked body bent down in submission before me. My cock grew hard the moment she stumbled down to the floor and made that sexy mewling sound. It’s pushing against the denim of my pants with such force that it’s almost painful.

“You still don’t want to tell me?”

She ignores my question and lowers her head to the floor.

“Fine,” I say, turning on the spot and making my way into the kitchen to get her breakfast. I expect her to call after me, to plead for mercy or ask me to come to my senses. But she does nothing of the sort and just stays on the floor, bent over and motionless, resting on her elbows, her eyes glued to the white tiles.

I throw one last look at her, a part of me hoping that she will give in because I would much rather have a proper breakfast with her seated by me at the table.

That thought haunts me as I prepare two dry slices of toast for her to eat. I consider adding at least a little bit of butter, but that would ruin the whole idea of punishment. It has to hurt if I really want her to learn—and keeping secrets from me is the last thing I’m willing to tolerate. Something is going on in that pretty little head of hers and I will find out what it is, no matter what.

I place the plate with the two dry slices of toast right below her nose, and she still doesn’t move or speak. She just perseveres in that subdued position, her bare ass pointed up in the air, her head bowed low in defeat.

She doesn’t move when I prepare my own breakfast–scrambled eggs and buttered toast—and she doesn’t move when I make coffee, even though I know how much she craves that stuff in the morning. She doesn’t even look up when I sit down at one of the high chairs close to her.

She also doesn’t touch the toast in front of her, but I try to enjoy my breakfast all the same. I’m not enjoying it, really, and that annoys the hell out of me.

Because I shouldn’t care this much. I shouldn’t care about this at all. If anything, it should satisfy me to see her like this, so demure, so defeated, fighting herself, because she knows I’m on to something, but she’s too stubborn to admit it. I should enjoy watching her break under the punishment and relish the way she will give in to me any moment now.

But I’m not. Instead, I’m sitting here like a fucking idiot, wishing we would share a meal like normal people.

“This isn’t fair.”

I freeze in place, my hand idly hovering in the air as I was just about to reach for my coffee mug.

“Excuse me?” I turn to her.

She doesn’t move an inch and doesn’t even look up to me, but she repeats her words.

“This isn’t fair,” she says. “You said you hate liars, so why would I ever lie to you?”

“You tell me, Alena, because you are obviously lying to me!”

“No,Michael, I’m not!” she insists—and upon hearing her words, I feel like the blood has just frozen in my veins.

“Whatdid you just call me?”

Chapter 34

Alena

Shit. One week. One entire week I made it without making this mistake.

I don’t know why, but I’m aware that he wanted his name to remain a secret between us. A secret revealed to me before I even stepped foot inside this house.

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