Page 47 of The Puppetmaster

“I think she likes me,” Alena says, looking just as content as the animal. “She needs a proper name. If you don’t mind, I’ll give her one.”

“I don’t care.”

Alena smiles at me, seemingly oblivious at my irritation.

“Thank you,” she says, but I don’t know what for.

“It needs to go for now.”

Her face drops. “Why?”

“Because I say so.”

“Can she come back?” Alena asks, raising her brows in a plea.

I would get mad at her if she wasn’t already getting up from the bed and taking the cat with her as she makes a move to walk to the bedroom door. I don’t mind questions, as long as she’s complying with my current demand.

“That depends,” I respond vaguely, watching her as she opens the door and kneels down to set the cat back on the floor outside the room. The animal lets out a noise as if to protest, but slowly walks away even before Alena has closed the door again.

“On what?” she wants to know, turning around on the spot so that the delicate negligée seductively swirls around her hips.

She took my order to make herself presentable to heart and looks sinfully delicious, yet innocent in her white get-up. I don’t know what made her choose this particular set, as it’s certainly among the more conservative options I’ve left her with—but it doesn’t matter either way.

She’s only here for me to ruin her, and that’s what I’ll do.

Her question lingers between us as I approach her with slow but deliberate steps, placing the tip of my fingers below her chin to tilt her face up to mine. A blush creeps on her cheeks while she listens to my response.

“On whether you can be a good girl for me.”

Chapter 30

Alena

I love the way he looks at me. He seems pleased for the first time since I’ve stepped inside his house, just pleased–and I revel in this accomplishment.

The Puppetmaster is not an easy one to satisfy, and I feel more often than not it’s up to me, his puppet, to figure out what will make him happy. He only told me to make myself “presentable,” but it was still up to me to interpret its meaning.

And it seems like I’ve succeeded in my task.

At least that’s what I thought up until now. Because his expression darkens now, that same familiar menacing look returning to his face that I’ve seen so much of.

“We’re still not done with your punishment,” he announces, still holding my chin up with the tip of his finger so I’m forced to look up at him. “You know that, right?”

“I didn’t know that,” I answer truthfully. “What did I do wrong this time? Don’t you like–”

“I like the way you dolled yourself up for me,” he interjects. “You did well, I’ll give you that.”

A sense of relief rushes through me, but it doesn’t last long when he continues to speak.

“But there have been too many transgressions to even count before that, and you’ve only made up for a fraction of them.”

I want to frown at him, but refrain from doing so. If anything, I have no intention of adding to my list of misdeeds, especially if he keeps track of every single one of them like this.

“What are you going to do to me?”

He lets go of my chin and casts me an ominous smirk.

“A classic,” he says. “A proper spanking. Simple but effective.”

---