Page 51 of Little Puppet

She clears her throat, shuffling toward the car as she pours the gas all over it. Her leash dangles down her back in the wind, her silky blonde hair dancing against the cold breeze.

When the can drips and the car is covered, she tosses it on top of the heap of metal. “What do you want me to light it with?”

I crook my finger, beckoning her toward me.

I give her a match, holding the book to strike against, watching her intently. “Don’t do anything you’ll regret,” I tell her when I watch a flicker of defiance light in her hazel eyes.

She licks her lips, striking the match. She stares into the tiny flame momentarily before turning slowly, protecting it against the wind with her hand as she approaches the symbol of her old life, the old her. When she tosses it, I think the damn thing went out when it doesn’t immediately catch.

Soon, though, the fire bursts to life, and Grace backs toward me, her back hitting my chest.

I lean down. “The fire will burn away all that you were, puppet. You’ll belong to me when you walk home like a good girl on your leash. For good.”

My hand slinks around her front, fingers grabbing at the collar connected to her leash, tugging as a breath escapes her.

I back us away from the car before the gas tank catches. Grace still watches as the flames engulf all she was nine days ago.

Using my hold on her collar, I turn her around, tugging her close.

“What name will you take?” I ask her.

Emotion floats in her eyes, tears brimming. Change is hard even when you know it’s coming, so I’ll allow her the momentary show of weakness even if it grates my nerves.

“What name?” she asks.

I nod. “We’re going to get your new documents today. You’ll need a new name.”

“What name do you want me to take?” Her voice is meek and unsure. I don’t like it—not when I’ve come to like her bratty mouth and witty comebacks.

“Grace, I think. It’s what suits you. You’ll take my last name.”

She swallows against the tips of my fingers curled under her collar. “Grace Moldova.”

I can’t help myself. I growl as I lean down and tug her face to mine.

The car behind us explodes as the fire reaches the fuel tank. Neither of us bristles. We’re too caught up in the fire breeding between us as I hover over her mouth.

“Would you like that, puppet?” I ask her, my lips ghosting over hers.

She nods, pushing forward to close the distance.

I pull back, teasing her—my favorite thing.

A small whimper of need escapes her.

I smirk.

“Will I be your wife or just your plaything?”

She licks her lips, and I wonder what it would be like to be her tongue, to feel each etched crevice of her lips so tenderly.

“You’d be more than my wife, darling.” I tug her back to my mouth, taunting her with a drag of my tongue over her lower lip.

“More than your wife?” she breathes against my mouth.

“I’ll own you. Possess you like you’re a piece of my soul. Our connection will go far beyond a piece of paper, my perfect puppet.”

Her shallow breathing has her grasping for anything she can hold onto, and her hands dig into the sides of my shirt for stability.

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