Page 21 of Double Dare

Pointing my eyes to the floor, I twiddle my thumbs. “I’m sorry. I just—” I try to find the right words, but nothing seems fitting.

Sitting up, he throws his legs over the edge of his bed. “You just what? Don’t like listening?”

I can tell my presence alone is still upsetting to him, but I’m not backing down. Not when I feel I’m finally making some fucking headway.

“No. I want you to do something,” I mumble.

I should have rehearsed a script in my head before coming in here, but I didn’t think it would be this hard. I’m about to do what he asked—give in and let go—and although I tell myself I’m on board, my mind doesn’t seem to agree. The brat inside of me is fighting to get out.

He stands and walks toward me, his pajama pants hanging dangerously low on his hips. “Then speak,” he spits.

“Punish me,” I finally let out, relieved and embarrassed in the same breath.

“Punish you?” He tips his head, gripping my chin between his pointer and thumb and bringing my eyes back to his.

I nod stiffly. “For what happened at the club. Punish me.”

He lets out a low, slow chuckle full of amusement and sarcasm. “I’m not in the mood for this.”

He drops his hand and turns around, but I grab his wrist and pull him back to me. “Please.”

He studies me for a moment, letting silence surround us, before he grabs a lock of my hair and smells it. “Punish you?” he repeats.

He doesn’t need my answer. I’ve already begged enough, but I take it as he agrees when he directs me to his bed and leaves the room. For the few moments he’s gone, I’m left to stew and wonder if this was all a mistake, but I don’t get the chance to act on it.

When he comes back, he has a glass container full of rice, a stainless-steel kitchen knife, and a black hair tie around his wrist. Stepping to me, he sets the rice and knife on his nightstand. “Turn around.”

Doing as he says, I turn around and cross my legs in front of me on the bed. Gently, he gathers all my hair and starts braiding it into a single, loose plait.

“Are you finally giving yourself to me?” he asks softly, tying the end of the braid with the hair tie.

“I’ve already given you all of me, Adrian,” I reply honestly.

I can feel him shake his head, or maybe I just know him that well. “Not all of you.”

Letting his comment end the conversation, I stay silent. Right now, I don’t need to argue. That isn’t the point of all this.

“Tonight, this shows you’re mine, but in the way you’re not ready to admit,” he says, reaching around me with the knife in hand.

I already know what’s coming, so the shock doesn’t hit me like before. Placing the blade to my collarbone, he presses just enough to draw blood. As it rolls down my chest, he turns me back around. I’m expecting him to lick it like before, but he doesn’t. Reaching into his pocket, he pulls out a small teardrop-shaped vial.

He brings it to the cut, placing the tiny opening below the slice, and lets my blood drip into it. Slowly, my blood fills the container. When it’s halfway, he pulls it away and seals the top with a glass cork small enough to fit that’s attached to a chain, then slips it back in his pocket.

Leaning down, he sticks out his tongue and slides it along the short, narrow trail of blood. His touch alone sends heat skating across my skin. I drop my head back and moan, giving him access to lick and kiss every inch of my chest and neck, but he doesn’t.

Reaching behind me, he grips my hair and pulls my head back up. “Stand.”

I rise to my feet in front of him and wait for his next command.

“Undress.”

I nod and drop the shorts I put on after the shower, then raise the tank top over my head and throw it to the floor.

Once I’m completely naked, he gives me a nod of approval before reaching for the container of rice. Not knowing what he has planned has me on edge but in the best possible way. All I’ve been doing is trying to get his attention but in the wrong way. He wanted me to come to him willingly—really willingly—and let him do as he pleases, and I never understood that. I thought everything he said had an underlying meaning. I looked too far into his words instead of taking them for what they were.

With the container in hand, he walks to the center of his room. I try to focus on what he’s doing, but all I can seem to look at is his hard dick bobbing behind his thin pants. When he squats down and cuts off my line of vision, I’m forced to pay attention.

He spreads the rice into a thick line on the floor about two feet long and a foot wide. “Come here.” He waves me over, standing back up.

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