Page 122 of The Delta's Rogue
Brenna waits for Sarina at the closet, checking her fingernails to give us the semblance of privacy.
Sarina’s head pivots from left to right and back again as she examines the garments. She blows air out between her lips and reaches for the one in the middle—a deep purple two-piece ensemble—but her hand halts an inch from the hanger. Her arm tenses, pushing and straining, and her teeth clench together. Then she drops her hand to her side with a sigh. “I can’t grab it.”
“Damn it,” Brenna mutters, glancing at the closet and then me. “I should have expected this.”
“Expected what?” I ask.
“They gave her enchanted lingerie.”
I blink at her. “Enchanted?”
“She can’t put it on herself unless you order her to. Or you can dress her instead.”
A growl builds inmy chest, and I run my fingers through my hair, tugging at the roots. “Fuck!”
Sarina’s shoulders tremble. A small, almost inaudible, broken whimper floats through the air and into my ears. I take one large, hurried step towards her, then stop, indecision waging war in my mind.
She glances over her shoulder at me, her dark brown eyes an endless pit of despair.
“Sebastián.”She whispers my name like it’s her lifeline, like it’s the only thing keeping her head above water.
I’m at her side in record time, and she links our fingers, pressing our palms together. She clings to me like her voice clings to my name, like I clung to our promises to get me through the lonely years without her.
Brenna backs away. “I’ll wait outside the room to give you some time.”
I give her a nod of acknowledgment while keeping all my attention on Sarina.
The click of the latch and the spinning of the bolt as Brenna leaves echo through the room. Sarina flinches at the combination of sounds, her grip on my hand tightening.
“Sarina…” I grab the outfit she picked off the rack in the closet. “I…” I stare at the garment, at the outrageous combination of chiffon and lace and ribbons and ruffles, and I can’t bring myself to finish my sentence.
There is no easy option here. Either I dress her myself, or I order her to do it.
If I do it for her, I’m no better than them—treating her like a toy, a doll. If I order her to do it, she can dress herself, but at what cost? My command is still a command. Itstill removes her independence, her self-sufficiency, and her autonomy. My command still objectifies her. It’s a representation of the entertainment those other, false “Doms” would have expected if they’d won her auction instead of me.
There is no winning here.
“Just put it on me,Sebastián.” Her voice is choked and raspy. “I’m used to it.”
Ice-cold rage and agony rush through me at her words. They awaken dark imaginings in my mind, painting scenarios of all the possible, horrendous shit they put her through for her to brush this off with such nonchalance.
She faces me, unbuttons my suit jacket that hangs from her frail frame, and lets it slip from her arms. It falls to the floor in a heap, and she lifts her chin, holding my angry and pained gaze with her broken, tear-filled eyes.
My knuckles turn white as I clench the hanger tighter in my fist. “I don’t want to hurt you more,cariño.”
“You can’t hurt me,mi vida. There is nothing left for you to hurt.”
My throat tightens, and my heart cracks down the center at the conviction and acceptance in her voice. It brings me to my knees. The urge to wrap her up and hide her away in a place where no one can touch her again overtakes me, mixing with the guilt settling in my gut.
I couldn’t protect her from this. But I’ll protect her from whatever else may come our way. Whatever else we may face together.
I just have to take her away from here first.
“Te amo, Sarina.” I remove the stupid lingerie from the hanger. “I love you. I need you to know that.”
The hint of a smile dances across her face, tugging at her expression and brightening it for a moment. Warmth flickers in her eyes like sparks trying to light kindling, before they once more become dull and void of emotion.
“I know,Sebastián,” she says. “I know.”
