Page 33 of Devoured
He angled me towards the Terrariums. The security guard opened the door for us. In that empty hallway, it was eerily quiet, the only hum of noise the shuffle of our footsteps and the low buzz of the air conditioning. A few of the rooms were marked with small red lights, indicating that they were occupied, but Roland stopped us in front of the door to the dungeon room, the one I had left with Sweetie Pie.
I turned towards him. “What’s this about?”
“Go inside.”
A chill went through me. There was something different about Roland. The playfulness was gone, replaced with a sinister edge. Knowing what was in that room, the capabilities it had, made me uneasy.
I opened the door. It was clean, cleaner than I had left it. The staff must have come through there fast. Some of the furniture and equipment had been moved around too, though, in a quick glance, I couldn’t tell what.
I turned to face him. “What—”
“On your knees.”
His voice was cold. A tremor ran through me. “I- I don’t understand.”
“On. Your. Knees.”
I bit my lip, cringing as I kneeled, the sharp bite of the concrete working its way through my kneecaps. I glanced up at him, gnawing on the inside of my cheek. A burning heat began to kindle inside of me, but I blocked it out, buried it with sand. I could logic my way out of those desires. This was about business. This was about the future of my club. My home.
This wasn’t about Roland’s power over me.
He bent down, putting a hand under my chin, his thumb stroking my cheek.
“Show me it,” he said.
“Show you what?” I scowled.
“Your cunt.” His eyes burned like embers, daring me to tell him ‘no.’ To see what would happen when I dared to resist him. “You’re mine, Iris. All fucking mine. And right now, I want to see what’s mine. I want your pussy spread out in front of me. So be a good whore.” His teeth gleamed. “And spread your fucking legs for me.”
My chest tingled. I shifted to a standing position, inching the leather pants off of my legs.
“I didn’t say you could get up,” he growled.
My stomach twisted in knots. I took a deep, silent breath, then laid on the cold ground, inching my pants and thong off, leaving me bare. My cheeks burned red at the embarrassment of wiggling like a worm on the sidewalk, but I did it anyway. Transferred my mind elsewhere. Didn’t think about how inferior I felt; simply did the task. I grabbed my shoes, eager to put them back on and regain some power, but he stopped me.
“Leave the shoes.”
My eyes flickered to him, meeting his stoic gaze. He hadn’t said anything about my top, so I kept my bra and fishnet shirt on, adjusting the shirt over my stomach, pulling it down as much as I could in order to hold onto some control. Then I resumed my kneeling position in front of him.
He grabbed a wooden stool from the side of the room, the thud of his dress shoes loud against the concrete, then placed the stool in front of me. He took a seat, then leered down at me, peering between my legs.
“Spread your lips for me,” he said. Heat flushed through my entire body, dizziness filling my head. It wasn’t about spreading my legs; it was about exposing myself to him, letting him completely objectify me. Taking two fingers, I pulled my pussy lips apart. His cock twitched at the exposure, ready for me.
My pussy ached for him. Clenched. Pulsed at the thought of his cock. I screamed at myself internally, trying to drown those thoughts. This was Roland we were talking about. He was making me screw him so I could keep the club. He wasn’t a respectable businessman; he was a sexy asshole who liked to mess with my head.
But he wasn’t all bad. He had brought me to a show. A circus show, at that.
But that didn’t give him the right to humiliate me like this.
And yet I knew, deep down, that I could hardly breathe. Not because I hated it. But because it thrilled me.
He lifted his foot, bringing his dress shoe level with my face. I backed away, scowling at the tiny scuff marks and dirt on the bottom of his shoe.
“You know what to do,” he murmured.
I cringed, and he laughed, a hearty, evil laugh, one I had never heard from him before. “It’s okay for you to do it, but not okay for me to do it to you?” He pushed it in my face, the smooth sole against my cheek. “Practice what you preach.”
“I should say the same to you,” I hissed, glaring at him.
