Page 34 of If I Were Yours

I screw my eyes shut, trying to dispel the mental image of that thing in my mouth. I start shaking my head from side to side. I’ve always detested the idea of gags. They’re ugly and lewd. There’s nothing sexy about them. It’s pure humiliation.

I just can’t do it.

“Clara.” The low rumble of that single word snakes its way into me, overriding the building panic pulsing in bursts of adrenaline and frantic beats of my heart.My eyes fly open, staring straight up into deep, dark pits of will.

With a warning lift of his brows, he snuffs out my ability to have an opinion of my own, rendering his word the very foundation of my existence.

He doesn’t have to repeat the command. It lingers loud and vivid in my mind.

So I let my lips slip apart.

“More.”

I obey. Just a little. Enough to allow the air to crash past my lips with a rhythm matching the frantic beating in my chest.

With a lift of his chin, he urges me on. I comply again, unable to do anything else. He’s shoved me into violent waters, and his command is my only lifeline—the only thing that makes sense. So I keep parting my lips as he sears his demand into me with the sheer force of his gaze. Finally, my mouth is so wide ajar that my jaw strains, but Grigory refuses to put me out of my defeated misery.

Triumph glimmers in his eyes as he watches me, committing every tiny detail of my degradation to memory.

I slump against the door, giving up that final sliver of resistance, tossing myself helplessly at his feet. He may do whatever he wants. I no longer care.

I’m his to use and abuse.

He sees the moment I let go. His eyes widen like he’s high on power—high on my helplessness.

Finally, he shoves the red ball into my mouth. I mewl in defeat as I slacken my jaw around it, accepting the degrading intrusion.

Grigory slides a hand to the back of my head and pulls my forehead into his chest. I can spit out the ball, but he knows I won’t. He knows I truly can’t. So he takes his time caressing my head, letting me feel the enormity of his control.

Shame pounds through my system. But there’s also another pulsing. Something hot and urgent, steering for a place deep within my core, gathering and smoldering, lighting fire to my submissive desires.

I hate this, yet I want every devastating moment of it—to feel the magnitude of his power. Feel the rush as I let everything go and his will becomes my own.

My breathing becomes deeper, longer. Calm.

“Good girl,” he says, finally picking up the straps and buckling them behind my head.The leather digs into the sides of my mouth, forcing the ball in place. I press my tongue against the rubber, but it barely moves. It’s stuck—forcing my mouth wide open.Ugly.

When Grigory folds his hands around my face and guides my eyes to his, there’s no mockery or sadistic triumph. His eyes are warm and tender as he brushes his thumbs along my cheeks. Like I’m beautiful.

It doesn’t add up. Yet he keeps watching me this way. It’s too much for my mind to cope with, so it shuts down.I just stare up at him, lost in the spell, lost in his power. He could tell me to walk into fire and I’d obey in an instant.

Gently, he turns me around, and I willingly sink into him as he folds an arm around my shoulders. He runs his free hand over my body, touching me like I’m something precious to be cherished and protected.

And I do feel cherished.

And vulnerable.

He’s still fully clothed, and it’s a stark contrast to my nakedness. Everything about him is a stark contrast to my defenseless state. The strength in his broad chest, the firmness in his arms, the unwavering power hovering in the very air around him. It all wraps around me like a fluffy blanket, protecting me from the world.

It’s safe.

Yet nothing is safe with this man.

He moves his arm down to hold me by the waist, and a slight tic in his muscles is my only warning. Suddenly, everything shifts. He shoots the other hand up and clamps it onto my breast with crushing force. Pain bursts into my tissues, and I scream through the gag.

Spit slips out with the sound, smearing humiliation onto my chin. I buck forward, trying to process the shift with another scream that sends more spit dripping.

I can’t take it. Not the pain, not the shame. My mind is about to explode from overload. I thrash against his arms, trying to wrestle free from the cruel grip on my breast—wrest free from the insanity flooding my mind.

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