It’s hard not to see the ghosts lurking in the shadows. The memories of fuck-ups past. The last time I was here, Quinn had a way of putting her hands on me that made me feel like a crime scene. Like her fingerprints would be dusted from my body as evidence of our wrongdoings.
Dove’s touch is sweetly possessive. Every part of my body feels blessed when she grazes it. It’s intoxicating.
“See you later,” she tells Carver and Ginger. Carver gives the head-tilt nod and then scoots in closer to Ginger, claiming his territory.
I let Dove lead. She pulls me up the staircase with the smooth, rounded wooden bannister. I follow her to the second floor, where there’s a wide, studio-style space. The rigging equipment is in a heap on the floor,where it looks like it’s just been taken down. Ophelia has stopped screaming. She’s in Phantom’s lap now, gently sobbing as he whispers to her.
No use trying to engage them. They’re in their own world now.
Dove’s fingertips guide me past them. She takes me into another, sectioned off room. This room is mostly empty, save for the large, medieval-looking device in the center. Two planks form the X of a St. Andrew’s Cross.
Dove leans back against the cross, looking at me coyly.
“Is this what you want?”
She bites her lip and nods. “Mmhm.”
She’s smiling. She’s cute. This version of Dove—this obedient, sweet little plaything—is fucking adorable, and I’m quickly getting addicted to it.
There’s a chair in front of the cross. I take it and lace my fingers together.
“Clothes off,” I tell her. “In your bra and panties. Now.”
She pops off the straps of her overalls. She pushes them off and removes her shirt. Then she drops that too on the floor.
“Is that how you leave your clothes?” I taunt her. “In a messy pile?”
Dove squints at me. The warning in her eyes—it feels like a promise. Is she going to punish me later for the way I’m punishing her now?
Now isn’t that a delicious thought.
She crouches down and folds up her clothes neatly. Then she approaches me, holding them out. I take them and set the pile down beside me. “Good. Back up against the cross.”
Dove goes up to the cross again. She positions herself against it—her legs spread to match the bottom planks, her arms outstretched above her to line up with the top planks.
God, she’s a vision.
I let myself admire her. Those strong legs parted for me. The flower tattoo that climbs her side and blooms across her breast. The gentle curves of her body.
The rise and fall of herchest picks up in pace. I haven’t even touched her yet and, already, she’s panting.
She wants this. Badly.
I make her wait for it.
“Are yousurethis is what you want?” I ask from my seat. “Because once I lock you in, I’m not going to be very nice.”
She grins. “Promises, promises…”
I rise. I close the distance between us, forcing her up against the cross. “Turn around,” I tell her.
She obeys. I move my hand to the soft curve of her ass. I give her a hard slap there. It draws a sudden gasp from her.
“Are you being mouthy?” I ask her.
“Yes,” she says. Her voice is light, breathy.
I give her another hard smack. Her reddened skin feels hot against my palm. “Bad girl.”
