I turned my back to him. Not because I was shy, but because if I faced him while undressing, I wouldn't make it past the first clasp. My fingers found the zipper of my dress and pulled it down. Slowly, just how he liked it. The silence between us buzzed like a tight wire.
The air was cold on my skin, but his eyes were warm. I could feel it.
Bra. Gone.
Panties. Gone.
Dignity? Suspended.
I stepped into the lingerie. It clung to all my curves as if it had been made specifically to be tailored around me.
The thigh-high socks were smooth and silky, shaping my legs to perfection. I stood there one beat longer than I needed to. Letting him look. Letting myself be seen.
Then I turned around.
Makros's jaw snapped shut, once. Otherwise, he didn't move. But his eyes? They said it all.
"Good girl," he said, and it was not a compliment, it was a leash.
He moved around me, his hand tracing the exposed skin between socks and lingerie. Possessive. Lazy. Deadly.
"Do you have any idea what happens to good girls in my domain?" he asked, speaking low and warmly into my ear.
"Cookies?" I answered.
His laugh was gentle.
"No," he said. "Good girls are broken first."
just like that my heart flipped.
Chapter Sixty-Eight
Caged Bird II
MAKROS’S POV
She looked up at me, eyes wide, waiting. She looked compliant.
I took a step back, letting my gaze drag over her slowly. Deliberately. My fingers traced my lower lip, calculating. Like staring at a blank canvas before I paint on it. No—before I ruin it.
"On your knees," I said, voice sharp and low.
She dropped without hesitation. But deep down I had hoped in some ways that she had been defiant, if only a little bit, which would've made breaking her more interesting rather than just plain obedience.
I walked back to the cabinet, selecting only what I needed.
Returned with a steel tray carrying black leather cuffs, a blindfold, and a chrome spreader bar all glinting under the red light.
These were the basic tools needed for transformation.
For filling up that blank canvas which was her body with some colour.
"Hands."
She raised them, wrists pressed together in a silent offering. I fastened the cuffs tight, pulling them snug. She winced, meaning it stung. I wasn't here to coddle her. If she thought this experience would be easy, she must be in way over her head.
"You don't get to touch me," I told her, stepping behind. "Not tonight."
