I spun around to face him.
“I…. I can’t believe you made me do th-that…”
His expression dropped.
A rushing of white noise filled my ears, my brain. Opaque spots were floating in front of my eyes.
I collapsed.
Dare
Angel went down. I caught her before she hit the floor. She was out. Fuck.
I’d seen only black from the moment I returned to that dining room and saw Rafe Ruiz, leaned in, an inch from her ear, talking to her. The look on her face, his proximity, and all of that on top of all I was already dealing with? It crashed down on me then, at that second, like a black curtain of anger.
Cleo?
I’d felt like it had to be done. That cunt needed punishment and by my ordering my wife to do it, I’d show them what they wanted to see. I’d agreed with Gan Chen when we’d spoken in the hall outside the dining room.
Having Angel punish Cleo would put Cleo in her place. He’d told me I could do whatever I felt needed to be done. In fact, harsh punishment would be appreciated, since several slaves had witnessed Cleo’s attitude since we’d arrived and action had to be taken.
They’d be pulling her from her current position, handling, training, and managing and correcting slaves. She would be put somewhere else on the resort. But, only if she got back in line. She was apparently behaving like she’d never behaved before, so they were putting her in line or she would be put out of her misery.
Having Angel punish her at my command would show I was Angel’s master, she was my obedient wife, and that bitch would get what was coming to her. Even more, my Angel would get something cathartic out of it. Revenge. Pay that bitch back for her bullshit treatment of the Kruna victims. If I were Angel, I’d wanna pay that shit back. For sure.
So, in the heat of the moment, my anger at all we were dealing with, I thought I’d done something good for her by giving her what I figured I’d want in her shoes.
I was wrong. As she opened her eyes, in my arms, I knew just how wrong. Really fucking wrong. I hadn’t thought like her. Just because I figured I’d want that didn’t mean it’d be what she would’ve wanted. I’d made irrational decisions through blackness.
Her body started trembling and her eyes were filled with accusation. I’d abused her trust. Horribly.
“Sweetheart…” I whispered.
The trembling had started low and was revving up like someone turned the volume up. And it kept going up.
Her chin was trembling, her eyes were wet, and then she started to grab for my shirt.
I lifted her wrists up over her head and pinned them under one hand and my other hand went into her panties. Her skirt was up around her waist.
“Kick your shoes off,” I told her. She jerked around, crying.
“Shh, it’s okay.”
I leaned down and took her shoes off for her. But when I’d let go, she started to fret, to hyperventilate, so I grabbed her wrists and re-pinned her.
“Shhh, I’ve got you. Open up.”
She spread her legs wide. The thought of cameras occurred to me but she still had her panties on, just me with my hand in them. She was not wet.
“Feet together.” She put her soles together so that her legs were wide. She was sobbing.
“Baby, I’ve got you. Okay?”
She nodded, her eyes bloodshot, her chest moving up and down quickly.
I kissed her tears. Her eyes were fixed on something. What? I followed them to my forearm, which had a thick red welt from when I reached and took that whip from her. She squeezed her eyes shut tight and chewed her cheek.
“Stay still. Let me make you come. You’re such a good girl. My good girl.”