Page 9 of On His Terms
“Mmm-hmm.”
“Yes, Sir,” he corrected, voice a whiplash. “Or ‘yes, Master Alexander.’ From this moment forward, I am the Dom. You are the sub. And you will remember to acknowledge that. After all, you’re a fast learner. Or so you’ve said.”
She took a little breath. “Yes, Sir.”
“Any physical limitations I need to be aware of?”
“No, Sir.”
“In that case, about my birthday spanking…”
“Yes?” Then she tried again. “Yes, Sir?”
“We’ll go to the dungeon.” He pointed toward the stairs. “After you.”
Chelsea grabbed her wine, and he closed his hand around her wrist.
“Sober, or not at all.” One of his few hard, inflexible rules.
She hesitated, then nodded. He released her, and her hand shook as she returned the glass to the mantel. Their gazes met, and she glanced away first.
Cautiously, she moved down the stairs, likely gripping the banister as much to settle her nerves as for balance.
Speakers blasted Evan C’s music through the space. In the dungeon, lighting was dim, and the conversation was loud to compete with the band. “Give me your wrist.”
She frowned, as if not understanding the instruction, but offered her right hand. Since his last visit, several hooks had been attached to the walls. He’d heard a rumor that Damien had had them installed after one sub expressed shock that the dungeon didn’t have shackles. Of course, Damien had said, a slave should be able to be chained to the walls.
Alexander used a thoughtfully provided leather strap to attach her to the hook.
“I…”
He spoke into her ear. “Obviously you can undo that as I only secured one of your hands.” It would take her some time to unfasten the buckle, but it was doable if she panicked. “However, it’s my desire that you remain in place while I go to the bar.”
Frantically she glanced around. “But I’m the only one tied up like this.”
“Yes,” he agreed. “You are.” His little sub drew her eyebrows together. Was she going to fail her first test? “And I’m so proud of you being my good girl.”
A pulse beat in her throat. “I find that statement a bit insulting.”
“Do you? They aren’t meant as anything other than an expression of my approval. Until you can see that, bask in it…” He left the rest of his sentence unfinished. “If you prefer, I could attach you to the wall by your neck. In fact—”
“This is fine, Sir.”
“You may want to thank me for my kindness.”
“What? Seriously.”
In silence, he regarded her.
“I mean… Thank you, Sir.” Her words held a snarl.
“The fact I had to coach you to use your manners informs me how unschooled you really are.”
“In future I’ll do better.” She took a breath. “Sir.”
“See that you do.” Without a backward glance, he walked to the bar to order two bottles of water.
While there, pretending an interest in the festivities, he kept a close eye on Chelsea. A waiter carrying a tray of wine walked past her, ignoring her completely. With her lips pursed, she watched him go.