Page 129 of Scourged

As if the hand toying with the hem of her tunic could really be his.

His eyes dropped to that hand, as if he heard those thoughts, before lifting back to her own. His jaw tightened, fingers clenching.

“Take off your tunic. Slowly.”

Her breath hitched. Her lungs constricted.

But she obeyed.

Her fingers curled into the soft cotton as she lifted her shirt, the material rising over her torso. A brief, wild pulse of self-consciousness flashed through her—she was so thin, her ribs too visible, her collarbones stark beneath her neck. But when she pulled the material free from her body, discarding it onto the floor at his feet and meeting his gaze again, all those thoughts vanished.

Andrian’s bright blue eyes had darkened to near black, and the look he fixed her with was ravenous. Desperate. Consuming.

He lifted a finger; what could’ve been a lazy gesture … or all he could do without leaping from his chair.

“Now the underwear.”

Her heart was pounding. Hammering. The steady beat of a drum. Everything sizzled and cracked as she did what he asked, hooking her thumbs into the hem of her silk undergarments and peeling them down her legs. She kept her gaze fixed on his, desperate to swallow down every raised eyebrow or tugged lip or bob of his throat.

She was now bare before him. Just as she’d been dozens of times before, but never like this. Never in this new, scarred body, its thinness and weakness still unfamiliar to her. He must’ve seen the hesitation flash in her eyes because he met her gaze again, attention hardening into steel.

“You are fucking perfect. Every inch of you.” Andrian paused. “Repeat that back to me.”

“What?” she squeaked, voice high and breathy.

“Repeat what I said. That you are perfect.”

She stuttered for a moment, twisting her hands together. Nervous. She was never nervous.

But … She obeyed.

“I’m perfect.”

“Yes. Fucking perfect,” he growled, hands clenching back into fists. “Now, remember: your hand is mine. Your body is mine. Everything I say, you do. You can stop whenever you want, but I promise—I will take care of you.”

Mariah nodded. She was past the point of thinking, anger and jealousy and hesitation forgotten.

“Good.” He leaned back in his chair. “Now. Get on the bed.”

The backs of her knees brushed the comforter. With a smooth movement, she hoisted onto the soft blankets, the mattress dipping beneath her weight. She sat there, hands resting behind her, thighs clamped tightly together.

Andrian studied her for a moment, running a hand through his messy hair. “Grab the pillows. Put them behind you.”

She did as he asked, stealing the pillows from the head of the bed and arranging them behind her. Once done, she looked back at him expectantly, trying to paste a look of boredom across her face.

Mariah was far from bored. She remembered the fun of this game. The thrill of wielding power as only a woman could.

Her expression was enough to pull a grin from him. “Be patient, princess.” He tsked. “We’re finally getting to the fun part.”

Her insides went molten as he rested his arm across his lap, drawing too much attention to the strained gray cotton. He noticed her stare and made a sound in the back of his throat, low and heated.

“Lie back on the pillows.”

She did. She had one leg curled up, the other stretched in front of her, thighs clamped together.

He fixed her with a wicked grin.

“Now spread those legs for me, princess.”