The Mistress ✓

10

Onika
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It gets crazier from here..

It's not a bookshelf that moves; it's the fireplace. It spins like you'd see in a movie.

I jerk around to catch it turning, dropping my hands to my sides as the woman who has been starring  in my nightmares for a week steps into the room. The fireplace rotates again to return to its original position.

Her presence is even bigger than I remember from my office, but the tantalizing scent of Creed Aventus is the same, except this time it's mingled with that of leather and books.

Her dark hair, styled perfectly in a style I'd call don't fuck with me, matches her darkened eyes. Those eyes seem to burn like coals as they make a lazy perusal of my naked body.

Before, when I first dropped my coat, I felt bold. Full of rage. Anger. Disgusted with my husband for putting me in this position. It gave me false courage, and adrenaline raced through my veins. Now reality is setting in.

I'm facing down a woman who could end my life easier than I could squash a mosquito.

Her full lips twist into an expression I supposed I could call a smile, but it's not. It's too smug and self-assured. Like she's amused at my expense. Which she probably is.

I wait for her to speak, but she doesn't. Her inspection of me ends with her gaze spearing mine. I want to look away, but I can't.

Her presence surrounds her like a physical being. It's meant to inspire fear, and it's doing the job. I don't know how to properly describe the feeling, except I imagined I'd feel the same way if a massive alligator were about to snap it's jaws shut on my head and drag me under into the swamp. The death roll would come next. I can't let her get to me, or I'm screwed.

When Megan described the power, the presence, and her charisma to me, I didn't understand what she was talking about. I'm starting to now.

Don't show fear. Don't show fear. It becomes my mantra as I wait for her to speak.

After what seems like an eternity, she utters two words in a rough sounding growl. "Turn around."

When I deliberately flashed my backside to the camera in the corner and then flipped it the double bird, I figured there was maybe a fifty-fifty shot she was watching. Again, that insane stunt was fueled by adrenaline, which has deserted me.

I want to dredge up the remains of my rebellion but I can't.

I spin on the stilettos, the only items of clothing she sent that I deigned to wear, and give her my back. I hold my shoulders stiffly and with pride.

Don't show fear, I repeat to myself.

The wooden floor creaks as she takes a step toward me, coming close enough that her body heat radiates against my skin.

"You don't follow instructions well."

The words ghost along my skin as her fingers spear into my hair and close around it. She tugs just hard enough to turn my head to the side, forcing me to meet her dark gaze.

It's like looking into the eyes of the devil.

How such a cruel woman can be so brutally beautiful, I have no idea. My heart slams as her eyes narrow on me.