The Mistress ✓

19

Onika
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Alert🚨: This chapter includes a g!p sex scene and is for mature audiences only! If you are not comfortable with this please head out but go on ahead and vote.

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Shockingly, Fenty pulls out my chair and pushes it in while I take my seat at the massive dining room table that looks like it could easily seat twenty people. Her place setting is at the head, and I've been seated directly to her left.

I don't make eye contact with her as I sit, because I swear the woman can read my mind.

To my shame, her parting words made me wet enough that there was no need to search for the lube to slide the toy back inside me where she demanded.

What the hell is wrong with me?

I should be disgusted and repulsed. Screaming for someone to let me out of this damn house--which I still haven't gotten to see because Scar hooded me and carried me to dinner. But instead, all I can do is picture Robyn grabbing a fistful of my hair and holding it tight while she bends me over the table and does to me like she suggested.

Again, what the hell is wrong with me?

There's fucking with someone's head, and then there's what Robyn is doing to me. I don't think a name has been invented for it yet.

I'm pretty sure it's not Stockholm Syndrome, because I definitely hate her and would run in the opposite direction the second I got the chance, if there weren't threats hanging over the heads of my friends and family like guillotine blades. Then there are the two warring parts of me-- the one that wants what she threatens, and the one that rebels against every word of it.

"Do I need to check?" Fenty's sly voice whispers in my ear as she releases my chair.

Before I can respond, the toy buzzes to life and I jolt in my seat, giving her her answer.

"I didn't think so."

I want to slap that arrogant smirk off her face, but I can't even imagine the consequences for that action. Thankfully, the vibrator stills before the first course is served. By the time I've finished spooning up my oyster soup in silence and it's been cleared away, I know what I have to do.

"We need to talk terms."

The efficient staff help serve the salad course before Robyn responds. "The only terms to be discussed were those of your willing submission. You agreed. End of discussion."

I drop my fork and the silver clanks against the delicate china plate. I'm too pissed to give proper thought to how strange it is that a woman as brutal as Fenty would surround herself with such finery.

"No. That not how negotiations work."

She raises one dark eyebrow at my response, and I have to wonder if that's an ability bestowed only upon arrogant women specifically for moments like this.

"Besides, this conversation is about the end of our bargain. I need to know exactly how long you're going to keep me here, because you're screwing with my life and my business."

The smirk that tugs at the corners of her mouth is one I'm beginning to recognize, and it never precedes anything good for me. "So eager to repay your debt and be done with me?"