Julia
“Now, let’s see you in this dress,” Nick said once I stepped out of my panties, the last barrier between us gone. “I do hope it pleases me.” As he dragged the blade up my leg, the cold metal skating against my apex, I whimpered. “The dress Christine Griffin chose for dinner was so distasteful. A short, skimpy thing. So I treated her like the whore she dressed like.”
He swept his menacing stare over my naked frame, the knife scraping across my hipbone before traveling up to my breasts, circling a nipple. I sucked in a breath, my legs shaking.
“But you wouldn’t buy a dress that makes you look like a whore. Not when you’re married.” He curved toward me. “Would you, Julia?”
“Of course not,” I answered nervously. “The only man I want to look good for is my husband. The only man I want to please is my husband.”
“Quite right.” Nick slid his tongue along his lips as his gaze raked over me once more. It made me feel like nothing more than a piece of meat he was getting ready to devour.
Or an animal he was about to slaughter.
“May I dress for you now?” I swallowed down the bile in my throat at playing the submissive wife he probably hoped he’d married. It pained me to do so, but if this bought Imogene more time to get to safety, I’d happily do it.
“You may.”
I gave him a small smile, then stepped back, my fingers trembling as I lowered the zipper. I was about to pull the material over my head when Nick’s voice stopped me.
“Where are my manners?”
I tore my gaze toward his, fearful of what sick, twisted path he was about to force me to travel.
“You shouldn’t be doing that.”
“I… I shouldn’t?”
“You’re my queen.” Setting the knife on the bed, he stepped toward me. “Royalty doesn’t dress themselves. They have someone who does that for them. As well as undresses them. They also have someone who bathes them, at least in more historic times. If you’re my queen, I should take on those roles. Should bathe you. Dress you. Worship you. Now…” He extended his hand, a single brow arched in expectation. “May I?”
My stomach churned at the idea, sweat beading on my forehead, despite the chills rushing along my spine. But I pushed down my trepidation, doing my best to remain in Nick’s convoluted version of reality. At the very least, he had put the knife down, if only for a few seconds.
I handed him my dress, my chest rising and falling in a quicker pattern when he stepped closer, the fabric of his suit jacket skimming my nipples.
“Lift your arms, my love.”
I did as he asked, my pulse increasing with every second he didn’t make a move to pull the dress over my head. Instead, he licked his lips, eyeing me with hunger. Want.
Depravity.
Finally, he lowered the material over my head and guided my arms through the openings. Once he smoothed the flowing, green dress over my hips, he turned me around, raising the zipper. Then he pressed a hand to my stomach, pulling me to him. I couldn’t escape the image of us together in the full-length mirror on the opposite wall, even though I would have given anything to squeeze my eyes shut and go somewhere else, even if only in my mind.
He brushed his thumb along the underside of my breasts, sensually circling his hips against me. When I felt his arousal, I whimpered, my teeth chattering, limbs trembling.
“No need to be nervous, my love.”
“I’m sorry. It’s just… It’s been a while,” I lied.
He didn’t call me out on it, though, happy to stay in this alternate reality where we were still married.
Where I was still devoted to him.
Where I was still the meek wife who was petrified of stepping out of line.
“I guess I’m just nervous you won’t be…satisfied with me after all this time.”
He spun me around, pinching my chin, directing my gaze to his.
“Impossible, my beloved.” His mouth slowly descended, every inch he erased causing fear to spike through me. “I’ll always crave you above everyone else. I could never find you to be anything less than perfect. You’re the love of my life. My soul mate.” He paused, lips poised over mine. “My Hera.”