Page 101 of Chandelier Enthralled
“Obey,” snapped Greyson.
She hung her head.
And just like that she was compliant—making me feel like I’d invaded their space.
Atticus motioned. “Turn around.”
She turned her back on the men.
Greyson glared at me. “Take everything off.”
Frowning, I started to refuse, my mouth going dry.
But then, as I watched her stripping off her clothes, I realized what was happening. Greyson came over and began untying my bodice.
It was fleeting again, this rare intimacy between us, his fingers working the catches at the front of my bodice, and our eyes meeting now and again as though in silent communication.
With a tug, he had the bodice off me. I stood there with my arms crossed over my breasts to protect my dignity. Not her, though. The submissive seemed at ease with her nakedness.
Greyson gave her my corset, and I was given hers. He assisted me with my outfit, tugging the strings of the red bodice and helping to resecure the catches. Atticus helped the woman who could have been my doppelganger in a mask.
She was going to beme.
Watching her carefully, I tried to figure out if she realized what would happen. I stepped forward, ready to protect her, tell them it should be me facing the consequences.
“Listen,” I said, “you don’t have to do this.”
Atticus snapped his hand up. “Not now!”
“I’m fine,” she said to appease me.
“Thong.” Atticus gestured for her to take it off.
Was he really asking her to walk in there half-naked?
She did so without argument, tugging the strip of fine material down over her hips and her thighs, lifting her tanned legs to ease it off, revealing a fine strip of pubic hair.
Atticus took it from her and shoved it into his pocket.
“Remind me it’s in there,” he said, amused.
“You understand what is being asked of you?” said Greyson.
“Yes, sir.” She looked over at me again.
“Don’t look at her,” he snapped. “Look at me.”
His command gripped her like a flipped switch. Her eyes glazed over, and her body sparked to life, every curve taut, her jaw slack. She stood entranced, bound by some unseen force.
“I’m ready, sir.” She balled up her fists.
“What’s going on?” I mouthed to Greyson, knowing they were going to force her to take my place.
Greyson walked over and gripped my arms. “I’m locking the door. Don’t make a sound.”
The woman pointed to a portrait in a frame. “Watch through there.”
There was something unsettling and eerie about the Parisian painting of a naked woman standing in an empty room.
