Page 60 of Tristan
My hands ball into fists. I want to punch his smug face.
“Up,” he commands. I obey him without grace, stand and cross my arms trying to recreate on my face the withering look he usually gives me. It doesn’t work.
“Kneel.”
I don’t expect the command and hesitate to look at him sharply.
“Now, Kathir.”
I do begrudgingly.
“Uncross your arms.”
“Corrik, what is the meaning of this?”
“Now.”
I let my arms hang stiffly by my sides, furious.
“Sit back on your heels, yes like that, good.” He looks over my posture hungrily and I swear I hear him purr. I have no idea what he plans on doing with me and I’m too stunned to ask questions.
“Remove your shirt.”
Is this a sex game, perhaps? Hoping it will be, I comply with a tiny glimmer of excitement. “Good,” he says when I’m half-naked. He takes my shirt from me and then his boots click across the room,muffling when they hit the carpet of our bedchamber. When he returns, he’s holding a riding crop.
A riding crop?
Corrik towers above me when we are standing, kneeling, he looks like he’s one of the Gods staring down at me. He studies me trying to read my thoughts and the build of his powerful energy brushes against me before he takes it with him to sit on the armchair by the fire. I’m left kneeling by my desk.
“Come here, Kathir.” I haven’t missed that he keeps calling me by my Elvish name. I don’t like it, but I’m grateful to rise from this kneeling position—it’s already become tiresome. I move to stand.
“Crawl.”
“You can’t be serious,” I sputter.
He turns his head to me in a deadly manner looking all the more fearsome, wielding that long black crop. “Now.Do not make me come get you.”
I comply feeling ridiculous, and crawl to him, deciding it better to play into his little game—still with hopes of sex—than to anger him when he looks like that. His dominance is in full effect.
“Stop there. Face me,” he instructs. His long black, booted calve is crossed over his thigh with his elbows on the armrests, the crop is held in his left hand, the leather tongue flexing and bending against the fingers of his right hand.
My back is to the fire and since I assume I’m to kneel again as before, I do, still wishing for the strength and tools to gut him.
“Good, boy,” he says.I’ll kill him for that.I can’t help the growl that escapes. “Enough. You will be silent, or I will make you be silent.”
I wonder what that means, and I have lots of time to keep wondering. Now that he has me positioned how he wants me, he doesn’t say a word and continues to play with the leather tongue of the riding crop. I fix my eyes on him and fume silently.
“Eyes down; bow your head.”
I oblige him, hoping if I do, I’ll be released as soon as he’s had hisfill of whatever this is. I wait. I keep waiting for what feels like decades until I can’t take it anymore. “Corrik.”
“Eyes down,” he snaps.
“No. I’ve—”
Whack!He uses the dreaded riding crop to across my sensitive nipple.
“Ow! Corrik!By the Gods.”
