“Where are we?” I finally whispered.
“We’re in the lower levels of my mansion,” he replied.
“I’ve never seen this room before,” I said softly.
“You’ve never been here,” he declared, leveling me with the darkness of his glare. There was something else there. He knew something I didn’t and that was deeply unsettling all by itself.
“Where is your mansion located?” I ventured carefully.
“We’re in the northern Alps. In Switzerland,” he answered. We’d met in Vegas and had a whirlwind romance there where he had a penthouse in the Bellagio. We’d never gone anywhere else. I hadn’t even known he owned any other property outside it.
With the money he had, I should have.
“You will remain here as my wife. You will be known legally as Sophia Jackson, the same name you chose when you walked down the aisle to marry me in the first place. You will not leave without permission. If you make an attempt, I will be forced to keep you down here chained to this bed with the marks of Daddy’s cane across your backside instead of my belt,” he warned.
A quiet whimper escaped my throat.
A cane?
He wouldn’t, right? That was just an idle threat. It had to be.
I chanced a glance up to his face and what I saw there was terrifying. His blue eyes were dark and merciless. It wasn’t just a jest. He was telling the truth.
Every single word.
I gulped and nodded, feeling a tremor quiver through my legs. The belt had been enough to make me cry. I had no doubt the cane would too.
“Answer me properly, little girl,” he pressed.
“Yes, Daddy,” I whispered, my voice barely audible.
My pussy clenched tightly.
“Come. I will show you our bedroom. You’d probably like to take a bath, yes?”
Our bedroom?
“I would like a bath or a shower or something very much,” I muttered, so off balance that it was beginning to feel deeply troubling.
He took my hand within his, his massive one dwarfing my much smaller one. He led me forward and I took a step.
Fuck. My bottom was sore. The fabric of my jeans was so damn unforgiving, stretching tight and putting far too much pressure on my punished flesh. I had the distinct feeling that if I complained I wouldn’t find any sympathy. If anything, he’d probably put me over his knee to remind me that I’d earned every bit of that sore bottom as he made it even sorer.
He led me up a set of stairs to the ground level and I could see that it was sometime in the evening because the fiery tendrils of sunset were still apparent on the horizon. His windows were tall and clear, showcasing mouthwatering views of the mountains that were far more beautiful than I could have ever imagined.
I followed him through a sitting room. It was so incredibly well-styled and luxurious that I was almost afraid to touch anything along the way. I wasn’t typically intimidated by money. I’d been around the rich for a long time. I was used to elegant touches and expensive things, but this felt almost like it should be a museum.
There were life-sized bronze statues that appeared to be priceless ancient relics, tapestries that spoke to old vestiges of civilizations long gone, and more modern touches in the paintings hung along the walls. It was all so incredibly beautiful that I just admired it for what it was.
Dean led me up another flight of stairs and then down an oversized hallway to what appeared to be the master bedroom. It was like we had entered a hotel suite. He didn’t pause and allow me to admire the massive king bed or the soft leather couches next to the large windows or the door that was slightly ajar that appeared to lead to the largest closet I’d ever seen.
Instead, the two of us entered the bathroom and that took my breath away. I had to blink several times and even considered pinching myself because I almost thought we’d left his house and walked straight into a spa. The floor was the most decadent marble tile I’d ever seen, and the shower looked like a massive grotto of gray rock. Everything was intricately designed and built in a way to mimic the outdoors, down to the waterfall splashing in the corner. There was even a wet, tropical scent that permeated around us that reminded me of coconut and pineapples.
He turned back toward me with a hungry look in his eyes. He’d never let go of my hand and for some reason that felt special. Kneeling down, he finally released my fingers and traced them down my legs. He took a hold of my ankle and carefully removed my left shoe and then the right. I fidgeted nervously as he proceeded to take off my socks too, leaving my feet bare.
At least my toes were still painted. I chewed my lip, remembering how I’d thought that the strawberry margarita pink color had been pretty back then while now I just felt silly standing here in front of him.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
He chuckled softly and didn’t really answer. Instead, he stood up and grasped the button of my jeans. Deftly, he undid them and slid the zipper down slowly. This time, he was gentler as he pushed my jeans back down, making me feel small and vulnerable as he removed them.
“Step out of your jeans,” he instructed.
I obeyed and I didn’t know why.
My movements became hesitantly automatic and as he pulled my pants from my ankles, I was exceedingly aware of my nakedness from the waist down once again.
He reached for the hem of my shirt. I was wearing only a tank top.
“Dean,” I whispered.
“Arms over your head, little girl,” he commanded, and I hesitantly did as he asked. He lifted my tank top, baring the lacy pink bra I had underneath.
He made me feel so shy. I covered myself in an attempt to maintain some semblance of modesty, but he calmly brushed
