“I think I do.” She sniffled, wiped her nose and eyes. “And you’re wrong. We may both hate, but I don’t hate myself. I know who I am. I’m not evil. I don’t hurt people. You…you’re a monster. You hate yourself more than you could ever hate anyone else.”

I swallowed hard suddenly, wanting my mask, needing it. She saw me, she saw right through me, and she said the words I was too fucking afraid of, too much of a coward to say myself. The words I was too weak to own.

I stood and kicked the chair out from behind me, sending it crashing against the far wall, making her jump, making her lean away from me.

“Turn around.” I ordered.

She eyed the crop, and I saw her tremble as her red, puffy eyes searched mine.

“Turn the fuck around.” Quieter now. Had she realized yet I was at my deadliest when I grew calm? I watched her think. I studied this girl who desperately needed humbling. This girl who burrowed too deep under my fucking skin.

Her eyes darted to the crop once more, and I set it aside. I didn’t need that. There were other punishments. Pain wasn’t the worst I could do.

Her throat worked as she swallowed, but slowly, she turned to face away from me. Her hair had come partially out of the braid. I reached to pull the elastic holding it together out. Gia startled but held her position. I ruffled the braid I’d so carefully pleated until her long hair hung down her back. I picked up the mass of it and set it over one shoulder. She remained tense, shoulders high, arms tight by her sides as I squatted down to trace my fingertips down the length of her spine. Her skin was so soft, her body slender, the lines long and straight, her narrow waist giving way to rounded hips. Her arms were toned, like I’d noticed her legs were. Apart from the bruising and that branding scar, she was flawless. Perfect.

I pulled my hand away like I’d been burned and stood.

“Put your forehead on the floor and raise your hips.” My voice held a different tone, quieter, darker. My cock throbbed to life, hard and ready and wanting.

Wanting her.

She turned her head, just glancing behind her but not quite able to hold my gaze.

“Do it.”

I didn’t know what I would do. I could anticipate what she expected, why her face had twisted, and why she remained silent as she slowly leaned forward, her bound hands sliding along the floor, creating a cushion for her forehead as she did as she was told.