His Mistake, My Revenge

The First Time

“Strip.”

The word hit harder than shouting would have.

I didn’t move.

Adrian took another step toward me, slow enough that I had time to think about running. Not enough time to actually do it.

“You heard me.”

My hands shook at my sides. I curled them into fists, but it didn’t help.

“I’m not doing that.”

“You are.”

His voice stayed calm. That somehow made it worse.

I looked toward the door. Too far. Everything in this house felt too far from me.

Adrian noticed.

His mouth twitched once. Not a smile. Something colder.

“You keep testing boundaries you don’t understand,” he said quietly. “And then you look surprised when there are consequences.”

“I went to get my dog.”

“You disappeared.”

“You locked me out of my room.”

“Yes.”

The single word snapped through the room.

I hated that my heart jumped at it.

He moved closer again, close enough that I could smell smoke and expensive cologne clinging to his shirt.

“You said you’d do anything,” he said. “Was that a lie?”

“I didn’t mean this.”

“I know.”

That should’ve made me feel better.

It didn’t.

His hand lifted slowly, giving me enough time to pull away if I wanted.

I didn’t.

His fingers brushed the edge of my sweater near my wrist instead of grabbing me this time. The touch was light. Controlled.

“Still shaking,” he murmured.

I stared somewhere past his shoulder.

“Look at me, Aria.”

“I hate when you say my name like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you already own it.”

For the first time since I walked in, something shifted in his expression. Not softness. Worse.

Interest.

His hand slid higher along my arm, slow enough to make me aware of every inch of skin beneath it.

“You think this is about control,” he said.

“Isn’t it?”

His eyes held mine for a second too long.

“No,” he said quietly. “Control is the only reason I haven’t touched you before now.”

The room felt smaller after that.

My pulse stumbled. I hated that he noticed.

Because of course he noticed.

Adrian’s gaze dropped briefly to my mouth before returning to my eyes again, and suddenly the silence between us felt dangerous in a completely different way.

“Tell me to stop,” he said.

I opened my mouth.

Nothing came out.His hand touched my breast. Flat palm. Cold fingers. I flinched. He didn't stop.

He rubbed his thumb over my n****e. Once. Twice. Slow.

It got hard under his touch. I hated that.He was watching my face. Not where his hand was. My face.

"You're mine," he said. "Every part of you. You understand?"

I didn't answer.

His fingers pinched. Hard. I gasped.

"You understand?"

"Yes."

He let go. Moved his hand lower. Over my stomach. To the waistband of my leggings.

He hooked his fingers inside. Pulled them down. I didn't fight. I couldn't.

He pulled them past my hips. Past my thighs. They fell to my ankles.

I stood there in just my underwear. Barefoot. Shaking.

He looked at me. Slow. From my face to my chest to my stomach to my legs and back up.

His hand touched me through my underwear. Pressed. Rubbed. Slow circles.

My breathing changed. I hated that it changed.

"Wet already," he said. Not asking. Stating.

I didn't answer.

He pulled my underwear down.

I was completely bare.

He stepped back. Just looked at me.

"Turn around."

I didn't move.

"Turn. Around."

Slowly, I turned. My back faced him. I could feel his eyes on me. On every part of me.

His hand touched my lower back. Ran down to my ass. Squeezed.

I flinched. Held still.

"Bend over."

"No."

His hand came down. Hard. On my bare ass. The slap echoed in the room.

I gasped.

"Bend over."

I bent. Put my hands on the bed. My face was hot. My whole body was hot.

Then the door opened. Neither of us moved.