17- Difference
1284 Words
He wants submission? He will get it. But, how ‘I’ will give it to him.
For three days, I didn't argue. I didn't snap. I didn't even look at him. I wore the dresses he chose. I wore the tracking bracelet. I obeyed him how he wanted.
During breakfast, I was moving my fork with mechanical precision, my hollow eyes affixed at the savory food.
"The architects sent over the revised sketches for the west wing," Zayne tried to spark a conversation, taking a slow sip of his coffee, glancing at me from time to time.
I didn't blink. I picked up my tea, took a measured sip, and set the cup back down on the saucer without a single clink, keeping my posture stable, pushing him past his limits.
"Kristine? Did you hear me?" He placed his cup down angrily, creating a rattling sound, uncaring if it spilled a little.
"I asked you a question."
I glanced. Stared dead into his eyes to let him know I heard. I had just decided to ignore it.
He sent a warning stare to unshackle my tongue which I didn’t.
Silence. That was all he was going to receive from me, for now.
"Fine, sew your tongue." he snapped, standing up so abruptly his chair screeched against the floor.
He waited for me to flinch. I didn't.
Curling his hand in a helpless fist, he walked out, his footsteps heavier than usual, leaving his breakfast untouched.
When he was gone, a victorious smirk spread across my lips, taking another sip of my tea.
“Take care,” I whispered to myself, tittering to myself before going back to my room to get ready for work.
The thrill of testing him was honestly bubbly but I wanted to comprehend what he aimed to achieve by this.
I was just… experimenting.
To explore the depths of this inscrutable man, to reach the mask behind those unreadable eyes. I wanted to learn at least something about him.
For that, I was going to push him beyond his limit.
Later, in the evening, I returned early. I was sitting in the library, reading a book while humming when Zayne stormed inside.
He didn't go to our room. He came straight to me, still wearing his overcoat, looking like a man who had been fighting a war all day.
"I called you four times," he hissed, no greeting, no softness, only irritation plastered on his features.
To which, I flipped a page, “So?”
"The tracker said you were here, but you didn't pick up." He growled in a low, controlled tone.
Zayne stepped forward, his shadow falling over the words.
He was right beside me, hand placed over the armrest to lean to my level, glaring at me to not test his non-existent patience.
"Look at me."
He snatched the book from my hand, done with my emotionless face.
I raised my gaze. I didn't make it angry. I made it blank. I looked at him the way one looks at a stranger- polite, distant, and utterly disinterested- he was a stranger to me, that was the truth.
"Are we playing a game now?" he hissed, face inches apart from me, throwing the book away, breaths becoming unstable, "Or is this a strike?"
I leaned back into the leather, folding my arms. I offered him no anger to feed on. No tears to soothe his ego.
Just a raised brow that asked: ‘Is that all you’ve got?’
"Say something," he whispered, losing his polished edge, lowering his gaze eventually in defeat, "Scream at me. Call me an asshole. Tell me you hate the tracking. Just stop... this."
I stood up, walked around him as if he were a piece of furniture, and headed for the door, followed by the sound of him hitting the chair.
That was when I flinched. Distressed by the amount of… madness.
He wanted to own me, I was obeying, being his, all his, his doll. But, he wanted more, way more than I could possibly perceive.
Soon, I was sitting in bed, using my phone, scrolling through the post. I heard the door click. I didn't look up. Zayne walked in, he was not done yet.
The scent of expensive soap and bourbon clinging to him. He had discarded his shirt, his chest bare, desirable body presented for my display.
My toes curled, trying so hard to not look at the tempting chest, to resist those ripped muscles.
He sat on the edge of the mattress, using seduction as his last resource.
"Kristine," he murmured, slowly trailing his hand over mine in a soft grip, sapphire eyes boring intensity into mine.
I could feel my beats enhancing, my throat drying in anticipation, reacting to the heat radiating from him but I won’t break so easily.
I had an experiment to complete.
At this point, his voice was slumped in dejection, "Enough of this. You’ve made your point."
"I don't have a point to make, Zayne," My voice was flat, not looking up from the screen. My thumb pressing harder into the screen.
“Then why bother with the muteness?” He leaned forward, throwing the phone away, closing our distances to block my view.
"Look at me," he called desperately, his other hand placed over my cheeks firmly, forcing me to greet his needy eyes, seeking all of me.
I looked. My eyes were pools of ice, disturbing his whole being.
"I am looking, Zayne. What do you see?"
He didn't answer with words. He lunged. He crashed his lips onto mine, desperate to spark the fire that usually ignited between us.
He kissed me with a frantic, bruising intensity, his hands tangling in my hair, trying to force a moan, a gasp, a struggle- anything.
Anything to let him know I exist and not a mindless doll he bought from some auction.
I stayed perfectly still.
My lips didn't move against his. My hands stayed folded in my lap. I didn't push him away, and I didn't pull him closer. I was a statue of marble, cold and unyielding.
Zayne pulled back, breathless, his eyes searching mine for a flicker of the woman who had screamed his name only nights before.
He found nothing.
"Stop it," he growled, his voice cracking, slamming his hand on the bed, losing his grip.
“Don’t- Don’t do this. I won’t meddle with your work. I won’t schedule your life. Is this enough?” He gulped.
“Why?” I reached for my phone, “I signed up for this. This is your protection.”
"I want you," he whispered, snaking his hand around my neck, pressing his forehead against mine. "I want you, Kristine,”
He tried one last time. He laid me back against the pillows, his kisses moving down my throat, his hands roaming my body with an uncontrollable, pleading desperation.
I stared out of the window, watching the shadows of the trees dance. The heat of him turned me on so damn much, the strength of him, but the wall I had built was thick and high.
Eventually, he stopped.
He realized that he had built a cage so perfect that even he couldn't get in- Not until I allowed him too.
Without a word, Zayne rolled off me. He didn't sleep in the bed that night. He walked out, his footsteps dragged across the room.
And for the first time since I met him, Zayne Nightwood looked like a man who had lost the only deal that ever mattered.
That should be enough to make him realize that there ‘is’ a difference between protectiveness and dictatorship.
- Writer
