Later never comes because Mikhail is busy with work all day. Even when I get ready for bed, he doesn’t show. Mila must be worried sick that I haven’t called her yet, and it’s not like she can call here—she doesn’t have Mikhail’s number. Vik is probably ecstatic I’m out of the picture. I’m gone, so she doesn’t have to worry about me anymore.
I fall asleep thinking of my sisters’ faces and wake up later to the sound of screaming.
I jump out of bed and run into the hall, then freeze. The screaming is coming from downstairs. It’s female.
I slowly inch my way to the staircase and look down. No one in the living room. Careful not to step on a creaky stair, I make my way downstairs. I look in the kitchen—empty. I grab a large knife for good measure. My eyes land on the phone— if only some woman wasn’t screaming, right now would be the perfect time to call my sisters. I eye the phone longingly, then turn toward the sound. My sisters will have to wait. I need to save whoever’s screaming in pain.
I get closer and closer to the door. The door that leads to Mikhail’s dom/sub room. What’s going on? What’s he doing?
I push the door open and stop. That same woman—Irina—is bent over a bench. Mikhail is behind her, whipping her across the butt. Every time he does, she screams.
But it’s only then I realize her face is pinched in pleasure. Not pain. She’s enjoying it.
Mikhail stops when he sees me in the doorway. “Sofiya.”
I hold the knife up higher. “You’re hurting her. And you said you want to do this to me.”
Irina glances up at me with an annoyed expression. “We’re busy right now. Can you leave?”
“You’re a monster,” I whisper, staring at Mikhail.
“No. Sofiya, you don’t understand.”
“You’re a monster.” I take off running again.
I hear Mikhail’s thunderous footsteps behind me before he grabs my arm. “You’re going to hurt yourself with that knife.” He rips it from my hand and tosses it away. “Sofiya, stop.”
I do stop, but not because I want to. Because I’m afraid of what he’ll do if I don’t listen to him.
“You’ve taken what you saw out of context. Irina loves to be whipped. She craves pain. It’s what gives her pleasure.” He steps back and holds out his hand. “Come with me.”
“What?”
“I want you to watch.”
“What?” I jerk away.
“I want you to see that something like this can be pleasurable. But don’t worry. I will not whip you. I have no desire to scar your pretty skin. Irina needs this to come.”
“Come?”
“Orgasm,” he explains.
“You want me to watch another woman …? What sick game is this? Are you trying to hurt me?”
“I’m trying to get you to understand. I told you I would push you, Sofiya. This is how I’m pushing you.” He stands up straighter. “You will go into that room and watch until I can say you can go. You will not argue with me about this. Understood?”
I want to argue. I want to scream and cry.
But I don’t.
The way Mikhail just commanded me to listen to him sends my heart fluttering. It sends a throb of pleasure straight to my core.
“Yes,” I whisper.
“Then take my hand.”
I do as he instructs.
Inside the room, it smells musky—like sex. I want to dig my heels in when I see Irina laid out over the bench, her backside covered in red welts, but I don’t. Mikhail wants me to watch, so I’ll watch.
He sits me down in a chair. “You will not leave until I say so. You will also never look away. You will watch this.”
I slowly nod. My heart is pounding so fast, it hurts.
Mikhail walks back over to Irina and picks up the whip. Then he hits her with it. Again. And again. And again. Every time, Irina moans while I flinch. She even wiggles her butt closer to him. How can someone enjoy this?
Mikhail’s commanding presence does things to my body. But pain? I’ve already experienced pain when I lost my mother. I don’t want to feel pain ever again.
The harder Mikhail whips her, the more Irina seems to enjoy it. I grip the edge of the chair until my fingers are white and cramping. Irina’s moans annoy me. The sound grates on my ears. I don’t want to hear Mikhail pleasuring another woman, even if it is through pain. A dark part of me wants Irina to be crying because it hurts so much. Instead, she’s moaning because it hurts, not in spite of it.
Mikhail uses the whip closer to the bottom part of her butt—closer to her vagina. I gulp. He’s whipping her there. His strokes are more gentle, but he’s still using pain on that part of her body. Irina confuses me. How did she even discover this part of herself?
I’m leaning forward, rapt in fascination. What I’m watching scares me, but it’s undeniably hard to look away from.
And then Irina moans, louder than before, as her body shudders. Her eyes roll back, and she calls out Mikhail’s name. I hate that. I don’t want another woman to call out his name.
