48. The Art of Temptation

CHAPTER 48

The Art of Temptation

WREN

The studio is silent while I wait, reliving every moment of the day. Her rigid posture in my lap at lunch. The way my dick pressed against her ass. The heat of her pussy close to my fingers. The flush in her cheeks when whispers followed her through the halls. The way she fought against shrinking away from attention.

My pretty Ballerina is starting to shed that invisibility she’s been clinging to for so long. But it’s the defiance that makes today different. The spark in her eyes when she finally spoke back, the way she held her head high when I demanded it, despite her obvious desire to retreat.

She’s evolving into something beyond the ghost she used to be. And it’s fucking beautiful to watch.

That obsession Monty keeps talking about? He’s only seeing the surface. He has no idea how deep this goes.

How deep it’s always going to go.

Until she’s mine in every way that matters.

Every way that exists.

Every way she fears.

And every way she secretly wants.

I reach for my camera, anticipating what comes next. The mirrors are positioned perfectly, ready to catch every angle, leaving nowhere to hide. The blue dress I bought waits in my bag. She can take it as a promise … or a threat.

The door creaks open. I don’t turn, letting her take in the setup I’ve created.

“You came. I knew you would.”

“You didn’t give me much choice.” Her voice wavers slightly, but she’s here .

“There’s always a choice, Ballerina. You’re here because you want to know what I found. What secrets Daddy’s been keeping.” I turn slowly, drinking in the sight of her. She’s holding herself different from this morning. Less like she’s trying to disappear, more like she’s preparing for battle. “Or maybe you’re here because you can’t stay away from me.”

Her lips part, arms wrapping around herself. A defensive gesture that makes my blood burn hotter.

“Strip.”

She blinks, that delicious mix of fear and want crossing her face. “W-what?”

“You heard me.” I take a step closer. “If you want answers, you have to earn them. Take off your clothes.”

She hesitates, gaze darting to the mirrors, then back to me. Her conflict is clear. A little bit of fear, a little bit of resistance, battling with the knowledge that she’ll do what I want in the end.

“Ileana, you know how this ends. You already know you want to do it. You like how it makes you feel.”

She shakes her head.

I sigh, and pull a photograph from my pocket, holding it up for her to see. Her eyes widen when she recognizes it. A frozen moment of her, half-naked under a streetlight, her lips parted, her body caught in that perfect balance of fear and surrender.

“No one looks like this if they don’t like what’s happening to them.” I toss it to the floor and take out another. This one shows her against the side of my car, breasts visible, nipples hard.

“You shouldn’t be taking photographs of me like that.”

“You don’t stop me.” To prove my point, I pick up the camera from the floor and take a photograph of her, before pulling another one out of my pocket. I hand it to her.

She’s in my car, body stretched out, head thrown back, her legs parted with my fingers buried inside her pussy.

“You look so fucking pretty when you come.”

She swallows, eyes fixed to the image .

“You like it, don’t you? The way you look? The way I see you?”

Her gaze jumps up to mine.

“Strip.”

Her hands move, curling around the hem of her hoodie. She pauses, eyes locked on mine. I can’t decide if she’s hoping I’ll relent or scared I’ll tell her to stop.

I won’t.

“Now.”

She pulls the hoodie over her head. My tongue runs over my bottom lip, eyes tracing every inch of visible skin.

“Look at me.”

Fear, shame, and desire war with each other on her face. She wants to do this. Needs to do this, but doesn’t want to admit it.

“I know you feel it. How much you want this. How much doing what I say turns you on. You like it when I see you. Take off the rest.”

Her T-shirt lands on the hoodie, then her jeans. Her arms wrap around herself, trying to shield her body from my gaze. But her cheeks are flushed, her eyes are shining, and the way her teeth sink into her lip tells a different story.

“Everything, Ballerina. I want all of you on display for me.”

She shakes her head again, a small, desperate move. I’m not sure if she’s denying me, or denying what she’s feeling.

“Please, Wren.”

I reach out, stroke a finger along her jaw, then wrap my hand around her throat, forcing her head back.

“There’s no point in begging, not for this. Save it for the right things. Beg for what you truly crave, the things that make you burn. You know what I want. You want it too.”

She reaches for the clasp of her bra. It falls to the floor. Her breathing is ragged, breasts moving up and down with each inhale and exhale, but there’s a spark in her eyes. The air between us grows thick, charged, as she bends and drags her panties down her legs, then straightens .

I take a moment, letting my eyes travel over her.

Every curve. Every line.

Every. Beautiful. Fucking. Inch.

“You can pretend you don’t want this.” I take a step closer. “But you proved last night that you do. You showed me how you respond to my touch, my demands. The way your eyes darken. The way your lips part.” I reach out to tap her bottom lip. “Open your mouth.” When she does, I push my finger inside. “Lick.”

Her tongue curls around my fingertip.

“Suck.”

There’s a slight pressure when her cheeks hollow out and she sucks my finger deeper. With my other hand, I trail my fingers down her arm to wrap around her wrist and pull her flush against me. My head lowers until my lips touch her ear.

“I bet you’re so fucking wet I could slide my dick inside you right now without any foreplay.”

Pulling my finger free from her mouth, I cup her ass with both hands and squeeze.

“But you haven’t earned a fucking just yet.”

My fingers flex on her ass again, then I turn her, so her back is to me and we’re both facing the mirror.

“Look at yourself. See what I see. See how much you need what I give you.” My hands move to her hips, up over her ribs, until I reach her breasts. Cupping them in both palms, I lift them, my thumbs stroking over her nipples.

“Look in the mirror. Look how beautiful you are. Don’t you want to know why they made you fade into the shadows? Why they taught you to disappear?”

“I’m looking.” Her voice is small, uncertain.

“No, you’re not.” I roll her nipple between my fingers. “You’ve spent so long trying not to be seen that you don’t even know how to look at yourself anymore.”

I drop one hand lower, over her stomach, feeling each shaky breath she takes. “But I see you. I’ve always seen you. ”

Her eyes squeeze shut. I pinch one nipple hard enough to make her gasp.

“Open your eyes. Watch yourself.”

My hand moves lower, tracing the curve of her waist, down her thigh, and then over her pussy. She gasps, tries to squirm away, but I drop my other arm to wrap around her waist, and hold her still, my gaze fixed on her reflection.

“You can’t hide from me. Not your fear, not your shame, not your desire. I see it all. And I want you to see it too. I want you to see how completely you belong to me.”

I use one foot to force her legs apart, and use two fingers to open her pussy. She’s wet, that pretty pink flesh glistening.

“Look at that,” I whisper. “So beautiful. So visible . Touch yourself.”

“N-no.”

“Touch yourself, or I’ll call Monty in to do it.” I won’t. Monty will never get to touch her. But my threat does what I need it to. Her hand lifts, covers her pussy.

“Oh no, that won’t do, pretty Ballerina.” I bend my head to the crook of her neck, and kiss a path up to her jaw. “Use two fingers. Show me how you touch yourself when you lie in bed and think about me.”

“I d-don’t.”

“Liar.” My teeth sink into the soft skin covering her pulse.

She cries out, back arching.

“Fuck yourself. Show me that final dance you’ve kept from me.”

My hand moves, covering hers, and I guide it between her legs to her clit. Her eyes are wide, pupils blown, as I move our fingers together, pushing them in and out of her body, while my thumb strums over her clit.

“That’s what I want to see. Now you do it.” I drop my hand and take a step back, so I can find my camera.

The click echoes around the room. She flinches, but doesn’t stop stroking herself, doesn’t take her eyes off her reflection. I capture her in that moment—bare, trembling with need and fear .

“These moments are mine.” My lips brush over her shoulder, my fingers pinching her nipple. “Every gasp. Every shiver. Every time you can’t control yourself. I want it all. I want proof of how much you want this.”

The camera clicks again, capturing her flushed skin, her eyes glazed, her fingers buried into her pussy.

She looks fucking glorious.

“Look. Look at yourself. Look at what I do to you.” My free hand wraps around her throat, and I photograph the pair of us through the mirror.

“You’ll never get to hide from me. Not now. Not ever.” I pull her hand away, and replace it with my own, pushing two fingers inside her. “This belongs to me.” I take another photograph, and bite my way across her shoulder. “Do you want to come?”

She lets out a soft sob.

“I need words.”

“Please … yes.”

“Oh, pretty Ballerina. You haven’t earned that yet.” I pull my fingers free, and wipe them across her lips, before taking a step back. “Time to dance for me.”

The dress unfolds like silk, when I pull it out of the bag. Her sharp intake of breath is sweeter than any music.

“Put it on.”

She takes the dress, eyes dropping as she turns away. I pull her back to face me.

“I told you. You don’t get to hide from me.” I watch as she pulls it over her head, breasts rising with every movement. It falls down her body, highlighting every curve she usually keeps hidden. She looks breathtaking, the blue a stark contrast against her flushed skin and the bites and bruises I’ve left on it.

“Spin.”

She obeys, her movements hesitant, uncertain. I take her in, every detail, every tremor, the memory of her body still fresh in my mind .

“Beautiful.” My hands find her waist so I can pull her back against me.

“Dance with me. It’s time to earn those truths.”