Trey - Shandi Boyes Page 0,56
my directive for the second time, my hand instinctively rises into the air. The only reason it stays suspended mid-swing is because of the width of K’s pupils. The thought of me striking Arabella for being disobedient angers her more than the idea of her being hit.
She’s once again placing herself last.
That pisses me the fuck off and has my objectives changing in an instant.
After lowering my hand back to my side, I say more respectfully, “Please move.”
I work my jaw side to side when Arabella’s lips slant downward. She’s one of the whores who likes being smacked around, so she would have happily accepted my wrath, even if it hurt K in the process.
“Do you want to wear this?” I ask K, holding up the dress Arabella fetched for her. It’s skimpy, short, and I’m reasonably sure it’ll have me going on a rampage when we arrive back at Clarks.
The pulse in my jaw drops several inches lower when K shakes her head. Her shirt is grubby and far too big for her tiny frame, but she knows as well as I do that it isn’t the packaging that makes a person attractive. It’s their uncracked insides.
With a smug grin, I toss Arabella’s stripper dress onto the floor of her room. “She doesn’t want your dress—” My words are cut off by K’s hand darting out to touch my arm. She stares at me with wide, terrified eyes before she drifts them to the shoes Arabella is clutching. They’re basic and bland with only the slightest heel, however, she stares at them as if they’re Gucci. “You want her shoes?”
K’s eyes fall to her bare feet as quickly as her hand returns to her side. For a second, she doesn’t breathe, ashamed she showed eagerness for something she doesn’t own. She wanted Arabella’s mall-purchased shoes so much, she failed to consider how much they could cost her, so now she’s more panicked than excited. It’s clear she’s never been given anything without a hefty price tag attached to it, not even something as simple as a pair of wedged sandals.
When I click my fingers two times, Arabella coughs up her shoes as if she’s a genie and I rubbed her bottle the right way. “Sit.” My command is for K, and the bob of her throat reveals she’s aware of this.
After a second swallow, she does as requested, her eyes never lifting from the floor. I relieve my throat of its sudden dryness before kneeling in front of her to put on the first shoe. The high rise of my shirt on her slim thighs already makes her legs look like they go for miles, so you can imagine how much seduction a two-inch heel will add.
“Sit still, Duchess,” I command when it dawns on me the tiny shudders trickling through her body have nothing to do with her wearing shoes for the first time in God knows how long and everything to do with my hands being on her. Is it a scared shake? I don’t know. If Arabella weren’t eyeballing our exchange like a freak, I’d be halfway through testing my theory by now. Alas, I have to maintain patience—again. “Arabella is a worse cleaner than she is a cook. Even if I wanted to answer your every whim here, K, I can’t, so stop convincing me I can.”
Arabella scoffs at my insult. K smiles. It isn’t a full smile, it’s barely noticeable since her chin is tucked in close to her chest, but it sets off the pulse in my ears so quickly, I’m concerned my hearing will never be what it once was.
“There you go,” I mutter once I have the second latch done up. “Now how about a twirl?” K shakily accepts my hand before she gingerly pivots around. She’s embarrassed by my request, but the ruddy red hue creeping across her cheeks ensures it’ll occur more often from here on out.
The downpour we got caught in earlier cleared away the mess from her face and unknotted most of the bird’s nest in her hair. If you can take away the paleness of her skin, her teeny emaciated frame, and the red rims around her eyes from when she cried while coming, you’d have no clue she was held captive against her wishes. That’s how significant something as minor as a pair of shoes was to her mindset.
Once K is facing me front-on, I clear away a smear of gravy on her top lip