The Mistress ✓

18

Onika

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Follow me>3 melaninispower

There's one thing hanging in the massive walk-in closet, a black silk dress with a deep V that looks like it'll barely cover my boobs. Slits run up both side to the hip. I look around for matching lingerie, but there's nothing. I check every drawer in the center island, but they're all empty. So, basically, she expects me to look like a classy slut for dinner. Great.

Something gold catches my eye as it dangles from the hanger of the dress. A gold chain with a single charm in the shape of a tiny, delicate lock. A symbol of my captivity? Like I need the reminder.

When I pull the dress from the hanger, a note floats to the floor, and I reach down to pick it up.

Change immediately.

Keep your pussy full.

The arrogance of her voice rings through my head as I read her scrawled words.

Go fuck yourself  is the first thought that follows. Right now, I'm nursing my hand and a buzz, and I'm not willing to fall into line like everyone else in Fenty's life. Maybe it's the champagne making me bold, but I like to think it's not, because I'm definitely not drunk. If I were drunk, I'd be numb from the pain.

And not just the pain in my hand. Tiffany telling me what Meek tried to get her to do shredded me.

My eyes sting with tears as I lean against the center island to hold myself up. I'm tempted to crumple in the closet and give in to them. Only one thing stops me. Or should I say one woman?

"Are you incapable of following simple directions? Because I thought you were smarter than that."

I jerk my head up to see Robyn standing in the doorway that leads to the bathroom, once again making one of her stupid silent entrances.

"How do you do that? Why do you do that?" Frustrated, I let out a huff. "You know what? Don't answer. I don't care. Tonight, I'm not in the mood to deal with your brand of arrogant bullshit. I am fresh out of fucks to give."

With each words I speak, her expression darkens with malevolence, telling me I've crossed into a dangerous territory.

"What did you fucking say to me?" 

Fight or die trying. Isn't that what I vowed to do?

"I said, I'm not in the mood."

She takes a step into the closet and shuts the door behind her. I don't know if it's a power play or what, but instantly the room seems to shrink to a tenth of it's size.

"Say it again," she orders.

I stand straight and meet her black glare. "I'm not in the fucking mood to deal with another asshole tonight. Okay?" I throw my hands into the air like I'm completely at a loss of how to deal with her. Which I truly am.

Rihanna's expression transforms from anger to rage in the space of a single heartbeat, and her voice drops to a low, raspy whisper. "Who fucking touched you? Heads will roll, and I'll swing the goddamned ax myself."

Before I know what's happening, she reaches out with lightning speed and her hand cuffs the wrist of my injured palm.

I'm struggling to keep up with her threats and movements, definitely regretting the champagne. "What? No one. Well no one other that you. And I guess Scar when he carries me around like I'm incapable of walking."