Yield
“Her goddamned daddy Dom?
I fed her lunch and dinner, let her think herself safe, and took her by leash to the bathroom. Let her recover. The lump on her head was small and she had no signs of concussion. Had she been planning to run or to attack me earlier? She couldn’t have run with the leash at her neck. Fight then? Her history sheet said she’d trained in martial arts, joined a Muay Thai group at university. Interesting, considering I’d had Chris teach me his MMA moves. One day, perhaps, I’d let that man in on who I was, apart from Mr. Nice-as-Pie Moghul.
Whatever, I could overpower the little bitch easily.
At ten that night, while she was half asleep, I walked in, dragged her from the bed by her hair, and forced her to her knees. Her screams gave my balls ideas, demonic ones involving fucking her until she was a limp mess. Wren screamed well.
I guess twisting her hair into a knot tight enough to make my fist go red and white was the cause.
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