Light pierces through my eyelids like tiny daggers, dragging me from a dreamless sleep. I reach across the mattress, searching for Irina's warmth, but my fingers find only cool sheets. The emptiness feels wrong somehow. Last night, I fell asleep with her arms wrapped around me, her breath tickling my neck, but now I'm alone in her bed upstairs. Naked and disoriented. Still Collarless
I sit up, rubbing sleep from my eyes. The room looks different in morning light, less intimidating, more like an actual bedroom instead of the lair of the woman who bought me.
"Hey! I just got off the phone with Selena."
Irina's voice makes me jump. I hadn't noticed her standing in the doorway. She's fully dressed in a white shirt and jeans, looking casual, but very sexy. The contrast between her put-together appearance and my nakedness makes me feel even more vulnerable.
"Huh?" I manage, my brain still fuzzy with sleep.
She crosses the room and perches on the edge of the bed, her back rigid. "You and I have a lot to talk about."
Something's off. Her voice has an edge to it.
"What happened?" I ask, pulling the sheet higher over my lap.
"Do you have any idea what you did last night?" she asks, her fingers drumming against her thigh. "The way you spoke to Selena?"
My stomach drops. I rack my brain trying to remember if I said something offensive. The night is a blur of wine and expensive food and... other activities.
"I was just being myself," I say, suddenly feeling defensive.
"Being yourself?" She lets out a sharp laugh that contains zero humor. "Matthew, Selena Cruz has people killed for looking at her the wrong way. She runs the largest cartel in this region. Men like you don't talk back to her."
My heart races as I try to process her words.
"Wait, is Selena mad at me?" I blurt out, clutching the sheet tighter.
Irina's expression shifts, her eyes rolling dramatically. "No, she thought you were a riot. That's the problem."
I blink, thoroughly confused. "I don't understand then. If she liked me, why are you upset?"
"I'm worried about you, you idiot!" She stands up, pacing beside the bed. "Your safety! Do you have any idea what kind of danger you put yourself in?"
Her hands gesture wildly as she continues. "Selena called me this morning laughing about how you were discussing, and I quote 'whore max' with her? And asking what the best food is for a 'whore' to eat? She said you even brought up that she trafficked you!"
My face burns with embarrassment as fragments of last night's wine-soaked conversation come flooding back. "But she literally did traffic me," I protest. "That's just a fact."
"That's not the point!" Irina throws her hands up in exasperation. "You can't just say these things to someone like Selena. You can't treat this situation like it's normal or funny."
"Look, this all happened because I have no clue how to act like a prostitute," I say, running my fingers through my sleep-mussed hair. "I've never done this before."
Irina stops pacing and stares at me. "You just need to flirt with them, not challenge their entire existence."
"That's the problem! I have no idea how to flirt," I admit, throwing my hands up. "I wasn't exactly a ladies' man back home. Now I'm supposed to be some kind of professional?"
She looks at me with an expression filled with bewilderment. Her mouth opens, then closes, then opens again as she processes what I've just said.
"Hmm," she says thoughtfully, her brow furrowing as she considers this new information.
"Come on, let me walk you through what happened, okay?" I plead. "Pretend you're me, and this woman expects to have sex with you for a long time, and you're just trying to order dinner."
Irina's eyebrows draw together, creating deep lines between them as she frowns.
"Selena mentioned you ordered spaghetti?" she asks, crossing her arms over her chest.
"Yeah! I thought it was perfect because…"
"Spaghetti is far too heavy for a prostitute!" she interrupts, looking genuinely horrified. "You'd be bloated and uncomfortable all night!"
I stop in my tracks, suddenly realizing my strategic error. "Huh, I didn't think about the bloating thing. I was more focused on the presentation aspect."
"Presentation aspect?" Irina's eyebrows shoot up even higher.
"Yeah, like if I accidentally had to slurp a noodle. You know, like 'Oh, I see what that mouth do' and maybe that would turn her on or something." I make a slurping gesture with my mouth that probably looks ridiculous.
Irina stares at me for a solid five seconds, her expression completely blank. "Matthew, that is the stupidest fucking thing I've ever heard in my life."
I can't help it, I burst out laughing.
A small smile tugs at the corner of her mouth despite her obvious frustration. Something about seeing her try not to laugh makes my chest feel warm.
"Hey, can I say something completely unrelated to this?" I ask, the question popping into my head unexpectedly.
Irina closes her eyes and sighs. "Sure," she says, her tone making it clear she's humoring me.
"You can just call me Matt." The words come out softer than I intended.
Her eyes fly open, widening with surprise like I've just handed her some precious gift. "Matt..." she says, testing it out, the single syllable carrying a weight I didn't expect.
"Unless you don't want…" I start, suddenly uncertain.
"No," she cuts me off, moving closer to the bed. "I like it. Matt." She says it again, more deliberately this time, as if savoring the taste of it on her tongue.
The way she says my name, that single syllable, makes something flutter in my chest. It's so much more intimate than "Matthew."
Irina slides onto the bed next to me. Her thigh presses against mine through the sheet.
"Listen, Matt," she says, her voice softening as she places a hand on my knee. "I just want you to live a long time."
A bitter laugh escapes me before I can stop it. "So you can milk me for all I'm worth, right?"
Her eyes flash dangerously, and I immediately regret the words. She shakes her head and laughs, though there's no humor in it.
"This is exactly what I'm talking about," she says, gesturing toward me with an exasperated wave. "Anyone else in your position would be beaten for even joking about something like that. It's how they show men their place."
"Oh..." I swallow hard, suddenly aware of my vulnerability. "But you haven't laid your hands on me once."
"That's not true," she whispers.
Before I can react, her hand is on my throat. But there's nothing threatening about the touch, her fingers are gentle, almost caressing as she pushes me back onto the mattress. She looms over me with a smile that makes my pulse quicken.
"I mean to hurt me," I clarify, my voice embarrassingly breathy. "You've never hurt me."
Her smile fades slightly, something unreadable flickering in her eyes. "No, I haven't." Her thumb traces my jawline with surprising tenderness. "And I don't want to. But you need to understand the world you're in now."
Her fingers tighten slightly around my throat, and my body betrays me instantly. Heat rushes through my veins, and I can't help the way my eyes darken with desire. Her gaze catches mine, noticing my reaction, and her expression shifts to exasperated disbelief.
"Seriously? Don't get turned on while I'm trying to teach you something important," she scolds, but she doesn't remove her hand from my neck. There's something almost domestic about her frustration, like we're an old married couple having a familiar argument.
I place my hand over hers where it rests against my throat and flash her my most wicked smile. "No, I refuse to listen," I say, challenging her with my eyes.
She shakes her head, but I catch the hint of a smile she's fighting to suppress. "You are such a little brat," she says, her voice softer than her words suggest.
Her eyes suddenly widen and she pulls her hand back from my throat. "Oh my God," she gasps, her gaze fixed on my neck.
"What?"
"Your collar," she says, standing up abruptly. "I can't believe I let you sleep upstairs without it all night."
She turns toward the door, clearly heading to retrieve it, but I reach out and grab her wrist. Her skin is warm beneath my fingers.
"Wait," I say quickly. "See? It's not necessary." I gesture around the bedroom. "Like you said, where am I even going to go?"
She stares at me, her gray eyes unreadable. For a moment, I think maybe I've convinced her, but then she shakes her head firmly.
"No. If you're not in the basement, you have to wear it. Period." She gently but firmly extracts her wrist from my grip and walks out of the bedroom.
I fall back against the pillows with a frustrated groan. For a second, it felt like we were just two people having a moment.
Irina returns moments later, the black collar dangling from her fingers like a snake. I sit up reluctantly, tilting my chin up to give her access to my neck. Her fingers brush against my skin as she fastens it, the familiar weight settling around my throat once more.
I can't help the heavy sigh that escapes me as the lock clicks into place.
"Get used to it," she says, her tone gentler than her words.
I say nothing, just stare at the rumpled sheets, feeling the weight of my situation pressing down on me more heavily than the collar itself.
"Don't sulk, Matt," she says, tucking a finger under my chin and lifting my face to meet her eyes. Her expression softens unexpectedly. "I made you breakfast."
The gesture catches me off guard. "You did?"
"Pancakes," she confirms with a small smile. "And I made sure to put the eggs on a separate plate."
"Hell yeah!"