The Order: The Cult of Serendee by Angel Lawson

Author:Angel Lawson [Lawson, Angel]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2022-01-06T00:00:00+00:00

22

Imogene

I’ve been on my new meal plan for several days when Elon enters my room. It’s still weird to say that, my room. It’s surreal. All of it. The room. The extra food. The clothes, oh and yeah, the handsome man who is not my mate, standing over my bed. That’s surreal.

“Get dressed,” he says, his voice curt. “And wear something from the new wardrobe. Jeans, a skirt, something secular. Sexy.”

I flip the cover of my journal and place it on the bedside table. “Where are we going?”

“Out.”

Beyond that, he doesn’t clarify, leaving the room as abruptly as he entered. I pick through my closet for what I hope is an appropriate outfit. Sexy. I only have vague notions what that means. I assume it means all the parts of our body that we were told to hide from males because of their weakness for skin and flesh. After watching the video with Silas and feeling his hands on me, I understand that urge a little better.

Now that Silas has shown me what is between a man’s legs, how it works and feels, I can’t help but wonder about Elon and Levi. About Rex. Even though I know I shouldn’t, I have the desire to see them the same way; caught in the throes of euphoria. Warm and sticky on my hand. The sensation from that day—the burn—it hasn’t left my belly. It’s a low smolder all the time—ready to be stoked into flame.

I settle on a pair of tight black pants and a pale yellow top that clings against my body. There’s a sweater to wear over it and a pair of boots with a slight heel. I take a minute to attend to my hair and face—attempting to replicate Margaret’s designs. I’m not very good at it.

Elon waits in the living room, eyes glued to his phone. His gray shirt matches his eyes and is tucked into dark jeans. He doesn’t see me at first and I study him; the muscle at the back of his jaw, like always, is clenched tight. He always seems angry and annoyed, like nothing I do is right, like I’m a complete nuisance. Maybe I am. Who wants to babysit a grown woman who has been rejected by her mate?

“I’m ready,” I announce. “Is this outfit okay?”

He briefly glances up, then back down at his phone, then back again. Those gray eyes assess me with such intensity that I feel like I can’t breathe.

“Take off the sweater,” he demands. I slide my arms out of each sleeve. His gaze sweeps over my skin. “You can wear that outside, but indoors, take it off. You need to acclimate to people seeing your skin.”

“Okay,” I say. “Anything else?”

“Remove the bra. Show off those tits.”

I blink. The shirt is so sheer I could see the pattern of lace beneath the fabric. Without it… “Are you sure?”

“Are you asking me to repeat myself, Little Lamb?”

I grimace at the nickname. I know he’s mocking me—calling me a sheep.

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