by Nikki Sloane
He was put back together, other than the sweat-darkened temples of his hair, but there was a lightness to him now, as if some of the ice trapping him had thawed. His hand disappeared into his pocket and produced a flash of white lace.
“Would you like these back?” When I nodded, he added, “Ask me.”
He enjoyed playing games, and I did too. “May I have my underwear, please?”
“No.” He was smug as he tucked them back in his pocket. “Perhaps you can earn them back tonight.”
Anticipation crackled through my limbs like lightning.
We both knew it was better to reemerge at the party separately, and I disappeared into the bathroom while Macalister went straight in, mentioning he was going to the bar to get us both a glass of water.
When I’m with you, everything outside of that ceases to exist.
It replayed continuously in my head during the remainder of the party. It was an endless loop during the long, silent car ride to his house, where we sat in the back seat that was filled with delicious tension. We were both working on our phones but occasionally stole glances at each other. I still felt him between my legs in a pleasurable soreness and was eager for more.
God, I was going to burst out of my skin as we arrived at the Hale estate and exited the car. I stared up at the stone house, lit warmly from the outside, but the windows were dark and secretive. My mouth was dry when we wordlessly climbed the steps and went inside.
Would we go straight to his bedroom, or would he start us off in the front room?
Neither.
Macalister gave me an authoritarian look and pointed to the door that led to the dining room. We were in his palace now and disobeying his orders would be treasonous.
Breath halted in my lungs as I pushed open the door and stepped inside.
I’d thought he’d been answering emails during the drive, and perhaps he had been, but at some point, he’d contacted his staff and instructed them to prepare the room.
Two candelabras evenly spaced on the long dining table, and one on a side buffet, were all that lit the enormous room. White tapers flickered in each of their five arms, but the wax had barely begun to drip, so they hadn’t been burning long. They must have been lit as we’d passed the front gate.
The Hale dining room was deadly formal, and even in my fancy pink gown, I felt subconsciously underdressed. The walls were paneled in rich wood, and the elaborate chandelier seemed to have a billion crystals in it, every facet glinting in the flickering candlelight.
The table was only set for one, the seat to the right of the head chair. The white plate contained a slice of a decadent looking dessert. Chocolate torte? The ganache on top was glossy and flawless, decorated with a single raspberry and gold flakes, and between the layers of chocolate cake was a sinfully red jam.
I was instantly hungry looking at the sexy dessert, but there was only one fork and napkin set beside it. I couldn’t imagine he intended to share with me, and when I glanced at him, his expression didn’t reveal whatever he was plotting.
But he was definitely plotting something.
“I’ve decided you’ll be naked for the remainder of the evening.” He announced it the same way he told me he wanted another cup of coffee. “I need to go upstairs for a minute. When I return, you will be sitting,” he motioned toward the dessert, “in that seat.” The candlelight made him look wicked and sinister. “And you will be waiting for me in the nude.”
All the moisture evaporated from my body as he turned and walked out the door.
TWENTY-ONE
SOPHIA
MY DRESS WAS FOLDED AS NEATLY AS POSSIBLE, and I placed it on the cushion of the seat beside me, my shoes tucked beneath the chair. I was stark naked and fucking freezing as I sat in front of the dessert, my arms crossed over my chest to hold in my warmth.
Thankfully, I didn’t have to wait long.
The door behind me creaked open, and I straightened in my seat, turning to glance at Macalister over my shoulder. He was still in his tuxedo, and I wasn’t sure which was more appealing to look at, him or the slice of rich chocolate cake. He looked pleased I’d done as told as he strolled confidently to the ornate chair at the head of the table.
“Eat,” he commanded after he undid the button of his jacket and sat, his intense gaze feasting on all my bare skin.
Instinctively, I picked up the fork and prepared to use it but paused with a thought. “Aren’t you having any?”
His eyes were electric, connected to the sexual current flowing through the intimately lit room. “I would like to watch as you enjoy this.”
I gulped down a breath, speared my fork into the cake, and pushed the first bite into my mouth. The raspberry and chocolate combination was one I loved, with just the right amount of sweetness. It was rich and exquisite.
And—oh—how he stared at me, like I was the sexiest thing ever. His gaze traced the lines of my body, flowing over my breasts and the hardened points of my nipples. It made my heart flutter, and if I weren’t already freezing, it would have caused goosebumps.
“Do you like it?” he asked.
“Oh, my God, it’s so good.”
It was arousing and sensual, this act of him observing me as I devoured the dessert in slow, savoring bites. It was the mirror image of the sex we’d had, reversed so I was the one receiving the most pleasure, but he got enjoyment out of watching me experience it.
There was only one bite left. “Do you want some?”
He sat in the chair beside me, his elbow on the armrest and his thumb brushing methodically over his knuckles, like he was eager to get to the next part but trying not to show it. “Finish.”
I put the fork in my mouth, closed my lips around it, and pulled it out oh-so-slowly with my hooded gaze holding his. His nostrils flared, and his jaw clenched, not with dissatisfaction, but with desire.
The tines of the fork tinged as I set it down on the plate and nudged it away, showing him I was finished. The whole thing had been provocative and seductive, and I was humming with lust. He’d given me my amuse-bouche, and now dessert, but I wanted the promised meal.
Macalister stood, set one hand on the tabletop, and leaned over until he could dip a finger into the leftover chocolate ganache smudged on the plate. I watched with anticipation as he swirled it around and collected a dollop onto the pad of his finger. He straightened and focused on me, and the power of his exacting stare flooded every inch of the room, even where the candlelight couldn’t reach.
His clean hand went to the back of my head, gripping my hair and pins holding it in place, and tugged backward, angling my face up toward the ceiling. It was so he could smear the chocolate across my lips, and then chase it with his mouth.
My knees pinched together as he tasted me, kissing and licking until every trace of it was gone, either consumed by him or melted away beneath his fiery kiss. And it was exactly how I felt—consumed. The thought made me go boneless. I was owned by him, but also revered.
“I’ve decided I’ll eat after all,” he commented. “Get on the table.”
My stomach flipped over with excitement, and more lust flooded my bloodstream, so much of it that I became a jittery mess. It made it hard to move, but I stood, moved the plate out of my way, and climbed up on my hands and knees. I’d barely gotten up before Macalister’s strong hands guided me to sit on my bottom, my knees pointed toward his chair and my bare feet dangling over the edge.
Once I was how he wanted, he stepped up to the edge of the table and used his hips to urge my knees apart and make space for him. His expression was firm, but not cold. He looked elegant and refined in his tuxedo, a man determined to get what he wanted, and I was naked before him as an offering.
His hand dipped into his jacket. “This came for you.”
My entire body solidified as he produced the tiny black leather box and held it out flat on his palm. Holy shit. My eyes went so wide it was painful. I had to be hallucinating, because there was absolutely no way
he was presenting me with a ring.
The corner of his sexy mouth lifted in a cunning smile. “No, Sophia. You won’t wear this on your finger.” His eyes turned serious and commanding. “But you will wear it for me.”
My hand was trembling as I took the box and popped it open.
The box had promised jewelry, and that was what he’d given me. The curved barbell was white gold, ending at one end with a ball and a large, brilliant diamond set in prongs at the other. I nearly dropped the box in surprise.
“This is fourteen gauge,” he said. “If that’s not correct, I also have one in sixteen.”
He was the type of man who could buy whatever he wanted and in multiple sizes, including diamond VCH jewelry. “Fourteen is right,” I whispered.
“Excellent. Do you like it?”
I nodded, still floored. He was giving me expensive jewelry that I’d wear intimately. He was the only person who knew about it, and it was like he was celebrating our shared secret. “It’s beautiful,” I said. “Thank you.”
He set his palms on my knees, resting them there as I stared at the sparkling gems, mesmerized.
“This comes with conditions.” Light and shadows danced over his expression, exaggerating his sexy and ominous appeal. “The first being that you wear this for me, and no one else. I am the only man who sees it.”
My pulse jumped. He wanted me to be exclusive to him, and that was easy enough to agree to. “Okay.”
“The second is that when you wear it, you belong to me. I own you and your body, Sophia. This means I can have you whenever and however and,” his gaze crept downward, “wherever I want.”
Oh, my God. Heat blasted through me in an explosion of volcanic proportions. I didn’t care what I was signing up for, I’d do it. I was adventurous, and I’d take whatever order he gave. His conditions made me frenzied and needy and eager to sign this contract.
“Yes,” I croaked. Macalister began to smile, but it froze when I tacked on, “Wait.”
I stared up at him, my lips pressed together.
“Speak,” he ordered.
“I want the same. I’m the only woman you get to own.”
He blinked away his surprise, like this was a request I shouldn’t have to make. “Yes, of course.”
He’d told me the world ceased to exist around me, but he was still a man and capable of flowery words and promises that meant nothing. His sons weren’t exactly known for their honesty, either. But as I searched Macalister’s eyes, they contained conviction, and if he wanted to own me, I’d make sure it was a full-time job.
“Okay, then,” I breathed. “Yes.”
This time, I didn’t stop him as he pulled his lips back into a satisfied smile. He plucked the barbell from its perch, closed the box with a snap, and set it beside me on the table. His gaze swept down the length of my body before returning to my face, and his expression shifted to one of determination. “Lie back.”
My pulse skipped along, and nerves trembled in my belly. He was going to change out my piercing right now, and holy fuck, my insides turned to liquid, rushing toward my center. The table was smooth and cold against my back, and I brought my feet up to rest flat on the edge.
His cool fingertips pressed to the inside of my thigh and nudged my knee to the side so he had more light and more room to work in. There was a faint clink as the diamond barbell was set aside for a moment, and he leaned in, using both hands to peel me apart. I pressed my lips together as he grasped both ends of my existing jewelry. The silver barbell had pink rhinestones encased in a ball at both ends, but they were internally threaded, so he might not know how it came out.
“The bottom one unscrews,” I whispered.
I lifted my head to spot his expression etched with concentration. It was a delicate area, and he was mindful, not wanting to hurt me as he began to twist. A tiny moan drifted from my throat as his fingers brushed over me, and it gave him pause. His gaze flew up to check in with me.
But I made it clear he hadn’t done anything wrong. It was merely a side effect of his touch.
His fingers resumed moving, and then they were gone, screwing the barbell back together in his hands. It was stored in the black leather box, which was then pocketed, and the diamond one was picked up.
It wasn’t as easy to put the new one in as it’d been to take the other out, but after a few attempts, he’d pushed the stem through to the other side of my piercing and began screwing on the silver ball at the bottom. When it was done, he stepped back, one hand resting on my propped-up knee, and admired his work.
Macalister sighed contently, the sound filling the dining room and causing a bolt of pleasure to course through me. I looked down, and the sparkling diamond winked back at me. It looked so, so good.
“I love it,” I said, suddenly bashful.
He didn’t respond with words, but he didn’t need to. There was no doubt in my mind he loved the way it looked and all the conditions that went with it. The glaciers of his eyes heated with desire.
That was the only warning I got of his plan before he began to act. He dropped down into his seat and pulled it up to the table, then slid his arms under my legs. He wrapped his hands around my thighs and jerked me closer, my bare skin squealing across the table as I was dragged along it. It was so he could lean down and cover my new jewelry with his mouth.
“Fuck,” I said in a startled moan, arching my back.
A sound of disapproval at my profanity came from him, immediately followed by a sound of enjoyment, and the hands around my thighs squeezed, his fingers digging in. There was a tug of suction against my clit, and white-hot heat shot down my legs.
I’d always enjoyed it when a guy went down on me, but every sensation was multiplied a thousand times over because this was Macalister. The slow slide of the tip of his tongue over my clit made moans leak from my mouth. His sharp flicks caused gasps and jolts.
I peered at him in his tuxedo, his handsome face deep between my legs, and loved how his eyes were closed as if he were savoring me. He opened his mouth for a moment, so I caught a glimpse of his fluttering pink tongue as it played with the diamond, and the vision seared into my brain. It was beyond sexy.
It was mindless the way I writhed on the table beneath his hot, wicked mouth. He varied his speed and technique, finding new ways to pull sighs and deep, throaty moans from me. His hands strayed from my legs, roaming up to fondle and grip my breasts.
His tongue worked me over, massaging and caressing, and he seemed to enjoy exploring and playing with my piercing, tracing down one side and back up the other. My legs were shaking, and the trembling moved along my body, sweeping across my stomach.
“Oh, my God,” I gasped.
I’d dreamed about this. I’d visualized grabbing onto his salt and pepper hair as he tormented and teased with his incredible mouth, using it to do what no other man had before. In my fantasizes, I came so fast.
Had visualizing been the trick I needed? Intense waves of pleasure built inside me, and my climax didn’t seem like a distant idea. Or perhaps it was the fantasies paired with the nightly vibrator sessions that had been the key. I was training my body to associate orgasms with Macalister.
His hands on my breasts kneaded, sliding over my distended nipples, plucking and pinching, making me whine with need. Fuck, his tongue. I closed my eyes and saw sparks behind my eyelids. My heart raced, and I panted through the bliss he was giving me.
“That feels so good,” I said in a rush, breaking the quiet surrounding us. I closed a hand on top of his on my breast, wanting to touch him as he touched me.
He lifted his mouth off me, turning his head so he could drop a kiss on the inside of my thigh. “Does it feel good enough to bring you to orgasm?”
I hesitated. “Maybe.”
He stared up at me over the slope of my nude body, and he smirked.
I wasn’t one hundred percent sure if it could happen, but him? Oh, he was. He looked powerful and arrogant.
“We’
re not leaving this room until you do.” He planted a kiss on the inside of my other thigh. “But there’s no reason to feel pressure. It will happen, and I can do this all night.” He went back to my center, his lips brushing against my bare pussy as he spoke in a seductive hush. “I’m happy to do it, Sophia.”
His tongue lapped at me, and my eyes threatened to roll back in my head. His mouth would get me there eventually. I just wasn’t sure if it would be with his tongue, or his words, or the two working together.
Tension twisted in my core, rising like mercury in a thermometer.
It climbed higher as time dragged on, nearly slowing to a stop. Or maybe it raced forward and was hours. Time seemed to have abandoned us here in this dark room while a hungry man feasted on me. I squirmed and shifted, rubbing my body against his soft, unrelenting mouth. I was desperate for release. He’d made it a rule, and I’d do whatever I could to obey.
My chest heaved, and I lifted my head to look at him better over it. Oh, God. His gaze was fixed on mine. His eyes were resolute.
He paused just long enough to ask it. “Do you want to come?”
“Yes,” I pleaded in a whisper.
Macalister’s chair gave a quiet groan as he sat up straight. His fingers came down in an abrupt slap, right across my swollen clit, and I yelped with surprise. It hadn’t really hurt, but it’d startled the hell out of me.
His tone was dark and firm. “Do you want to come?”
I didn’t understand this game. “Yes.”
This time when he struck me, it was aggressive and with purpose. The first slap had been to get my attention, but this one was meant to punish. His jaw flexed and his expression hinted at his frustration.
He said it like I should know better, every word weighted and measured. “Do you want to come?”
Anticipation knotted in my belly. He kept asking the same question, and if I repeated my answer, his sharp, stinging fingers would follow. Was . . . was I supposed to say no? I glanced futilely around the room, like the answer was somehow hidden in the shadows.