by Renee Rose
And this one definitely didn’t deserve my sympathies. I didn’t buy her tale about wanting fresh air. She was snooping around, researching for her story. But when I’d held her throat and felt the way she trembled against my body, I just couldn’t harden myself against her.
Soothing her became a necessity. Pleasuring her a divine order. Punishing her was the icing on the cake.
I rummaged in my toy box for lube and a vibrator, the kind with the clit attachment, and returned to my position at the side of the bed. Chelsea had assumed the position, her reddened ass in the air, arms tucked under her breasts, face planted in the covers like she was afraid to watch.
“Eyes on me, baby,” I commanded and unbuttoned my jeans.
She lifted her head, and her eyes widened as she realized my intent. I freed my aching cock directly in front of her lips. Like a good girl, she parted them and let me in.
I shuddered with pleasure as her mouth closed around the head of my cock, and her tongue lapped the underside. Balling my fist in her hair, I urged her to take me deeper. “Good girl,” my guttural tones gave away the depth of my need.
She tipped her head to the side to take me deeper, but I could tell the position strained her neck.
“Roll over on your back,” I commanded, pulling the bolster out from under her hips. I pulled her toward me so her head dropped backward over the side of the bed, her mouth fully available. I pushed my cock to the back of her throat.
She struggled, but I eased back, waited for her to settle, then pushed deeper again. When I’d established the depth she could comfortably take me, I pulsed in and out, shifting my focus to her glorious breasts, nipples tipped with eager beads. I pinched one between my fingers, squeezing until she squealed around my cock, then rolling it between my fingers. I gave the same treatment to the other one.
“Spread your legs, baby,” I rasped.
She obediently parted her thighs, and I flicked on the vibrator and ran the tip up and down her honeyed slit. She hummed over my cock, some kind of moan, urging me to go on.
I pushed the vibrator inside her channel, seating the outer portion against her clit.
She screamed around my cock, but I didn’t move anything, just left it on high, driving her mad. She thrashed her muscular legs, trying to get off.
I pulled out and crouched down. “Chelsea, eyes on me.”
She locked her gaze on me, her flushed face even cuter upside down.
“You may not come without my permission. Do you understand? I own that pussy. I own your ass. You don’t receive pleasure—even from yourself—unless I say so. Got it?”
She whined in need, but nodded. “Yes, Master.”
I stood. “Good girl. Roll over and put the bolster under your hips.”
She sat up and reached for the vibrator.
“Nuh uh. Leave it. That’s for me to arrange. You do as you’re told.”
“Yes, sir.” She rolled over and gingerly lifted her hips to slide the bolster under.
Lube in hand, I walked around behind her and climbed on the bed. The vibrator had slid halfway out. I fucked her with it a few times, then worked the attachment against her clit again.
She let out a wavering moan that went straight to my throbbing cock.
I spanked each cheek, loving the wanton pitch to her cries.
With my thumb, I worked a dollop of lube over her anus, breaching the hole to massage around the interior, gently stretching it and getting her used to the invasion.
Her moans turned to mewls, a whine of intensity punctuating the end of each one.
“Time to take your master’s cock.” I positioned myself behind her and slid on a condom, adding a generous amount of lube. I went slowly, working the tip of my member into her sweet little virgin ass to the music of her cries.
When she’d relaxed enough, I eased in, inch by inch, taking my time so she didn’t panic.
Her fingers twisted in the bedspread, the muscles on her slender back bunched up like ropes.
“Oh… oh… oh god, oh god, oh god,” she moaned into the covers, rubbing her face in them, biting and pulling.
I glided in and out with slow, even strokes. “Take it, baby.”
“Yes… okay. Okay, yes. Oh please, Master, Darius, Master, please.”
I picked up my speed, careful not to pound her too hard. “That’s it, I love it when you beg, baby. You look so pretty taking my cock in that gorgeous ass.”
“Mmmfph. Please now, please, yes?” She’d become incoherent, which nearly made me lose my fucking mind.
I grabbed her hair as I seated myself deep into her ass. “So fucking sweet.” I pumped faster, my muscles straining to hold back.
“Oh please, oh please, oh pleeeease.” She wailed now, close to hysteria.
The dom in me had to slow down, make sure she was okay. I stopped, buried inside her. “Settle down. Does it hurt or is it just intense?”
She panted. “Just intense. Please don’t… go on.”
I chuckled. “Was that a please go on or a please don’t go on?”
“Go on, dammit,” she growled through clenched teeth.
I gave a firm pump, causing her to gasp. “Spread those legs and relax your muscles.” I started again slowly, but my control was crumbling. “Your job is to surrender. I’m plundering.”
I plundered. I fucked her tight little ass and listened to her beg until my vision blurred and my thighs shook.
“This ass belongs to me,” I gritted. I wanted to go on, to see to her pleasure, but somehow I’d already arrived at the brink. I shoved in deep, coming harder than I could remember coming in years.
Chelsea trembled beneath me, gasping, moaning, but I didn’t think she’d climaxed. I would’ve given her permission if she’d asked. Hell, I probably wouldn’t have punished her if she’d come without asking.
I eased out, removed the vibrator, and turned it off. In the bathroom, I disposed of the condom, sterilized the vibe and prepared a warm, wet washcloth. Chelsea hadn’t moved from her position, her ass still angled up over the bolster, legs still trembling. I gripped one upper thigh to part her legs and clean her, then eased the bolster out and rolled her over.
“You didn’t come, did you?”
She shook her head. “I was afraid it would hurt. My anus clenches when I come.”
I smothered a laugh as her rating on the cute scale surged. “You have to ask permission. Did you remember that part?”
Her full lips parted, and she shook her head. “No. I forgot. Good thing it didn’t happen.”
I climbed over her youthful body and kissed her nose. “Good thing.” I lowered my lips to her breast and sucked, rolling the pebbled nipple over my tongue. I scraped it with my teeth, then laved away any pain. “You were a good girl, yielding to your master’s orgasm.”
She moaned softly, her fingers burrowing into my hair. With another sub, I’d snap at her not to touch me without permission, but the gesture was too sweet coming from her. I liked it far too much.
But what made me think she was so sweet? She had ambition, plans to use this experience to her benefit. But she hadn’t expected the sex. Didn’t have any game in that department, which made her mine for the molding.
And lord, I loved molding from this particular clay.
I dragged the tip of my tongue down her flat stomach and circled her belly button. Then I gripped her knees and pushed them toward her shoulders. I licked from her anus to her clit, gripping her knees tighter as she gasped and bobbed beneath me. “Don’t forget to ask, baby. I’m in the mood to reward you, but you have the perfect ass for punishing.” Without waiting for her reply, I flicked her clit with my tongue, sucked it and laved it. I made my tongue stiff and penetrated her with it.
She tugged on my hair. “Please—please may I? Darius… Master… please?”
“You may,” I answered between licks, then inserted two fingers to stroke her G-spot as I sucked hard on her clit, and she came, shaking and sobbing with her overdue relea
se.
5
Chelsea
Darius brought me to climax three more times before carrying me to the shower and fucking me against the wall. I’d never felt so sexualized, so desirable in my life. By the time we emerged from the shower, my body was wrung out and sore, my brain mush.
I stood in the middle of Darius’ room, clutching a towel around me. “Am I allowed to wear clothes?”
He gave a decisive shake of his head, but he opened his closet. From the floor, he picked up a shiny leather dress shoe and yanked out the lace, a thin black cord. “Only this.”
I tensed, fearing I already knew where he wanted me to wear it.
And I was right.
“Lift up your hair,” he commanded, his deep, accented voice making my knees go weak.
Still, I resisted.
His expression turned stern. “You will wear a symbol of my ownership. If you don’t like this one, I’ll get the collar you wore yesterday.”
I held out my wrist. “Can’t I wear it here?”
He shook his head. “A collar goes around your neck. It’s a symbol of submission that I require you wear. You belong to me now.”
I nibbled my lip, ignoring the spike of pleasure in my chest. Why should hearing I belonged to him excite me? He’d already made it abundantly clear. And he didn’t mean permanently. It was for the duration of the voyage. But I must’ve wanted to belong to him, because I did as he asked, lifting my hair and turning around for him to tie the black cord around my neck.
I hated it. My throat spasmed the moment the cord touched it, my tongue seeming to swell until it was too big for my mouth, cutting off my windpipe. I dug my fingers under it to pull back and earned myself a swift slap to the ass.
“Hands on the top of your head. Now, little girl.”
Little girl. The term was condescending and demeaning and… hot to me. Which made no sense. If Derek had ever called me little girl, I would’ve smacked the side of his head and given him a lecture on women’s rights. What made it so unbelievably thrilling from the mouth of the Devil Duke?
I liked being at his mercy.
No, I freaking loved it.
What in the hell was wrong with me? I was a career-oriented woman with control issues. Could it be all this time the secret button to arousal for me was dominance?
All the time with Derek I’d held the reins in the bedroom. I’d said when I wanted sex and refused when I didn’t. And our lovemaking had been lukewarm at best. With Darius, control had been stripped from me from the very start. It had terrified me, but had also ignited a level of lust, of passion, I hadn’t known existed. Without the layer of control—the armor of control—I became nothing but a willing body, eager to receive.
I hadn’t moved, and Darius growled, stalking away and taking the cord with him.
A sigh of relief puffed from my lips, but it was too soon. When Darius returned, he carried a roll of black tape. Twisting my arms behind my back, he wrapped the tape around my wrists, securing them at my lower back. I fought for a moment, not because having my wrists taped frightened me, but because I wouldn’t have them free if he choked me.
Fuck. He was going to choke me with that cord.
As if he recognized I needed soothing, Darius pulled my hair back from my neck and pressed his lips to my shoulder. “Easy, American. You can trust me. I know you’re scared.” He reached around the front of me, holding the cord out in front of my face. “It’s just a shoelace. This thing would break before it could choke a girl. And strangulation isn’t my game. Not today, anyway. With you, probably not ever, although I like a challenge.”
Waves of cold flooded my body. Was he talking about auto-asphyxiation? Or whatever that sex kink was where people died from choking during sex? All rational thought fled my brain as sheer terror enveloped my body, swallowing me whole, drowning me in darkness and cold.
“Shh, you’re okay, baby.” Warm arms held me tight, Darius’ voice murmured in my ear. “You’re shaking, sweetheart. Take my strength. I have you. I won’t let anything bad happen to you. I promise.”
I fought to slow my heart rate and regain control. “I’m sorry,” I squeaked, embarrassed at how easily I turned into a quivering ball of fear.
“No breath play. I’ll accept that hard limit from you.” He stroked up and down my arms. “But if I kept you, angel—if you were mine forever—someday I’d cure you of this phobia. You’d beg me to have my hand around that lovely throat.”
If you were mine forever.
The words sent a pang of longing through my chest. Three days were all I had with this man. This complex, dominant, wonderful man. I hadn’t allowed any shadow of hope for more to enter my mind. Until he spoke those words.
Damn him. I wanted to be his forever.
And that was utterly impossible.
Laughable.
Ridiculous.
I was disposable to him. Even if he kept me a while longer, it wouldn’t last. These things never do. He wasn’t going to marry an American journalist from a lower middle class single parent home. Please.
So yeah. I needed to erase any and all images that sprang in my head of what it would be like to be kept by Darius Halsburg.
“I’m going to put this on you now. You’ll feel it, but it won’t squeeze. Just like a necklace.”
“I don’t wear necklaces,” I squeaked. Or turtlenecks. Or shirts with small collars.
“What happened to you, baby? Did someone hurt you?” His voice sharpened at the end, like he couldn’t quite maintain the calming tone he’d adopted. “Give me a name.”
“No,” I barely managed to speak as I controlled my reaction to the cord which he’d laid gently over my skin. “Nothing happened. I’ve always been like this.”
“Past life, maybe,” Darius suggested, surprising me with such an open-minded assessment.
He believed in past lives?
“It doesn’t matter what caused it. You’re going to learn to wear my collar. You’re going to love wearing my collar—do you know why?” He was talking just to distract me from my discomfort. He’d tied the cord in the back and now clipped off the ends, leaving a neat knot.
“Why?” I croaked.
He spun me around and cradled the side of my neck, looking down at me, his chocolate brown eyes dark with intensity. It seemed he would leave his hands as well as his cord on my throat, demanding I get used to it. “Because I take care of my subs. This collar means you’re under my protection. I’ll make sure your needs are met. I won’t let anyone else touch you.” His expression blackened. “You’re sure no one ever choked you, baby? Because if they did, I will make them sorry they were born.”
My lips parted, surprised to hear violence from the gentlemanly royal. Violence offered in my defense. Had anyone ever offered to protect me? Only my mom and only until I pushed her assistance away, desperate to stand on my own two feet. Certainly no man. Not my father. Not Derek or any earlier boyfriends.
“No one choked me,” I whispered.
He ran his thumb over my pulse, lightly stroking.
It almost felt… nice. Sensual, even.
To distract my careening heart from getting attached, I reminded myself that this man was in the lifestyle. He’d said subs, plural. I take care of my subs. Not me. I just fell in the lump of submissives he’d trained and made his own. I wasn’t even sure what that meant, but it made me want to jump off the ship and swim home.
With effort, I re-erected the armor he’d pulled off me. I was here for a story. Nothing more. I needed to get more information out of my subject so I had something to write about.
I drew a deep breath. “So, how long have you been into BDSM?”
~.~
Darius
My brows slammed down, and I released Chelsea.
Damn. That hurt so much more than I expected. How long have I been into BDSM? I could practically see the practiced journalist pull a pencil out of her hair and moisten the tip with her tongue, ready to take down not
es.
I stalked around the small room to get some distance from her. She wanted to ask me questions? Fine. I had some for her, too. I pulled my rattan cane from my toy box and whapped it into my palm.
Chelsea’s eyes widened.
“Okay, little journalist. You have questions, and I have questions, so we’re going to play a little game.” I grabbed her elbow and swung her to face the bed, pushing her torso down over the mattress. “For each answer you give me, I will allow a question from you. If you choose to pass or if you lie, you get three strokes of the cane.” I tapped the cane against her pretty bare ass for effect.
“What if you choose to pass on a question?” Defiance rang out in her voice.
I considered, nudging her legs wider with the cane. “I will subtract two strokes from your total.”
“That’s not fair!” Her outrage made me chuckle.
I bent over her and lifted her head with her hair. “Our relationship isn’t built on fair, princess. What made you think it was?”
She made a huffy sound into the covers when I released her head.
I repositioned myself behind her. “I could simply cane you now because I wanted to.” I brought my hand up between her legs, spanking her pussy. “Because your ass would look gorgeous with my stripes across it.” Another spank. Her wet folds told me her indignation hadn’t diminished desire. “Or because I’m pissed you want to use our time together for your fucking story.”
Her back shuddered when she sucked in a shaky breath.
“I’ll give you a taste of the cane before we begin. So you know what you’re in for if you displease me.”
The muscles of her back and shoulders bunched up in expectation.
I stood to the side of her and let the cane swish through the air, striking her right in the middle of her buttocks.
She screamed, rising up on her tiptoes, making a beautiful sight. “You’re mean!” she shouted when she’d regained her breath.
I traced the red weal I’d left with my fingertip. “That’s what they say,” I said lightly, the shadow of every paparazzi story written about my wicked ways crowding around me. It had been my self-ordained job from the beginning to draw the media attention away from the rest of the royal family. Away from my father’s suicide, which had been labeled as a hunting accident, away from the Queen’s lovers, and now away from Kaspar’s exploits.