The King of Infierno

by Jasmine Hill

  He stepped from the shower and rubbed his body vigorously with a towel. He picked up the cologne that he’d recently purchased with Makayla, Armani’s Aqua Di Gio. It was a good scent and he wanted something different with Makayla, something new that she’d chosen for him. Scents had a way of imprinting on the mind and flooding it with both good and not so good memories, and all his subsequent memories he wanted to be of Makayla. She was lucky, in a way. He was the only man she’d ever been with. Consequently she didn’t have to try to erase her more unpleasant encounters. He splashed a little of the cologne on his neck and sprayed himself with deodorant. He dressed quickly in a pair of black cargo shorts, a polo shirt and Vans. He’d start at the pool deck and if Makayla wasn’t there, he’d head to the foyer.

  * * * *

  He’d looked everywhere. Frantic, he glanced at his watch. It had now been over three hours since he’d guessed she’d left their suite as she hadn’t been there when he’d returned from his run. If she knew that she’d be gone for so long, why didn’t she leave a note? She knew that he worried about her, particularly as she was in an unfamiliar city and didn’t speak the language. Madrid was a fairly safe place, but not many people spoke English, so if she had gotten lost, she might have a hard time finding someone who could help her. And she hadn’t taken her fucking phone—why would she leave without it? He’d picked up the hotel phone to call Fernando when he heard the elevator ping to a stop outside the suite.

  He crossed his arms and leaned against the wall, affecting a casual stance when he felt anything but casual. This had better be her at the door and not one of the hotel staff.

  The door clicked open and she stepped in wearing nothing but a fucking bathrobe. Where the hell had she been for three hours dressed like that? And where the fuck was her collar? Why had she taken it off? He stared at her for a minute, his gaze boring holes through her, transmitting his immense displeasure.

  Then he advanced on her like a panther stalking its prey. She took a step back, flattening her spine against the door, her violet eyes wide in anxiety. Good, she should feel fucking anxious. He reached her and flattened his palms on the door either side of her head, caging her in.

  He dropped his head to speak in her ear, his voice low. “Where is your collar and where the fuck have you been for over three hours dressed like that?”

  “I was at the spa,” she whispered. “They asked me to take my necklace off so it wouldn’t get oil on it.”

  Of course, he hadn’t even considered the spa, forgotten, in fact, that there even was one at the hotel.

  “Did you not think to leave me a note?”

  “I’m sorry, I wasn’t expecting to be gone so long. When I got there they told me that Fernando had organized a complimentary treatment package.”

  Fucking Martínez strikes again, causing him grief.

  “Where is your collar?” Donovan kept his voice low, his lips brushing her ear.

  “In my pocket.”

  She fumbled around and withdrew her collar from the depths of the robe. He straightened and took it from her trembling fingers.

  “Turn around, angel.”

  She gave him her back and he clasped the collar securely around her neck. He bent his head to speak once more at her ear. “Do not take it off.” He brought his hand up to her face and caressed her cheek. “This is mine. This collar signifies that. Soon I’ll lock it in place and only I will have the key.”

  She shivered, her body trembling against his. He leaned closer to her, grinding his hard cock into her ass. He was still angry with her, but he was also turned on. She did things to him that no other woman ever had. Her slight body trembling against his in her anxiety was so fucking hot. He knew she wasn’t scared—she was apprehensive and nervous about what he was going to do, and he loved keeping her off balance.

  “Go into the bedroom, get naked and kneel by the door.”

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Naked and kneeling by the door, Makayla bowed her head in supplication. Her heart rate hammered a wild tattoo. Donovan loved keeping her guessing and heightening her anxiety by drawing out her anticipation. She waited for what seemed liked hours, but in reality, it was probably only ten minutes. Finally, she heard him enter the room and saw his feet as he stopped in front of her. His delicious male scent of cologne and musk washed over her, heightening her desire and need for him.

  He walked to the dresser in the corner and rummaged in the drawer, collecting items, but Makayla couldn’t see what they were. He strode back into her line of vision, bent, and tied a black scarf around her head, blindfolding her. She felt him behind her, then his arms were around her and he lifted her up. Depositing her on her back on the bed, he gasped—the sound loud in the silence of the room.

  “What the fuck? What have you done to your pussy?”

  Makayla couldn’t tell if he was angry. “I had a Brazilian, to surprise you,” she whispered.

  He ran his fingers through her smooth folds then she felt his mouth on her, his tongue licking a hot trail though her center. She moaned and pumped her hips up.

  “It had better have been a woman who did this to you,” he said into her pussy.

  “Yes, of course.” She writhed under his ministrations. “Do you like it?”

  “Hmm,” he hummed against her flesh.

  The vibrations sent tingling shocks through her.

  “I do, but I wish you had asked me first. I would have liked to have watched. I’ll have to be careful here, you’ll be sensitive.”

  He licked her gently, almost delicately, and she groaned, the feeling so good. Then suddenly he was gone and she felt him securing her wrists and ankles to the bedposts until she was bound in a star shape to the bed. Lastly, he attached clamps to her nipples.

  “I’ve decided on your punishment.” He spoke in her ear. “You’ll have to be strong, baby.”

  Oh God, what was he going to do? Anxiety flooded her veins and her breath stuttered. She felt something rubbery and wet between her thighs then a buzzing noise started. She jumped when the thing slid over her clit and vibrations rocked through her—a vibrator. He was using a vibrator on her. She relaxed and focused on the sensations as Donovan swept the vibe over her folds, stopping on her clit for a moment then plunging the tip into her channel.

  She felt the first stirrings of an orgasm. Her insides fluttered, the muscles starting to contract. Donovan removed the vibrator and pumped his fingers in and out of her, sweeping them through her channel in circles, stretching and widening her. She grunted at the pleasure-pain of the intense sensation.

  “I can tell that you’re close, baby,” Donovan said raggedly. “I feel you starting to clench.”

  She held her breath, the spread of her thighs making it that little bit harder to reach what she was striving for. She was so close, her climax within her grasp, when suddenly, Donovan withdrew his fingers, leaving her bereft, and her orgasm abated as suddenly as it had started.

  She whimpered, her core throbbing with the ache of dissatisfaction.

  Then his mouth was on her nipple, sucking and licking before he attached a clamp to the taut peak. He did the same to her other breast.

  “Open your mouth,” he murmured.

  She did as he had asked and he put the chain connecting the clamps between her teeth. She drew her head back and groaned as the clamps tightened and elongated her nipples.

  He lay between her thighs again, working his tongue around the folds of her pussy expertly. He swept his tongue around and around, up and down either side of her clit, but always missing the little bundle of nerves. She cried out, tears of frustration seeping out of her eyes.

  He sucked her clit into his mouth and inner stirrings reawakened, bringing her orgasm flaring back to life. She started to pulse, was so close to coming that she screamed when he took his mouth away. Her orgasm retreated, leaving in its wake a hollow, empty sensation.

  “What are you doing?” she sobbed.

  “This is called orgasm denial
, baby,” he murmured from between her legs. “It’s the punishment I’ve chosen for you.”

  He thrust his tongue into her channel and switched the vibrator back on, sweeping it across her sensitive clit. She shuddered and moaned in distress, not sure how long she could last. She badly wanted to come. She needed that release to take the throbbing ache away.

  “Please, Donovan.”

  He growled and slapped her thigh. “You’re not going to get ahead when you don’t address me properly.”

  “I’m sorry, Sir,” she whispered. Her emotions were close to snapping point and her insides were quaking with need.

  Donovan licked up her center, pressing his tongue on her clit and massaging.

  Her spread, bound legs started to shake and tremble as banked pleasure once more started to build in her core.

  “Please,” she begged. “I need to come.”

  He ignored her, flicking his tongue again and again over her sensitive clit, but the pressure wasn’t quite enough to send her over the edge. She was crying now, big fat tears of frustration were running off her face to dampen her hair. She felt as if she was one big nerve ending, raw and inflamed, her skin so sensitive that a simple touch seemed to scorch her.

  She snapped her teeth around the chain connecting her nipple clamps and threw her head back, desperate to focus on something else. Pain shot from her nipples to mingle with the ache in her core. Fuck, she screamed inwardly.

  Finally, Donovan stopped his ministration to her oversensitive pussy. She felt him shift from between her thighs then he removed the scarf from her head, damp now and soggy from her tears.

  Donovan knelt over her, his knees on either side of her torso. His jaw hard, his face blank and unreadable. She watched as he unzipped his shorts and pulled them and his boxers down to just under his balls, his thick cock bobbing with the motion, the tip purple and swollen, pre-cum seeping from his slit.

  She licked her lips, her attention on his beautiful shaft. She forgot about her discomfort for a moment. She wanted to taste it, taste him.

  But it wasn’t to be. He fisted the base of his cock and pumped his hand up and down, using his pre-cum to lubricate his glide. He closed his eyes and threw his head back, groaning. His movements quickened, his fist working from his tip to his base, squeezing and pumping. The head of his cock swelled bigger, made shiny and red from its stretch. He grunted loudly and stiffened as thick spurts of cum shot out of his tip to smear over Makayla’s breasts. He pumped his fist, milking out every drop of semen.

  She glared at him, furious that he’d given himself pleasure after he’d tortured and tormented her so thoroughly.

  “You’re an ass,” she hissed.

  He gave her an impassive look, his chest still heaving from his personal exertions. “You’ll think twice before you disobey me again.”

  “I didn’t disobey you,” she screeched. “When did you say that I couldn’t go to the spa?”

  “I didn’t, but you know that I worry about you, particularly here, in a city that you’re unaccustomed to, and your thoughtlessness has had me afraid for your safety on more than one occasion. And I hate feeling afraid. It interferes with my self-control and my equilibrium. I don’t do concerned well. You could have left a message for me, you could have asked the spa staff to leave a message.” He frowned. “And you touched my pussy without asking me.”

  Her eyes widened in disbelief. “Are you serious?”

  “Very,” he said grimly. “Of course, I do like what you’ve done with it. It will heighten your pleasure and your sensitivity.”

  “Fat lot of good that did me today,” she grumped.

  He just ignored her. “And I told you, I wanted to watch.”

  She rolled her eyes. “You can watch next time,” she conceded.

  “I know. I will do exactly what I want where you’re concerned.”

  Of that, there was no doubt. She was his to command as he pleased and it was a position that she was enjoying immensely. However, at the moment she was feeling decidedly put out with him. Her insides felt raw and achy, and the entire encounter had made her frustrated and fractious, which she understood to be the point.

  Donovan leaned over her and untied the bindings at her wrists, then moved to her ankles. He massaged life back into her limbs and rotated her joints gently. Then he unclipped one of the nipple clamps. Blood rushed to the peak and she gasped at the sensation. Donovan quickly closed his mouth over her tortured nipple, licking and laving. He repeated the process with her other breast, massaging the mound as he sucked her nipple, inflaming once again the banked ashes of her desire. Oh God, she couldn’t handle much more of this.

  “How are you feeling?”

  “How do you think?” she spat. “That was mean and uncalled for.”

  He narrowed his eyes, a muscle ticking in his jaw. “Careful,” he warned. “Or next time I’ll draw the experience out further and I won’t let you come for two days.”

  She climbed off the bed and stomped into the bathroom to shower. Donovan followed her in, leaning against the tiled wall nonchalantly and watching as she lathered soap over herself. She ignored him, turning her back to limit the exposure of her body.

  “You don’t want to test me, angel. I know what you’re doing.”

  She finished her shower and stepped out. Donovan handed her a towel. “I’ll lay some clothes out on the bed for you. We’re going to Infierno again tonight and this time you’ll be leaving with me.”

  He stalked out of the bathroom and left her to finish her ablutions in peace.

  Makayla sighed, she supposed that the distractions at Infierno would at least be better than glaring at Donovan all night.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Donovan held tightly to Makayla’s hand as they entered Infierno.

  “El Rey,” Carlos greeted him and gave Makayla a long once-over.

  Donovan’s jaw tightened. Of course, Carlos was accustomed to women at Infierno being largely available, and Donovan had never had a problem sharing, provided, of course, that the woman was willing. But this was different. Makayla was different, and the sooner that these assholes understood that, the better.

  “Back off, Carlos,” Donovan warned, his voice dangerously low. “She’s mine. I don’t even like another man looking at her, understand me?”

  “O, o, of course.” Carlos was obviously confused as to Donovan’s change in attitude. “Lo siento, Rey,” he apologized.

  Donovan glanced down at Makayla and wondered yet again if he’d been wise in choosing such an outfit for her. She wore a tight red corset that he’d laced for her, pulling the ties as tightly as they’d go. Her breasts spilled over the top of the neckline, part of one cherry-red areola just visible. Fuck. He groaned inwardly—just looking at her had him as hard as nails. Her waist was made so tiny by the constriction of the corset that he could span it with both his hands—he’d tried it already back at the hotel. Her hips flared from her slim midriff and her ass, round and pert, was even more desirable because of the differential. She wore a black leather miniskirt, fishnet stockings and platform heels. She was fucking sex on legs and he’d have to watch her closely. She’d have every male in the place panting for her.

  He wrapped an arm around her middle, splaying his palm across her hip possessively, and guided her through the curtain to the inside of the club.

  For a moment, people stopped what they were doing and stared at them. He’d always drawn a curious crowd here—people who didn’t know him wanted to, and those who did know him wanted to be seen with him. He figured that with Makayla on his arm, they made for a more interesting spectacle.

  He guided her to the bar, picked her up and deposited her onto a barstool.

  “Two glasses of cava,” he ordered from the bartender.

  He looked at Makayla, her face tipped up to his, her mouth parted slightly, her plump lips painted cherry red and glossed to a high shine. He dipped his head and licked them, marveling at the taste of real cherries that bu
rst on his tongue. Fuck, this woman would be the death of him. He literally couldn’t get enough of her. He closed his eyes and inhaled her scent, reveling in her.

  The bartender passed across two glasses of their best cava and he handed one to Makayla, clinking her glass with his.

  They each took a sip, Donovan eyeing her overflowing cleavage. He reached a hand up and traced the exposed part of her areola with his index finger.

  “I wonder, should we leave this visible?” he mused.

  Makayla looked down and blushed when she realized to what he was referring. He loved it when she reddened—her cheeks rosy with embarrassment or modesty were a huge turn-on for him. She automatically went to pull the corset up to cover it, but he stilled her movements.

  “I think we’ll keep it. I love that I’m the only man who can even look, let alone touch.” He dipped his head again and dropped a kiss to her areola.

  “You can’t stop men looking at me,” Makayla pointed out.