by Meghan March
“Absolutely.” I spit the word out like something foul.
Mount, dressed in a suit that fits him to perfection as usual, rests his forearms on the table and leans in. “There is no end to our bargain until I’m done with you.”
Rage, my familiar friend, builds in my belly. “And when will that be?” I try to keep the question as civil as possible.
His smirk turns lopsided, throwing fuel on the fire. “I’ll make sure to send you notice in writing.”
If my eyeballs could shoot flames across the table, Mount would be incinerated in mere moments.
“That’s bullshit,” I say, my bravery growing.
All traces of humor fade from his face. Did I cross the line?
“No, what’s bullshit is that my repayment is in the form of pleasure, and I haven’t gotten a single fucking bit of it from you yet.”
He shoves his chair back from the table, rattling the china and sending water spilling over the edges of our crystal goblets.
“You’ve got a bum hand, but your mouth sure as hell works.” He nods down at his lap. “Get on your knees.”
My lungs heave with fury, because the only thing I can picture right now is Brett sitting behind a desk, ordering Temperance to suck his dick in order to get a raise.
They’re all the same.
“Go fuck yourself, Mount. I’ll never get on my knees for you.” I mean every single word of what may be the most dangerous vow I’ve ever made.
A muscle in his jaw flexes as his nostrils flare. A server enters the room quietly, no doubt to check to see if we’re ready for the next course.
“Get the fuck out.”
His order sends adrenaline dumping into my bloodstream, because he never drops his gaze from mine. I shove away from the table, ready to run. I thought I was a stand-and-fight girl, but it turns out I’m more of a flight girl.
The server disappears, shutting the door with a decisive click, but I don’t even clear my chair before Mount slams his palm on the table, making the china jump.
“Not you. You’re not leaving this room until I get what I want. You made the deal; you honor the deal. Willingly.”
“I hate you.” The truth rings in all three words.
“Then I guess we’re gonna have a lot of hate-fucking until I’m done with you.”
The vibrator springs to life at the highest, most intense setting. It pulsates inside me, adding a surge of lust to the maelstrom of emotions rioting through me, overwhelming everything else.
“How long do I let it go before I stop it and deny you?” His question is rhetorical, and besides, I’m incapable of answering. “As many times as I’ve been denied access to that sweet cunt? Or until you beg me to come?”
My fingers curl into the lace-and-linen tablecloth as I try to hold on to some semblance of my sanity.
How can I want this man? I hate him.
But I’ve never craved anyone more.
He changes the settings over and over, driving me to the edge and stopping each time right before I come. I’m ready to scream in frustration because it’s only a matter of moments before I break, and I refuse to let him bring me to my knees, literally or figuratively.
“Just fuck me already and let me come, you sadistic son of a bitch!” The shrill voice echoes in the massive room, and I hardly recognize it as my own.
“Fucking finally,” he says, and I’m too far gone to care about the triumph in his tone. Mount rips the tablecloth aside, sending the china and crystal crashing to the floor.
He reaches for me at the same moment I step toward him. Both of his hands reach out and lock around my waist, yanking me closer before lifting me onto the table between his spread legs.
Mount doesn’t bother with the slit in the dress. He shreds the delicate silk down the center, starting right at the deep V neckline, until it floats to the floor in tatters. His massive hand closes around my neck, and he presses me down until my spine touches the table.
“You push me to the edge like no woman ever has, and now I’m going to fuck you like I’ve planned from day one. The way you’ve been dying to be fucked your whole life.”
“Arrogant bastard.” My words are quiet, muted by his hold on me, even though he’s not even remotely cutting off my air supply.
“I’m ruthless, not arrogant, and you’re about to learn the difference.”
Mount withdraws the hand at my throat to rip off his suit coat and then tugs the toy from my body. He holds it up, once again in obvious satisfaction because it’s dripping from me.
“You fucking love this. You don’t just want it, you need it. And I’m the only man who’s going to give it to you.”
He shoves down the zipper of his pants and the top button goes flying. I don’t get a chance to see his cock before he buries it to the hilt with a single thrust.
“More.” That plea can’t be falling from my lips. I would never beg like that.
I’m aware of nothing but the wild lust surging higher and faster as he stretches me to the point where pleasure blurs with pain, and it sends me soaring. My inner muscles clamp down, and in a single moment, I’m no longer lying flat on my back on the dining room table, but instead I’m wrapped around him and tearing off his shirt like he shredded my dress. Any thought of my injured hand is obliterated as I dig my nails into his shoulders and claw at him like a wild animal in heat as my orgasm crashes through me with more ferocity than anything I’ve ever experienced.
Mount growls as his hands drop to my ass, gripping my cheeks as he lifts me off the table and pumps into me over and over. I don’t know or care if I’m leaving marks, but I’ll be damned if I beg him for anything again, especially to let me come. I close my teeth over the thick muscle of his shoulder in an attempt to muffle my screams.
I fail, but there’s no way Mount can hear it over his own roar as his cock pulses inside me, spilling his release.
As soon as I can form a rational thought, it’s—
Holy fuck, we didn’t use a condom.
Mount
The fire in that woman is unmatched. It only required the right tinder and spark. Luckily for me, I learned the basics early on—flint, steel, and paper stolen from the butcher’s Dumpster. It was enough to keep me warm on the rare nights it got cold enough to freeze this city.
If I’d had Keira Kilgore, there would have been no need, because together we would have burned this town to ash.
You know what happens when you throw gasoline on a fire? You get a raging inferno, and that’s what happened tonight.
At least until I pulled out and my cum dripped from between her legs.
Fuck.
I’ve never gone without a condom, even in the days when I shoplifted them because I didn’t want to choose between sex and food.
Keira looks at me like I just put the spawn of the devil inside her, and maybe she’s not that far off. “Why would you do that? How could you not use a condom?”
She’s making this out to be my fault? Obviously, because when the devil’s in the room, who else could there possibly be to blame?
“I planned to bury my cock in your throat and make you swallow every drop, but you fucked that up all by yourself.”
The mouth in question, the one that still hasn’t touched my dick, drops open. “You’re saying this is my fault?” She points to herself and shakes her head. “You’re such an asshole.”
No other woman would dare toss as many slurs at me as she has, but for some reason, it amuses me. Most of the time.
“Well, at least I’m the asshole who’s always worn a condom. You’re not catching shit from me. You can trust me on that.”
“Trust you? Never!”
My temper blazes out of control. I just came harder than ever before in my life, with the woman who made me wait the longest, and I don’t even get to enjoy it for more than a few seconds after my dick stopped pulsing because she’s losing her shit over this condom business.
Then another thought occurs to me. I’ll adm
it, I could have handled it better, but the woman pushes me to the edge.
“I’m more worried about what I could catch from you. Your shit-bag husband fucked anything that moved.”
Her indrawn breath borders on homicidal, and given her temper, I’m not ruling it out as a possibility. Especially because she can’t form actual words to reply.
“At least tell me you’re on the pill. Having a fucking kid is not in my plans.” I’ve never taken such a stupid risk before. A kid would be the ultimate weakness.
Finally, Keira’s able to speak. “Thank God I have an IUD and we don’t have to worry about that.”
The way she says it infuriates me to the point where my temper turns ice cold. If I lash out right now, she’ll never recover. So, like the devil masquerading as a gentleman, I grab my suit coat off the chair and toss it to her.
“Cover yourself up. No one sees those tits, that ass, or that pussy but me.”
Her green eyes blaze like melting emeralds. She wraps the coat around her body, straightening that steel spine with her unbreakable pride again.
“Go fuck yourself, Mount. Because that’s the only way you’re coming again in this bargain.”
At that moment, I’m so far beyond anger, the urge to laugh at her comment rattles through me, but I don’t. She stalks from the room, wearing my suit coat like a grain sack and nothing else. V will be outside the door, ready to escort her back to her room, so that’s not something I have to worry about.
No, the only things I have to concern myself with are how fucking wrong she is, and how I’m going to find a way into that tight pussy again. The alternative is not an option, and her willingness is non-negotiable. That’s one thing I won’t compromise on.
* * *
When I step into the palatial shower in my master bath a half hour later, the only thought on my mind is how fucking sweet it’s going to be when I get what I want. Again. And again. Keira can lie to herself all she wants, but I know the truth.
“Fuck.” I bite out the curse as I step under the spray, and water hits the teeth marks on my shoulder and the claw marks on my back left by my little Irish hellion despite her earlier injury.
She was fucking magnificent. No, not past tense. Is. Even as she walked away wearing nothing but my coat, she held her head high and proud. Most men won’t look me in the eye, but this woman isn’t afraid to declare all-out war.
If she thinks her cursing me to hell is going to make me more likely to let her go, she’s delusional. She amuses me. Challenges me. And goddamn, she enrages me to the point where the only thing I can do is fuck her into submission. Which, luckily for both of us, she needs, whether she realizes it yet or not.
I replay the scene in my head from tonight, from the moment she stepped into the dining room in that dress. Her amazing tits on display just the way I wanted them, the slits up both sides of the skirt showing off her legs with every step.
I close my hand around my cock as I picture her walking toward me like a queen deigning to allow a peon an audience.
She calls me arrogant, but every time she raises that haughty chin of hers, I want to take her over my knee and spank her ass, which makes my dick even harder.
I don’t need to get myself off in the shower. It hasn’t even been an hour since I came, but I can’t stop seeing and hearing her in my head.
“Go fuck yourself, Mount. I’ll never get on my knees for you.”
Oh, but you will, Keira. You will. And I will make sure you enjoy every fucking second of it.
With one hand pressed against the stone wall of the shower, I grip my cock tighter and stroke it as I picture those pissed-off red lips turning pouty and soft after I’ve gotten her off enough times that she begs me to stop because she can’t take any more and promises me anything in return. That’s when they’ll be wrapped around my cock.
My balls tighten at the mental picture, and I stroke harder and faster.
Fuck, I don’t even need her on her knees. She can hang that thick mane of red hair over the edge of the bed, and I’ll fuck her face and teach her to take every inch down her throat without gagging.
My cock pulses, my orgasm bearing down faster than I expect considering that I just came. But it’s not me. It’s the thought of her moaning as she sucks and tongues my shaft every time I pull out until I blow inside her mouth and watch my cum drip from those stubborn lips.
Mine.
As my cum splatters the rock wall in my shower, I swear to myself it’s the last time. She’ll never deny me again.
She may have marked me tonight, but I marked her first.
Keira Kilgore needs another lesson in what it means to be owned by Lachlan Mount.
Keira
When I wake the next morning, I bolt up in bed, my head swiveling from side to side. It’s the same way I wake up every time in this damn room. Never knowing if I’m going to be alone, or who has been in here during the night. Based on the spinning fireplace in the library that I saw the first time I was delivered to Mount, I know this place is riddled with secret passageways and hidden entrances. That’s assuming, I suppose, that the room I’m being kept in is even in the same building as the library. Honestly, I don’t know where the hell I am.
This morning, I see no one, and it’s a relief. I shift, swinging my legs over the edge of the bed and out from under the covers. Muscles I don’t recall having twinge in protest. I try focusing on my sore hand instead, but fail miserably because all I can think about is the ache between my legs. I still feel him pounding into me.
I’ve only had one sexual encounter in my life that remotely approached what happened last night, and that was the first time Brett and I were together. It was never that good again. Probably because I married him within twenty-four hours, and he didn’t feel the need to expend the effort.
I push that thought aside, but the one that follows doesn’t make me feel much better.
I don’t know how last night happened. As I stumble into the massive bathroom, I feel taken. Owned. Used. But not in a bad way. Or maybe just not the bad way I expected.
I move toward the shower and reach inside to flip the handle to hot. I spent a half hour in there last night, determined to scrub his touch from my body, but it didn’t work.
I still feel him on every inch of me.
While I wait for the water to heat, I brush out my tangled mass of hair. I’m beginning to get used to my nakedness, something I’ve never been comfortable with before. I suppose it’s because I have no clothes and, therefore, no other option.
I put that item on my agenda for today. This one-outfit-at-a-time bullshit has to end.
When I lower the brush to the countertop, I catch a glimpse of something in my reflection. My hip. And around the sides of my ass.
I spin, craning my neck over my shoulder to look behind me, and I see it.
Or rather them. Light bruises in the shape of fingerprints.
That asshole marked me. I wait for the expected fury to burn in my gut, and it does, right on schedule. In my head, I’m already calling him every foul name I can come up with as I step into the shower.
I can’t scrub these off, and I can’t block out the memories either.
I hate that they pummel me like the hot spray.
My anger drains away and shame replaces it when I realize I can’t even stay pissed about the marks, because under no circumstances can I say I was unwilling last night. I urged him on as he gripped my hips and fucked me harder.
That asshole got his wish.
He manipulated me. Messed with my head. But there’s no doubt that I begged him for it in the end.
Shame burns down my face in two hot streams that I refuse to admit are tears. I’m getting better and better at lying to myself.
I slap my palms against the shower wall and hang my head between them, letting the water pour over me. Wash me clean. Absolve me of the sins I’ve committed.
After several long minutes, I let loose a final sniffle and stand straight w
ith my new mantra for the day pounding in my head with the same intensity I still feel between my thighs.
Lachlan Mount will not break me. He might fuck me. He might fuck with my head. But he will never break me.
I use the back of my hands to wipe at my eyes and swear to myself that he will never earn another one of my tears. He’s not worth it. I hate him.
The intensity of my feelings hasn’t faded. It grows stronger each time my body turns against me. It’s humiliating that I find so much pleasure in what he does to me. I’m sure he’s plenty amused by it.
A spine of steel won’t help me with Mount. Titanium is required.
The only person who can decide who and what humiliates me is me, and I won’t give him that power ever again.
Fuck him.
Which I know I’ll do, even though everything in me wants to deny it.
Magnolia said there’s nothing wrong with enjoying it, but she’s never dealt with Mount before. Or has she?
I remember my purse in the bedroom. Scar didn’t take it from me last night, but I was too furious to even think to use my phone.
The first thing I’m going to do when I get out of this shower is text Magnolia. She might not get up before noon, but a late-afternoon lunch with her just became imperative. I have to know if there’s anything else she’s managed to uncover since this whole disaster began.
I need more ammunition against Mount if I’m going to win this battle, not to mention anything possible to armor myself against him. Magnolia told me not to let him get into my head, and I’m failing at that task about as spectacularly as America’s war on drugs.
Magnolia will help me. She’ll have wisdom to impart. If nothing else, talking to her will be another piece of normalcy I can reclaim.
When I turn off the shower fifteen minutes later and wrap myself in one of the luxuriously thick and fluffy towels hanging on the warmer, tucking one end between my breasts, my entire body stills as I reach for a second one to dry my hair.
I’m no longer alone.
Mount leans indolently against the door frame that leads to the bedroom.