by Susan Stoker
I let out a harsh laugh. “Won’t I? You have far too much faith in me.”
She lifted her chin. “No, I don’t. You’re not the bad boy they portray you as.”
“Stop.”
“Not even close. I don’t see the selfish playboy or a violent man.”
“Shut up.” I stalked over to her.
“All I’ve seen is a respectful gentleman who’s more concerned with protecting others than himself.”
Something splintered inside my chest. Something painful and real. To shut Chelsea up, to block out the intensity, I yanked her up and kissed her, hard. It wasn’t the sucking, nibbling kind of kiss. It was the bruising, teeth scraping, I-want-to-devour-you variety, and she softened to it immediately.
My good little sub who didn’t know she was a sub.
“Looks like you’re going to be my prisoner, then.”
***
Chelsea
Darius shuffled a deck of cards and dealt us each thirteen. We sat facing each other, cross-legged on his bed, the tray of food set between us. Shadow, his loyal dog, lay curled in a ball on the floor beside the bed.
He tossed the last card on his pile and flipped one over on the stack in the middle. “Queen of hearts.” He arched a brow at me like the card was significant. “I can’t believe you know how to play whist.”
“Why not?” I tossed down the first card of the first trick, a ten of spades.
He shrugged. “I thought Americans only played games like blackjack and gin rummy.” He tossed an eight.
I picked up the queen, since I won the trick. “My grandmother loved card games. She taught me every one she knew,” I told him, then cursed myself for offering up such inane conversation.
He picked up the face down card on the top of the pile and flipped over the following one. “Yeah? I learned them all from my father. He was an incurable… in English I think you call it a nerd.”
I snorted.
“Ja. Raised in isolation by his grandmother, the Duchess of Halsburg, he only knew the stuffiest parlor games, poor man. It’s a wonder he ever married. I used to wonder if my mother had actually died of boredom, not in childbirth as I’d been told.”
I choked on a laugh.
“It was just me and him for my entire childhood. I think he didn’t know how to relate to a child, except to hire the nannies. All he knew was games and polo, so that’s what he taught me.”
My mouth must’ve hung open.
“What? That my father was a nerd?”
It was more that he’d revealed this personal, extremely normal side of himself to me with no prompting, but I nodded, finally noticing that it was my play. I laid down a card.
“You thought I came from a long line of playboys? Nope. My black sheep status is largely a product of rebelling against the crippling boredom I was born into, lack of proper supervision, and then an early assumption of my father’s title.” Darius took the trick and picked up the face up card.
I drew from the pile and flipped over the next card. “How old were you—no wait—I’ve read this. Twenty-three?”
He grinned, and warmth trickled down to my toes. “Very good, American. Yes, twenty-three. Just a year younger than you are now. Although you are far more mature than I was at the time.” A shadow crossed his face, and I kicked myself for asking because it brought up his father’s suicide. I’d often conjectured that his wild streak, which worsened after he inherited the title, had been his form of grieving.
“You were probably already promoted to head journalist by twenty-three.” He winked at me and tossed out a king of diamonds.
My face heated at the teasing. “I’ve always been a little career focused.” I said it apologetically, like it was a bad thing. “My mom abandoned her career for a man. She had to drop out of college when my dad got her pregnant with me. She married him and put him through law school with her seamstress skills. She planned to go back to school when he was out, but he left us for his first secretary, and my mom was stuck with nothing but a sewing machine and me. So I wanted to make sure I had my career set before I married or had kids.” I realized he was staring at me as if I had said something quite fascinating. I tucked my hair behind my ear—my nervous tell. “I’m sorry, that was probably more than you wanted to hear.”
He smiled a little sadly. “We both tried hard not to become our parents, didn’t we?” He lifted his chin toward the cards in the middle. “It’s your play.”
“Sorry!” I flushed, embarrassed to have talked so much I’d forgotten the game.
“Don’t be. Cards are really just something to do with your hands while making conversation.”
My eyes lifted to his, surprised at this revelation. Was that why he’d pulled out the deck? Because he wanted conversation with me? I couldn’t be more stunned. Although, after all the crazy events that day, I shouldn’t be.
He shrugged. “That’s what my father always said. I imagine he found conversation awkward most times.”
“He has my complete sympathies.”
The duke’s gaze warmed. He looked almost… indulgently amused. “You don’t suffer social anxieties.”
My cheeks grew warm and I ducked my head. “Of course I do. All writers cling to the written word. That way we can edit until it’s perfect.”
“And the rest of us make a sport out of saying the wrong thing and shocking the press.” He gave a rakish grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes. I had the sense he’d played this bad boy part so long it had become rote, yet it wasn’t really him.
The real him was so much more. And less. The devastatingly good-looking man in front of me wasn’t living life in the fast lane at the moment. He was playing an old-fashioned, slow card game with a simple American from the Midwest. Like he had during our shocking sex play earlier, I realized he was working to put me at ease without being obvious about it. Sharing less glamorous parts of his life, pretending mine were interesting.
I was certain now that the world had misjudged Darius Halsburg.
Terribly.
Chapter Four
Day Two
Chelsea
“Darius… Your grace? Is that how you’re addressed in your country?” I sat up in bed, watching as his royal highness moved about the small cabin in his boxer briefs. Damn, the man put Thor to shame in the ripped muscle department. The broad shoulders tapered down to a slender waist and the most divine ass I’d seen on a man.
And Darius was a man.
It was so obvious now that Derek had just been a boy. A boy who didn’t want to grow up. He was a year older than I, which had felt like a lot in college. He’d graduated from Michigan State first and moved to New York City to pursue notoriety as a DJ. We’d drifted apart. When I graduated, he asked me to join him there, but I just didn’t have enough faith in us. I didn’t want to limit my career options by honing in on one city, just for a boy. Didn’t want to make the same mistake as my mom. So I’d taken a position at Rolling Stone in Los Angeles instead of following him, and we’d kept up the long-distance relationship, even though we both knew it was over. I guess my trip to Ibiza to be with him was my last-ditch effort to save things. Or to figure out if it was time to let go.
And now that I’d had a man, now that I’d been with Darius, I regretted the years I’d kept myself tangled in that worthless relationship.
I couldn’t believe I’d spent the night being spooned by royalty. After our card game, he’d ordered me to climb into his bed.
I’d been braced for more dominance and sex, but instead, he’d climbed under the covers with me and turned on the television, flipping through and asking me what I liked to watch. We’d sat up watching the entire first season of Peaky Blinders on Netflix before turning out the light. It had been surprisingly comfortable.
Too comfortable.
My traitorous heart had started to lock onto Darius as the ideal male, one I knew without a shadow of a doubt I’d never have, and one no other man would ever measure up to. So yeah… every
minute I spent in the presence of his overwhelming magnetism screwed every future relationship I might have.
“Get out of this bed without my permission and I’ll keep you chained to it for the next two days,” he’d warned in the darkness between us.
I’d frowned, but my pussy had clenched, somehow finding the threat thrilling. Did it really just take one day with the duke to turn me into a BDSM convert?
“Yes, sir,” I’d muttered, and he’d pulled my back against his front, nestling behind me. It was reward enough to soften me, forgetting all offense at his threat. On the floor beside the bed, Shadow’s tail thumped against the floor. Apparently he was as happy as I was to be sleeping with the duke.
I’d woken that morning when he climbed out of bed.
Darius turned to me and his lips twitched as he regrettably pulled a shirt over his head. “You may call me Master.”
I rolled my eyes.
“Careful, little slave.” He crawled up on the bed. “I’m quick to punish insolence.”
My belly fluttered. I almost wanted a taste of his punishment. But I also had some compelling need to do his bidding. “May I get off the bed now?”
His sexy grin was reward enough. “You may.”
I padded to the bathroom and stopped in the doorway. “Will I be allowed to leave your room today?” I asked casually over my shoulder.
“No.”
Damn.
“Would you mind grabbing my bag from Prince Kaspar’s room?” I wanted my laptop or phone to start taking notes. I also wanted to research every aspect of the Madison James story.
Of course, Darius was onto me. His eyes narrowed. “What do you need from it?”
“Um… just my toiletries, I guess.” Damn. Damn. Damn.
“All right. I’ll be back.” Shadow leaped to his feet as Darius neared the door. “Don’t leave this room.”
“I won’t,” I promised. But after I used the bathroom, I stood at the door in a t-shirt and pair of boxer shorts borrowed from Darius, having an internal debate about the wisdom of taking a peek outside.
Were the other girls still chained up? Or had their ‘masters’ been as kind and lenient underneath it all as mine had? Was this simply a game to all of them? It must be.
Marina certainly hadn’t even thought the BDSM worth mentioning. No, she probably just didn’t want to risk me turning the job down.
I turned the door’s handle and stepped into the corridor on bare feet, listening for any sounds of life. I heard none. Padding softly, I headed down the corridor. All the cabin doors were shut. The stairs to sunlight and fresh air beckoned me. I’d been cooped up in Darius’ cabin for nearly twenty hours.
I climbed the narrow steps, only to have a strong arm wrap around my waist and haul me back down. My back hit a hard, muscled body. When a hand wrapped around my throat, I whimpered.
“What did I tell you about leaving the room, princess?” Darius growled in my ear.
I clawed at the hand on my throat, even though his fingers weren’t closed and no real pressure was being applied.
“Hmm?”
“Darius,” I gasped, my vision starting to close in on me. “Please. I’m sorry.”
“Fuck, I love when you beg like that. Who owns you, baby? Who are you supposed to obey?”
He was turned on? By my begging? A hot flash of anger seared me, but right on its heels came lust. His desire called to mine, dragging me through my fear and into some strange realm where fear and passion mingled, making an exotic cocktail of endorphins and pheromones.
“You.” I trembled, my knees wobbling.
“Mmm hmm.” His lips brushed over the shell of my ear. The seduction in his voice made my pussy clench. “Now I’m going to have to punish you.” Yes, he definitely sounded excited.
Which excited me. I forced my breathing to slow. Even though I still wanted his hand off my neck, I understood there was no actual threat. He was toying with me, and my reaction turned him on.
How fucked up. And hot.
“Get back in my room.” He released me and gave me a playful slap on the ass, confirming it was all a game to him.
“Y-yes, sir.” My voice wobbled.
The duke picked up a plate of food and my cosmetic bag from the steps and followed me back to his room.
“Clothes off, princess.” The irony that he called me princess when he was the royalty wasn’t lost on me.
As I stripped out of his clothing, he filled Shadow’s bowl with food and set it outside the door, banishing the dog from the room.
He sat on the edge of the bed and beckoned me over. “Come here, pretty girl.” The harshness I sometimes observed on his handsome face was gone, eyes dark with hunger as he watched me approach.
He likes me.
I shoved that dangerous thought down, hard. He might want me. That didn’t mean he had feelings for me.
I stood in front of him. Embarrassed over my nudity, I intertwined my fingers in front of my pussy.
“You’re new to discipline, so I’m only going to use my hand. Bend over my knee.” He opened his legs and tugged me between them, then pushed me down so my torso folded over his thigh and rested on the bed.
He slapped my ass, and I gasped at the force of impact and resulting sting. Was it harder than yesterday, or did it just hurt more in the morning? Mercifully, he rubbed the spot, melting all the resistance that had surged in my body. The other butt cheek received the same treatment, and he picked up speed, slapping and rubbing at regular intervals, giving me just enough time to manage my reaction.
The steady buzz between my legs that had been there since the moment the duke had claimed me yesterday flared into a throb, an ache that needed his touch. But he had other plans.
“You disobeyed me, Chelsea girl.” He picked up speed with the spanking, slapping harder and faster.
I squirmed, no longer finding the appeal of spanking. His hand fell harder and it hurt. “I’m sorry!”
“Where were you going?”
“Ung… Just to get—ouch!—fresh air,” I gasped, losing my breath with his steady onslaught.
I kicked my feet, and he clamped his free leg over mine, trapping them and immobilizing my ass, keeping me from dodging his punishing smacks.
“Okay!” I cried, ready for it to be over. A little slap and tickle I understood, but this—this was getting painful. My ass had started to burn and throb, and I felt like he’d never stop.
“This is punishment, beautiful. You disobeyed. You will feel my displeasure.”
“Ouch! Come on. Stop!” I groped for the right words. The ones that would make it end. “I’m sorry, sir. Your grace—your highness.”
He stopped spanking and grasped my hair, lifting my head with it.
I yelped.
“Don’t call me that.” There was more packed into those words than I could decipher, but I’d certainly made him angry.
“Master!” I remembered what I hoped was the magic word. “I’m sorry, Master.”
He released my hair and massaged away the tingle on my scalp. “I’m not topping you because I’m royal. I’m topping you because I’m your fucking dom. Got it?”
Tears pricked my eyes. “Yes, sir.” My voice cracked.
He immediately pulled me up to sit on his lap and stroked my hair back from my face. Did I catch concern in his gaze?
Humiliation warred with anger as I struggled to regain control of my emotions. I sucked my lower lip into my mouth to keep it from trembling.
Darius grabbed my face and kissed me, hard.
In an instant, his lips became the conduit for the intensity of emotion brewing in me. I returned the kiss with a fervor, grasping his head, giving it back as good as he gave it. Heat flooded my body, pooling between my legs.
Darius nudged me to my feet, never releasing my face, his tongue plunging in and out of my lips. He used one hand to pull me back on his lap, straddling him.
My bare pussy found his hard length beneath his jeans, and I rock
ed over it, rubbing my clit, trying to ease the throb there.
Darius palmed my ass and yanked me over his cock. “You want some of this, American sweetheart?”
“Yes,” I panted before attacking his lips with my own, sucking his lower lip, pressing my pussy against him.
He gripped my face and pulled me back, holding my jaw in the most controlling way possible. “You want my cock, you’re going to take it in the ass, baby.”
My anus and pussy clenched at that direction. I shook my head. “Oh no.”
He stood up, dropping my feet to the floor. “Oh yes. Naughty slaves take it in the ass. You need a lesson in submission, sweet thing, and I’m going to give it to you.”
My heart raced, although I only think half of it was fear. The rest was pure thrill. He moved to arrange a bolster perpendicular to the foot of the bed. I didn’t understand the positioning, but my mind was still racing in circles around the take it in the ass part. I was an anal virgin. Sex back there wasn’t something that had ever interested me.
“I-I can’t. I’ve never… um—”
He walked to the side of the bed. “I know you haven’t.” The corners of his lips quirked as he patted the bolster. “Lie over this. Head this way.” He pointed to the space in front of him.
“D-don’t I get a safeword or something? Or did I sign all those rights away on those documents?” The damned paperwork I hadn’t read.
He lifted a brow. “That document Allegra signed? The one that listed her hard limits and safeword?”
My shoulders slumped. “Yes?” I tried.
“I can get you a fresh contract, love. You’ll sign the NDA and let me know all your limits so I won’t cross them. Is anal one of them?”
He knew I wasn’t going to sign anything. So he had me. No safeword, no definition of limits. I was at his mercy.
Did I trust him?
Honestly, I never trusted a man. My dad walked out on us when I was eight and never came back. Left us destitute, my mom scrambling to find work to keep a roof over our heads. He didn’t even pay child support until she went to Legal Aid and got help filing a lawsuit. I think he only settled because he didn’t want the judges in courts where he practiced finding out what an asshole he was.