“They won’t touch you.” My brothers will respect my claim. She’s my reward. “You’re mine.”
“Even if my father disobeys?”
“He won’t. Not while I have you.”
“And that’s why you wanted me. To control me.”
“More than that.” But I do grab her hair and draw back her head. “I only watched you a few days before I knew… I wanted to own you.”
“And what will you do to me?”
“Give me one night to show you, little bride. One night. I’ll even make you come. Or…” I release her hair. “I can read you a bedtime story, tuck you in, and let you sleep.” My dick throbs. If I could feel it, I bet I’d be in agony, needing to fuck her now.
Go slowly.
She’s biting her lip. “You could hurt me.”
“You’re mine now. I don’t break my toys.” Anymore. Hurting her, killing her, would be a breach of contract, so I’m going to have to practice restraint. She’s unlike any other toy I’ve ever had. I won’t just own her for a night. She’ll be mine for a lifetime, so I need to take care not to push her too far, too soon. “Do you have a safeword?” Asking for a safeword is what a good dom would do. I might even honor it.
She nods. “Kumquat.”
Do not smile. Do not. This is serious. “Kumquat. Got it. What are your limits?”
She hesitates. Opens her mouth, closes it. I can hear her neurons whirring as she tries to figure everything out.
“It’s okay, baby.” I make my voice soft. “We can try some stuff and figure it out as we go.” Meaning, I’ll play with her the way I like and see if she can take it like a good girl.
“No kissing on the mouth.” She raises her chin. “If we kiss, the oxytocin will make us fall in love.”
I shake my head. “Not going to happen.”
“You’re not going to kiss me? Or fall in love?”
“I won’t kiss you until you want it.”
“I won’t want it.”
“You will. But if you do… don’t fall in love with me.”
“Don’t kiss me then,” she shoots back and tilts her head. “Maybe you’ll be the one who falls in love.”
“You don’t have to worry about that with me.” Love requires a soul. I lost mine long ago.
There’s nothing left of me but base desires. Food, shelter, sex. Life, liberty, and property. I take care of my own.
That’s why I don’t want a lover or a partner. I want a wife in the most medieval sense of the world.
A possession. A trophy. A toy.
But all this talk about kissing makes my cock weep.
“Come to bed, little bride.”
She shivers and nods, and I cup her small face and stroke my thumbs up her cheeks. The black latex slips over her pretty skin. The sight is jarring. Usually, I wear these gloves when I don’t want to leave DNA evidence on my victims, but I’m not here to choke her to death. I want her to live a long, blissful life as my pet.
“You’re still afraid to touch me.” She sounds mournful, but it’s like a glove thrown between us.
Challenge accepted.
