“And why is that?”
“He… took over, earlier.”
“Start from the beginning.”
His broad chest heaves as he sucks in a deep breath, before exhaling sharply when I tilt his head back to meet my eyes. “Luther came in carrying Nyx. She was unconscious. Mercer had me lead the examination and review concussion protocol.”
“And?”
“She walked me through healing Nyx’s concussion and the laceration on her head.”
“So, how exactly did your fingers find their way into her cunt?” Because now that sweetness is taunting me, too. His cock thickens in response even as he kneels before me.
“Her knee was dislocated, so… I had to cut her pants off.”
“Did you enjoy it?”
He hesitates. His first infraction.
I hum, loosening my belt as I circle behind him, and his breath stutters upon realizing his mistake.
“Three strikes. One for every second of hesitation, wouldn’t you agree?”
“Yes.” His answer is immediate this time. The leather is supple as I fold it, warming it between my palms.
“Bend over.” He exhales sharply and walks on his knees until his chest is pressed into the seat of my chair, knees spread wide. My eyes roam the tattooed expanse of his skin, fingers brushing over the bumpy curve of his spine until he shivers. His submission sates the demon inside of me that seeks to dominate. His gift of trust is a sacred thing, a precious burden, entirely at my mercy.
Mine to play with.
Mine to own.
My palm drifts lower until it covers his right ass cheek, and I let it stay there, warming his skin, preparing for impact.
Which is why he jumps when I strike the left one. His muffled groan is a symphony of pain and bone-deep relief. As I crave control, he craves release.
Release from the burden of burying his demon’s desire to destroy.
Release from the pain of his past that feeds his nightmares.
Release from the role of Heir we’re all forced to fill.
Pain is his release. Control is mine.
The second strike lands on his right ass cheek, quickly followed by another on his left. He’s panting, knuckles white as I soothe his reddened skin.
“Did you enjoy cutting her clothes off?”
“Yes,” he answers with a breathless whine.
“What did her skin feel like?” I taunt, torturing him with whatever memory is running rampant through his mind.
“Soft.”
“And then?”
“I touched her.”
“Where?” I run my hand down the sensitive skin on back of his thighs.
