And that’s the best-case scenario.
But maybe it doesn’t matter. Maybe none of it ever mattered. Because tonight, we are not Lachlan and Charlotte, the silly fools who can’t keep their hands off each other.
Tonight, we are master and plaything.
“Such a soft, beautiful little pet.” He steps closer, runs his knuckles down the side of my breast, across my ribs, over the curve of my waist. “Trussed up for me to use however I please.”
Anticipation fizzes through my veins. I want him to stop looking and start touching. I am so slick, he could enter me right now and encounter no resistance.
But of course, he doesn’t. He likes to draw things out. Likes to torture me, in the best way. We both know the longer he makes me wait, the more spectacular the grand finale will be.
He spins me around again, then lifts my hands toward the bedpost, curling my fingers around it. He pulls my waist back, forcing me to bend forward. “Don’t let go, no matter what happens back here.”
My nipples tighten as I nod, angling my cheek into the crook of my elbow so I can watch what he does to me. At first, it’s nothing more than spreading my legs a little wider. Cool air flows over my exposed sex, and I do feel like a pet. One who would like to be stroked.
He slowly unbuttons his jacket, then strips it off his broad shoulders and folds it over the back of a chair. Neat, as always. He grasps the back of his shirt collar and hauls it over his head, placing it atop his jacket. He removes his boots, then unlaces his trousers, but does not pull them down completely. They sit low on his hips, exposing dark hair and those two delicious slices of muscle.
He is so goddamn beautiful. A work of art. The intricate script of his tattoos, the shiny piercing through his nipple, the ears, the fangs, the strength and power in his supernatural body. And he’s about to use it all on me. I choke back a hysterical laugh because when was the last time I felt such pure, incandescent joy?
Not once has he looked away during his display. He likes to watch my eyes glaze with hunger, likes the way my skin flushes at the sight of him.
He approaches from behind, the soft fabric of his trousers kissing my ass cheeks. “I’m going to hurt you. Then I’m going to fuck you. Okay?”
I don’t even have the time to nod before his hand smacks across my ass. The noise that escapes me is half scream, half whimper, muffled by the wet fabric in my mouth.
He fists my hair, pulling my head back, and growls in my ear, “I don’t fucking care if you’re okay with it. Do you know why?” His nose buries in the soft curls at my nape. “Because your body isminetonight.” He curls an arm beneath my waist, feather-light circles on my clit, and the gentle touch combined with the lingering sting of his blow has me shuddering, clinging to the post to stay upright. “And I take care of what’s mine.”
He removes his hand from between my legs and I whine, not at all placated by the gentle kisses he trails down my spine. I sway my ass against him, begging for more touch, begging him to make me come. Even though I know that if he obeyed, the climax would be bright and sharp and over far too quickly. Unsatisfying.
So, of course, he doesn’t.
Instead, he spanks me again. Hard enough that my elbows bend and I have to brace my hands against the post to keep from slamming the crown of my head into it.
“I told you to hold onto that,” he snarls before flattening his palm across my other ass cheek. My flesh ripples beneath the blow, and god, I should not enjoy how cruel he’s being. How demanding and possessive. It’s such a dramatic contrast to how he is with me everywhere else—soft, attentive, deferent. I am growing too fond of both sides. It’s a problem.
But one for another day.
I let my mind drift away as he continues his thrashing. Blow after blow after blow. My flesh is scalding; I cannot imagine how pink it must be.
Tears gather in the corners of my eyes, and saliva pools around the panties in my mouth. Every time he glances from my ass to my face, sees the mess he’s making of me, the bulge in his trousers grows. I cannot wait to feel him inside me. I wonder where he’ll put it fir?—
Smack.
It’s the hardest blow yet. A scream sinks into my gag, and drool cascades down my chin. The pain is nearly unbearable, but combined with the anticipation of the pleasure he’ll give me, how he might use me next, blots out everything. Every worry about what awaits me in Tír na Dubh. Every anxiety of not having him there by my side. Every concern over Aowen’s terrible arrangement. It all fades beneath the role I’m playing—Lachlan’s pet. All I need do is take what he’s offering, do what I’m told, and he’ll give me what I need.
There’s only one anxiety it cannot fully dispel. A splinter lodged deep in my chest.
How am I supposed to give him up?
“Three more,” he rasps, as frayed as I am. “Just three, and then I’ll make the pain go away.”
The physical pain, maybe. Though I doubt even that’s possible. Part of me hopes it isn’t. I want him imprinted on my flesh, my bones.
He never lies to me. Three more blows, just like he said, but they’re not as hard this time. As if he’s losing steam. As if he cannot wait for the next part either.
On the final one, his hand lingers, squeezing my cheeks and pulling them apart. His fingertips graze the bottom of my slit, the faintest of touches, but it’s enough to make me moan, nearly choke on my panties.
He bites my flank, a playful nip, and his breath warms my skin. “You did so well, Charlotte. So good for me. And you know what good girls get?”
