Page 44 of Brutal Heir

I wanted the pleasure of ordering her to pierce her belly—and her nipples. My plan was to bedeck my bride in diamonds.

But a necklace or bracelets weren’t good enough. Not permanent enough. I wanted her to feel the pain of my ownership, the intimacy of it. I wanted to see her flesh marked as mine.

She would be my living trophy, a testament to my dominance—and my victory over her father.

I unbuckled my belt and slipped it off, running my hand along the smooth leather.

Would my little innocent respond to my rougher tastes in bed?

Would it stop me if she didn’t?

She would be my wife, under my control.

The very idea that this sweet creature, lying prone and defenseless before me, would—after a few hollow vows and a priest’s blessing—become mine to command, to shape, to own, thrilled me. Because once the world called her my wife, she’d never be anything else again.

I would own her, body and soul…with God’s blessing.

She would answer only to me.

The food she ate, the bed she slept in, the clothes on her back—everything under my control.

It was an intoxicating thought. Evil almost.

Unbidden, a vision of Sabrina crawling naked across the floor toward me entered my mind. Her hair cascaded over her back, framing the soft curve of her swaying body, each movement deliberate, sensual, and meant to please.

My fingers clenched around the belt as I envisioned her ass marked from its leather kiss.

I ran the edge of my palm over my cock through my pants to ease the growing ache. I could already feel the teasing vibrations of her throat as she cried out from each strike of my belt on her ass while I made her suck my cock…like a dutiful wife.

The corner of my mouth lifted.

Apparently, there were more benefits to this fucked-up plan than I had initially allowed myself to consider.

But that would all have to wait.

I might be my father’s son, but unlike him, I considered sex a participation sport.

That didn’t mean I was going to let her spend the night in a stiff couture vest and tight leather pants.

Tossing my belt onto the nearby ottoman, I sat on the edge of the bed and slowly unbuttoned her vest.

Her eyelids fluttered open. “What are you doing?”

“You’re drunk, dolcezza. Let me help you.”

She frowned as she pulled the sides of her open vest together and tried to rise. “Wait, you can’t…we can’t.”

“You’re safe.” I pressed my hands against her shoulders. “As tempting a morsel as you may be, I still have a shred of decency left in me.”

A very tattered and worn shred.

I slipped her right arm through the armhole of the vest, then her left, before pulling it out from beneath her and tossing it aside. My fingers grazed her stomach while I reached for the waistband of her pants.

Her eyes widened as she closed her hands over mine.

I shifted, placing my hands gently over hers. One by one, I lifted her hands to my lips and pressed soft kisses to the back of each.

“I give you my word, dolcezza. No harm will come to you tonight.”