Tragic King (The Dominant Bastard Duology 2)

“May I, Mister Leduc?”

He sighed. “I’m not a Barbie doll, Miss Korsgaard.”

She bit her lip and did her best to look cute. He snorted, but sat back and let her get closer. Standing between his knees, she split his beard in two and took her time braiding each side. There shouldn’t have been anything sexy about his beard being braided, but it somehow made him look more intimidating – maybe because it made it easier to see his chin. Under the beard, his bone structure was strong – frightening and beautiful. Like a brutal, more masculine Loic.

Finished with that too, she admired her handiwork. Just looking at him made something south of her stomach flutter.

Fuck, he was hot. His natural underbite made him look especially vicious.

He leaned in and flicked one of her bells with his tongue, the gentle tug of it on her nipple making her gasp. Gently, he sat her in his lap facing him, her legs spread over his thighs. When he spread his knees apart, it forced her legs apart too.

“Don’t move,” he whispered.

She wasn’t sure where the knife came from – he always seemed to have one. He made them, broke them, made more. Maybe it had been in his boot? She put her hands behind her to clutch his knees. The blade flashed, even in the pale light filtering through the curtains. He tugged the pastel pink lace just far away from her pussy to avoid stabbing her pubic bone. The tip of the blade poked into the delicate fabric and she held very, very still as he sliced downward, parting the lace with precision, like a surgeon with a scalpel.

He plunged a finger into her sore pussy.

“Ugh! Bastard.” The words burst from her, an ill-advised, knee-jerk reaction to her shock.

“You’re complaining about my finger, but we both know you’d let me fuck you with this knife if I wanted to.” His cocky expression made her want to knock him down a peg, but all that came out was a whimper.

Like he’d even try it?

He tapped the bells dangling from her nipples with the tip of the blade, and she held her breath so he didn’t accidentally cut her. The blade turned, and he skimmed the flat of it over her nipple, then down her ribs to her thigh as his index finger explored her pussy with lazy twists and thrusts, filling the otherwise silent room with humiliatingly wet sounds. What they’d done to her the night before had left her pussy raw, and her clit still hurt.

“Please no,” she whimpered. “I’m too sore for whatever you’re thinking, Mister Leduc.”

“Too sore here?” He rubbed the tip of his finger against her g-spot and the dull ache made her grit her teeth.

“Yes!” She gasped.

“Aww, poor baby. All used up?” Of course he pushed another finger inside her, stretching her uncomfortably. The man had huge, rough fingers.

“Uh huh.” She gripped his knees harder as his thumb grazed her clit. It already felt as if it had been sanded.

“You’re awfully wet for a little girl who doesn’t want cock.”

She shuddered, wanting him despite knowing it would be dreadfully unpleasant right then. “I’m wet because you and Rodrigo keep pumping me full of semen,” she groused.

He arched a brow.

“Master,” she amended.

“Shouldn’t you be groveling at my feet and thanking me for the gift of my seed?”

“Yes! Groveling at your feet sounds like a fantastic idea, Mister Leduc.” She tried to edge back to dislodge his finger, but he held her in place, big finger inside her, big thumb pinching against her pubic bone. She now knew how bowling balls must feel. Fucking sore. Slightly aroused – except slightly was the exact opposite word.

He cut through her panties at the hips and the fabric slipped to the ground. Good thing the man constantly bought her new panties because he really loved to destroy them.

His knife slipped toward the inside of her thigh and she stopped even the subtle squirm of her hips. As the knife neared her pussy, he pulled his fingers out of her then presented them to her mouth.

“Clean this mess.”

She licked his fingers clean, too distracted by what his other hand was doing with the knife to taste anything. Her death grip on his knees had to be uncomfortable for him, but she couldn’t help it. A flicker of doubt and fear crept in, making her shiver on the inside, deep in her guts. This was the most terrifying game of chicken she’d ever played. Maybe he thought the knife was too dull to do much damage, but the lace of her panties was proof of how sharp it was. Maybe he thought it was small enough to fit inside her without cutting her? It sure as hell wasn’t.

He growled, giving voice to the aggressive arousal she could feel humming through him.

Closer, closer scraped the blade, along the delicate skin inside her thigh to the apex. The cold edge slid over one of her labia and she fought not to scream.