“I’ll handle this.”
“The hell you will.” Grant turned on Morgan with pure rage settling in his eyes. “All meth users are the same. Meth will steal your soul if you let it. Now, you will be punished for the things you say about that damn drug. Eventually, you won’t remember anything you like about meth, or any other drug for that matter. If you do, you let me know. I’ll change your fucking mind while I program you to have something worthwhile to believe in again.”
“I was simply suggesting that we should be grateful because meth brought us together again.” She rocked left and right. “This is like nothing I’ve ever felt before.”
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“Exactly. That’s the ginger, baby,” Grant rasped. “It damn sure ain’t meth.”
“You don’t understand,” she whispered, her eyelashes fluttering as she enjoyed the gingerroot the way she should.
“You aren’t getting away with any drug discussion, Morgan,” Blake said, holding her chin firmly in a cupped hand. “Who knows where you’d be right now if you hadn’t wasted four years of your life on the streets with a bunch of thugs and junkies. If you want to thank meth? Thank your drug-dealing boyfriend for damn near destroying your life.”
“We’ve talked about this,” she said, squirming. “I mean…I wasn’t—good Lord, you gotta do something to help me out here—I wasn’t living on the streets. Kilo took care of me.”
Grant grabbed a paddle from underneath a nearby table. “The hell he did.” He spanked her repeatedly, and she cried out, aware of the way Grant struck her and understanding he wanted to punish her.
He certainly meant to scold her, but wasn’t there always some element of pleasure in the pain he provoked? Morgan thought so.
Blake knelt beside her. “Morgan, meth didn’t lead you back to us. You followed your heart when you saw us again. If you hadn’t been on drugs, I have every belief you would’ve been here where you should be long before now.”
She twisted and turned. “Okay, whatever you say.”
Grant leaned over her body. At her ear, he said, “I will never let you find something positive about your meth experience. Are we clear, sub?”
“Yes,” she rasped, unable to think about much else outside of the ramifications from the ginger. Her body was under siege. She was their hostage, now and forever. Good God, if they could make a woman crave sex like this, who the fuck cared about drugs anyway? She’d made a casual comment, and they took her words and turned them into grounds for a battle. Lord help them all if she mentioned the four-letter word again.
Oh no, she didn’t want to talk about meth. She wanted to talk about sex. On second thought? She was tired of talking. She wanted to fuck out their differences, roll under them, and work out the kinks of their arrangement.
Her nipples throbbed, and her folds felt as if they’d had a flogger popped across them. This was exquisite and damning. She was ruined, completely devastated. She’d never be able to think about sex again without remembering this experience.
“Are you comfortable?” Grant asked, taunting her with that dark edge in his deep voice.
“Fuck no!”
The paddle slipped from his hand and his open palm struck her hip. “Respect your partners, sub.”
“Sir, please. I can’t take anymore. Honestly.” She gulped as she saw a flicker of added inspiration. She’d forgotten that about Grant. He not only enjoyed using toys and trinkets, he thrived on her nervous anticipation and then awaited her responses, probably hoping for vocal acceptance or the denial that rarely came.
The more anxiety she felt—and apparently outwardly showed—the more gadgets he introduced, particularly when she deserved punishment. Apparently, mentioning meth lit a fury inside him. If he wouldn’t let her get by with a flip mention, he wasn’t about to allow her the opportunity of casual drug use.
Grabbing the bulge in his pants, Grant bit his bottom lip and situated his hard cock, leaving his hand right inside his jeans until she was stretching her neck, hoping to catch a glimpse of him, just the tip of his cock, the umbrella shape of his crest. His obvious erection made her desire kick up a notch just as Blake’s fiery gaze sent her spinning.
“Grant, please.”
“Please what, sub-muffin?”
“I don’t think I can take it.”
“You can. You will take as much as I have to give, and you’ll still beg for more.” He flipped the switch at the base of the violet wand and held the tubular attachment against her upper arm, allowing her to witness the sparks jumping.
Now she anticipated the pleasurable sensations awaiting her, the crude way her body would not only accept but also anxiously await a more personal connection.
Grant caressed her arm and the good vibrations made her nipples spike. She needed more. She wanted a higher voltage, something to shock the hell out of her nerve endings and send her body into violent spasms, multiple orgasms.
There was only one way to find out if she could handle the wand on full power. She had to challenge authority, defy it even.
“Don’t tease me. If you’re going to play with a boy’s toy, be man enough to use the damn thing correctly.”