Oath of Obedience (Deviant Doms 2)

Oh, really, Mr. Bossy? Is that right?

Thankfully I’ve got the wherewithal to keep that in my head.

I want to fight him. If I could, I’d push back, shove him off the bed and fight him. Hurt him. I’m not a violent person, and I don’t know why I’m tempted now.

We don’t speak for long minutes. It’s almost as if I can feel his heart beating along with mine, as if he’s anticipating what’s happening next, too.

But isn’t he the one in charge here? I wonder why he’s as expectant as I am.

He rests his huge, rough hand between my thighs. He braces himself above me with his left hand. For the first time, I realize that he has tattoos along his knuckles. Skulls.

Skulls.

Oh God, what have I gotten myself into? Skulls on his hand! Those symbols, do they symbolize every person he’s killed? Do they mean something? I have so many questions, but I couldn’t speak now if I wanted to, because his hand is between my legs, and all of my nerve endings are centered right above his fingers. The blood flow in my body concentrates below my pelvis. My entire world is centered…Right…There.

I stare at his hand in front of me, while my entire body focuses on the hand that’s touching me. His skin is a little dark, olive-toned, with little wisps of dark hair. Nails are short, well-kept. He worked hard taking care of himself when he was in prison.

I wonder what’s beneath the rest of that suit.

Maybe I don’t have to leave tonight. I don’t think I could if I wanted to, so might as well enjoy this first night with him. If that’s…possible?

Not sure if “enjoy” is the operative word, but my body throbs. I’ve never felt anything like this before, and I can’t tell if it’s excitement or fear or both.

He bends down and whispers in my ear. “I want to perform a little test.”

Oh, great. He’s kinky, fancies himself in charge of me, and is obviously way bigger than I am. Not sure what the test is going to be, but I feel as if I’m not going to pass this one.

“Yeah? What test?” I try to keep my voice nonchalant, as if we’re talking about maybe what to make for dinner. But I can’t hide the little tremble in my voice.

“It’s called the obedience test.”

Obedience test. The guy sure is fixated on that word. Obsessed, really.

I nod, probably obediently. Maybe I’m passing the test already.

“And while we do this obedience test,” he says in this silky, satin-covered voice that makes my body sing, goddamn him, “we’re going to do another test.”

I don’t talk this time. Something tells me I need to focus right now, and he’s going to tell me exactly what to expect.

And…I kinda like that.

Why?

“The test is to see how kinky you are. If it’s your nature, your body will tell me. If it’s nurture, as you like to tell yourself, then I fully intend on nurturing you into submission.”

Whoa. What?

I don’t even know what he’s talking about, but I’m already panting. He gently presses the tops of his fingers to my pussy. I can feel him grazing the short hairs there, and I throb.

“If you disobey me, Elise, I will put you over my knee.” He doesn’t say anything else at first. My pulse races with an immediate vision of me sprawled out over his lap, and I imagine I’m getting a spanking.

Yeah, that’s kind of hot. Somehow, I’ve forgotten it would also hurt.

And just like that, I’m wet. Without a word, he traces his finger between my thighs. His low chuckle’s all man and all sex.

I don’t know anything that’s funny. To me, this is very, very serious.

He continues to talk and takes his perfect fingers away from where I need them.

This is, after all, an obedience test.

This is, after all, how I’m gonna get what I need.

My eyes are closed, so I can just focus on the feel of his hand between my legs. I feel his breath on my neck and I shiver, realizing too late that I’ve moved involuntarily closer to him.

His voice is in my ear again. “And when you’re over my lap, I would spank you. I would slap your ass with my palm and redden it. The more you fought me, the more I’d punish you.”

I want to push my thighs together, because something tells me that he is going to think I’m into that. Sure enough, he strokes his finger where I’m dying for him to touch. I don’t breathe, the air in my lungs constricted and frozen, as he does his little test.

“When you go out in public, I’ll have left my mark on you. Others may not see that mark, but everywhere you go I’ll know that you’re mine. Mine,” he repeats. “Do you understand me?”