The Maiden (The Cloister Trilogy 1)

“Embarrassed?” He strokes my too-warm cheek.

“Yes.” My voice is barely a whisper. I hate to admit I’m ashamed of my own mother, but it’s true. And maybe, for just a moment, I wondered if she gave a shit about me again. The flyers, coming here, trying to find me—but it was just a charade, a different sort of shake-down. I ignore the stinging fact that a simple payoff is enough for her to abandon her only daughter.

His fingers stray lower, to my neck. “You should have told me. Trust, remember?”

I shiver at his soft touch and the leashed violence it suggests. “Yes.” I want to argue that he never asked, that it wasn’t important. But I know it won’t matter. The tight tone of his voice tells me that much.

“You know I have to punish you.” He tries to feign regret, but doesn’t quite manage. His hunger is still there, beneath the surface, claws waiting to catch and rip and destroy.

I can’t respond.

“On hands and knees.” He stands and unbuttons his shirt, revealing fair, muscled skin with a trail of dark hair leading south.

I swallow hard and crawl onto the bed.

“Did you go outside today?”

I turn to look at him as he stands behind me.

“Yes, how did you—”

“I spoke with Grace.” His hands curl into fists, but then he shakes them out. “Told her you were to be allowed out.”

“Oh.” I don’t mention the nature of the outing—visiting a whorehouse wasn’t what I’d had in mind—but I’d take it over staying locked up inside the Cloister. “Thank you.” I face the headboard again, and it occurs to me that I’m having what could pass as a normal conversation while I’m completely naked, on all fours, and about to be punished by a man who treats me as a pet rather than a person. And I just thanked him. “No.” The word rockets out before I have a chance to stop it.

“What?” He approaches me and strips off his shirt, tossing it to the floor.

I sit back on my heels. “No. You aren’t going to punish me.”

He smirks. It’s hard and cold, like his eyes. But heat courses through me all the same.

“Is this how you want to play this evening?”

“I’m not playing.” My voice shakes and I scoot off the bed and stand. “You aren’t punishing me. I’m not a—”

He hurdles the bed and has me in his hard grasp before I can even form the thought to run. I’m slammed onto the bed face first, his weight on my back, his bare chest pressing against me.

His mouth at my ear curls my toes. “I think we may have a slight misunderstanding between us, little lamb.” He grabs a handful of my hair with one hand and slides the other down my side. “You see, I’m the one who calls the shots where you’re concerned. I own you.”

“Stop.” I try to push up, but it’s no use against his lean muscle.

“I can’t. Not until you understand. This is a lesson you need.” His hand slides beneath me. “And one you want.”

“No.”

“You’ve wanted it since the first night I saw you. Fire at your back. Hell in front of you.” He presses his fingertip against that one super-sensitive spot between my legs.

I gasp.

“This body, this mind, even this soul—all mine. I’ve already killed for it. I’d do it again a thousand times over.” He strokes slowly, heat sizzling through the deepest parts of me. “And I’ll do whatever I want with you. I won’t force you. That’s not what this is.” His finger slides lower, delving into my wetness, and then back up again, circling my clit. “This is a lesson.” His thick length presses against my ass, and dark sparks burst in my mind. “One that I should have already taught you.” He bites my earlobe, and an unbidden moan rises from my throat. “Pleasure and pain. I offer both. You will take both. And you will trust me to give them in whatever amounts I see fit.” His teeth migrate to my neck, biting down like a wild animal holding its female in place.

I struggle to catch my breath as he stops circling and starts strumming my clit. His cock grinds against my ass, his hips moving in time with the maddening strokes of his fingers. Everything inside me tightens, twirling around him. I’ve come before, to my own fingers, but it has never been like this. A punishing need for release, a desperate rush toward ecstasy.

“Please.”

He bites harder, almost breaking the skin, and I cry out, unsure if it’s pleasure or pain that gives me voice. My mind stops and focuses on the building tension, the intense need, the primal craving to let go.

But then his fingers disappear.

I let out my breath in a huff. He still grinds against me. “Do you want me to make you come, little lamb?”