Masked Prince (Fated Royals 2)

Everything was organized according to material — leather, fabric, metal, even a row of glass cocks for double-penetrating her. I’d been preparing it for her for nearly two years now, and every time I felt like I’d thought of everything, I discovered a new plan for fucking her raw and took my time gathering all the necessary gear to do so. All my preparation meeting a lifetime of fantasies. The place was fucking stocked.

I’d jacked off so many times in there, thinking about her. Hundreds of times. Thousands. But never did I dream that she would want this as much as I did, not until she talked about relinquishing control to another. Not until she told me with her eyes that she felt the very same draw I did.

As soon as I set her down, she understood what was happening. Or she thought she did, anyway. Sweet thing had no fucking clue what I had in store for her. But she got the general idea, and that was enough to scare the shit out of her.

She scampered towards the door, falling to her knees and clawing at the stones. I took a few strides and caught up to her, scooping her up over my shoulder.

“Fuck, you’re beautiful when you’re afraid,” I told her. “But you will submit to me, Iris. It’s what you need, and you know it. You said as much yourself.”

She beat my back with her fists, and it made my balls throb—the feel of her fighting me? Goddamn.

But there was time for all that—there was time for us to go to battle. She had to learn the rules first. She had to learn to fear me but not be afraid of me. There was a big fucking difference. From me, she’d learn the beauty of fear that intensifies pleasure. I wanted all of her orgasms right there on the border between good and bad, between yes and no, between exactly right and too much.

That was where we would exist in this dungeon. That was where we would lock horns: where fear stokes the flames. Where destruction meets rebirth.

I carried her back to where I had the chains and irons. I grabbed her arm and pinned it against the stone wall, restraining her left wrist first. She tried to fight her way free. She scratched the shit out of me—snarling as she left three long angry marks up my forearm that made me instantly hard.

Fight all you want, baby. Let me feel your power. Show me what I’m up against.

The iron cuff was exactly the right size; she couldn’t slip her wrist through, but it wasn’t so tight as to make her hand go numb. As soon as I had the left cuff secured, she instinctively began to submit; she might not have even known it, but a little of the fight drained out of her and she started to relax.

To reward her, I gently shifted her hair to one side so that it was over her left breast, not against the stone behind her. I used my tenderest touch, even letting myself brush her cheek with my own.

Fuck, how I adored her. And goddamn, how I needed to be inside her.

She studied me as I secured her other wrist. I looked into her eyes once the shackle was closed, telling her—without saying a goddamned word—that I would always take care of her. She was my possession, more important than the fucking kingdom itself.

“What you and I are going to do here, it’s a process. It’s about boundaries and fear. It’s about you and me. Light and dark. Submission and domination. It will be us.”

Her eyes flashed a little, and a crimson flush crept from her tits to her neck to her cheeks. I turned away from her, heading across the room to get a basin of water. But as I did, she thrashed against her bindings.

“Please, Randal. Please don’t leave me. I don’t want to be alone. Please!”

I spun around to face her.

“You think I’d ever fucking leave you?” In her eyes, I saw genuine terror at being left there, and it broke my heart. I never wanted to see that kind of fear. She had no fucking clue what this was all about, I knew that. She had no idea the pleasures of denial and suffering. No idea that only through pain can we find real pleasure.

But she was damned well going to learn it.

All she knew was that she was somewhere cold, and dark, with chains on the walls and weapons of torture everywhere, with a beast of man who’d just killed three men without blinking an eye. But the line between pain and pleasure was fucking razor thin. I had to teach her how to walk that tightrope.

I stood close to her, close enough to let her feel my hard cock against her belly. I ran my knuckle down her cheek.