Enamoured (The Enslaved Duet 2)

Then he was moving me again, turning me, pushing me into the chair and hooking my legs over the arms so my entire scantily clad sex was exposed to the harsh bite of cold air. He arranged me so I sprawled like a broken toy in the hard angles of the chair; head back, mouth parted wetly, arms akimbo.

Maybe not a broken toy…

A used one.

Fucked hard and left to wallow in the aftershocks and exhaustion of her satiation.

I could smell my arousal and hovered on the tense wire of lusty hope and shame, if Xavier could see it dampening the placket of my thong.

The click of the camera and his shoes against the floor were the only sounds for long minutes as he continued to silently photograph me. The silence and the punctuated noise were driving me crazy.

I wanted him to say something. Anything.

Just to prove what my crazy mind was more and more convinced of.

That it was Alexander at my side and not Xavier Scott.

Only, the press of a thumb to the slight indentation in my plump lower lip paralyzed my thoughts.

I dragged in another lungful of that heady scent through my open mouth and unconsciously swept my tongue across the pad of that thumb.

His taste exploded in my mouth like ambrosia.

“Master?” I breathed, too entranced to worry I was wrong and face the embarrassment of asking such a question.

I wanted it to be him with every fiber of my being. My body vibrated with coiled energy just waiting for release. Specifically, for him to release it from me with his wicked words and cruel, calculating hands.

“Master?” I asked again, stronger this time.

Desperate.

Needy.

High on the idea of him in my space.

“Topolina,” he breathed against my lips. “Are you ready to kneel once more for your Master?”

Momentarily, I thought I was dreaming.

One of those inescapable nightmares when you know it isn’t real, but the knowledge does nothing to shield you from the terror.

I often dreamt of Xan returning to claim me over the years, and it always started with those haunting words.

Are you ready to kneel for your Master?

Psychologically, I was more than ready. I felt as though I had never got up off the floor of the white, black, and gold ballroom after the first time I’d knelt there.

Rationally, the idea of kneeling ever again made my brain seize and short circuit like an overworked hard drive.

Then another touch filtered through the chaos in my mind, cutting cleanly through it like a hot knife.

Rough fingers ran up between my lace-covered breasts where they wrapped one by one around my neck and gently squeezed.

A collar.

My throat ached but not from the pressure. I wanted to lean into the hand, feel it band stronger, tighter, and intractably against my skin. I wanted a physical one without an escape latch. A permanent one tattooed into my skin.

One that showed everyone I was owned by Alexander Davenport.

The collar was there already under my skin, burning at all hours of the day so even when Alexander had seemed convinced I didn’t belong to him, my body had said differently.

“What are you doing here?” I mouthed more than said.

His lips skimmed and bumped my own, firing off electrons under my skin that made my mouth feel static with current. It took everything in me not to jerk forward and feel the electricity erupt in a real kiss.

God, I wanted a kiss.

He’d stamped me with his brand of ownership at the charity event, bitten me when he’d cut me out of his life in Milan, but I hadn’t been the recipient of Alexander’s masterful kisses for far too long, and my body felt starved of them.

“I told you, you can run, but I’ll always find you,” he murmured against the skin of my cheek as he skimmed his nose into my hair and breathed deeply. “I could find you with my eyes closed, my ears plugged, and my nose stopped up. I can feel you before I know for sure you are even in a room. If predators have natural prey they are born to chase, you are mine.”

“Xan,” I breathed because that was the word that seemed to echo through my mind with every beat of my rapidly increasing pulse. “Please, don’t play with me like this.”

“Like this?” he asked cruelly as he plucked both my nipples and twisted.

I hissed, but shook my head, desperately wishing I could see him to read what he would try to keep hidden in his eyes. “No, please don’t play with my emotions like this. I don’t understand.”

I didn’t. I was hopelessly confused, tangled up like yarn curdled on a loom.

My heart stuttered and chugged in my chest, a failing engine that wouldn’t survive the test Alexander would no doubt put my body through if I let him…

Maybe even if I didn’t.