Under His Rule (His 1)

And when she’s nearly there, I shove in two fingers, thrusting as wildly as my tongue is circling her clit. Her eyes roll into the back of her head, and her muscles contract around my finger, a gush of delicious wetness spilling out of her.

I have to admit … that made my dick hard.

When she’s stopped panting, she immediately slides away from me, farther across the table. Her sinful eyes home in on mine and narrow as though she’s suddenly become aware of the fact that it was my tongue that made her come.

I chose to give her that gratification.

It wasn’t hers to take but mine to give, and I did so with pleasure.

But it comes at a cost.

Shame.

I can see it in her eyes. The hatred spilling from them is stronger than anything I’ve ever seen before. And it makes me smile like the motherfucker I am.

She will do. She will do just fine.

I straighten up to stand in front of her, still gripping her thighs. I’m not done yet, but I can tell she’s not amused by any of this, judging from her thin lips and a look that’s meant to kill.

“That was—”

“Amazing?” I fill in.

“Bad,” she says, trying to pat down her dress as if that’ll cover up her disgust.

“Bad, but in a good way,” I muse as she sits up on her elbows.

“Bad because you’re bad. And none of this means anything,” she says.

“But you did like it,” I muse, raising a brow.

She doesn’t say a word, but the blush is all I need to confirm my suspicions.

“It’s okay if you don’t want to admit it,” I say.

“I won’t,” she growls.

“Good.” I smile. I’m not here to argue. “I just want you to know being with me is not the end of the world.”

“I am not with you.” She tries to push herself off the table, but I won’t let her. “I may be forced to be here, but I’m not a willing participant.”

“Yes, you are,” I reply. “You chose me. You want me. You coming all over my tongue just now proves that.”

Her nostrils flare while her cheeks continue to turn redder by the second.

“That … was nothing. It meant nothing. It did nothing.”

Of course she’d say that. Admitting the opposite would shatter what’s left of her soul … That she’s become a willing victim. But eventually, she will have to come to terms with her attraction to me. She can’t resist the pull, and neither can I. We’re bound to one another now.

“Sweet, sweet, Natalie … your nothing means the world to me,” I say, caressing her cheek. “You’re to be my wife,” I say, grabbing her hand to press a kiss on top. “I want you to be happy.”

“Then let. Me. Leave,” she hisses.

“You know I can’t do that,” I say, shaking my head.

“Then you’re nothing but evil,” she says, and she flicks my hand away.

“I only do what’s necessary. What’s required of me,” I reply.

“By whom? Who would ask you to do this? To take a woman and chain her down?”

I let out a sigh. Of course she’d ask this. It’s no surprise, yet it’s a tough question regardless of the situation. “If I could tell you, I would, but that would ruin everything.”

She sighs out loud now. “I knew it.” She folds her arms. “You want me to do whatever you want, but you give me nothing in exchange. No information, nothing I can use.”

“I will in due time,” I say, leaning in to look into her eyes. When she won’t meet my gaze, I grab her chin and force her. “This is bigger than both of us. Trust me on this. Please.”

Her lips part, the look on her face growing ever more confused.

“How can I trust the man who destroyed me? Who brought me here in the first place?” she mutters, tears staining her eyes.

I hate it. I hate the tears, hate the pain. I wish I could tear it out of her, wish I could reduce it to ashes and never let her feel that way ever again. I never thought I could feel this much emotion when it came to a woman, but she manages to pull something out of me I didn’t even know existed.

A single tear rolls down her cheeks, and I wipe it away with my thumb. I don’t want her to cry even though I know I’m the cause.

“You shouldn’t,” I reply. “But you must.”

Her face turns dark, and I feel as though she’s close to slapping me until I see stars.

Suddenly, the door behind us slides open.

She scrambles off the table, patting down her dress and hair, composing herself as if she got caught in a sinful act, and I glance over my shoulder to see who it is.

Patrick.

And he brought the president.

Of course he did.