Enamoured (The Enslaved Duet 2)

Nothing unlocked that elusive door to that taboo but delicious place.

Nothing but Alexander and his special brand of mastery.

A shudder wracked my body that had nothing to do with the cold room.

When I didn’t respond quickly enough, Alexander twisted his hand in my hair and pulled me off the chair so that I collapsed to the ground on my knees. Instantly, instinctively, my head bowed gracefully, my spine straightened, and my hands met like a necklace clasped behind my back.

“Pretty as ever,” he said in that soft tone with those hard-bitten words that always seemed louder than he spoke them. “But I always preferred you adorned in the jewels of my possession, both against your flesh in diamonds and rubies and stamped there in bruises and love bites.”

I groaned breathily as he sank his teeth into the junction of my neck and shoulder and sucked hard at the skin so it bloomed beneath his tongue. When he disconnected with a loud sucking smack, the wet cooled deliciously on my skin and peppered my flesh into goosebumps. He touched the spot with the tip of the flogger he held in his hand and pushed until I hissed in pain.

“A poppy on your skin,” he murmured as if lost in thought and desire. “I used to see the poppies behind Pearl Hall and think about the time I fucked you into the earth there.”

“Yes,” I hissed softly because I thought of the same thing whenever I saw my favourite bloom, forever tainted by the memory of Alexander and the way he fucked me goodbye.

I bent my neck deeper like a swan seeking sleep, only I was seeking the deep, darkly delicious bite of Alexander’s bite into my neck. I wanted him to plant a garden of bruises under my skin, water them with my tears of pain, and watch them bud under the possessive heat of his gaze.

I wanted him to use me as a canvas to give voice to all his darkest desires.

Use me, fill me up, make me yours from the inside out.

I’d thought the words were contained in my head, rattling around loudly, but confined to my own mind. They were dangerous words to give a man who had proven he would come and go but keep our strings attached so that I was always linked to him, always his even when he didn’t want me.

I would never have said them out loud if I’d been in my right mind.

But I wasn’t.

I never was when Alexander’s hands were shaping my body into his art.

“I am going to use you up. I’m going to mark your tongue with the taste of my cock and your skin with the print of my palm. I am going to fill you. I’m going to hold you down with my hands and my teeth and impale you on my cock so you feel the burn of me between your thighs for days. But you know already, you’ve been mine inside and out since the day we met.”

A whimper leaked from my parted lips, shamefully eager for the future he described and pathetically forlorn that it was already occurring.

“But first,” Alexander’s words chipped off his posh tongue like shards of granite. “You are going to prove to me just how much you missed your Master. Just how eager you are to be my willing slave again.”

“I am no one’s slave,” I slurred almost drunkenly, spurred by instinct but blurry with longing.

“Ah, that is where you are fundamentally wrong. You see, your enslavement to me has nothing to do with currency and contracts, and everything to do with your willingness to be used by me. Owned by me in every way I may wish to possess you.”

One of his corded arms was suddenly belted diagonally over my chest, angling down my stomach so that he could cup my entire slick sex in one big palm. I was pinned by him, to him, surrounded in his heat and cool forest fragrance. It had been years since I’d been so close to another human being, and the fact that it was Alexander reclaiming my body in the way only he knew how made my brain spark and short circuit with exquisite lust and something more, something intangible that settled my bones better beneath my skin as if they had been broken and improperly reset until that moment.

“You told me I would have to earn your submission again, but that’s not the truth, is it, my beauty? I need to earn your trust again, your tenderness, and your depthless heart. But your submission? Ah, that is intrinsically mine. The way the moon owns the tide and the sun owns the sky.”

I opened my mouth, to protest maybe, or more probably to beg him to fuck me however that came, even if it fucked up my mind and heart at the same time. My heart ached from the hammer punch of his sweet, uncharacteristic words. I needed something to take me out of my head so I could steel myself against his emotional attack and focus on the physical. He unclasped me, and I fell forward sharply, his release as impactful as a car accident thrusting me forward.