Under His Rule (His 1)

He slides between my folds and plays with my clit while I struggle not to give in to pleasure, but he makes it so damn hard.

“Yes, give in to me.” He licks the rim of my ear. “Let me into your heart.”

“No … I can’t,” I say. “You put me here. I could never love you.”

He grins against my ear. “You say that now, but you’ll change your mind. Just like you did when you finally joined me in the Jacuzzi.”

“I did that to save myself,” I hiss as he flicks my nub to the point of making my eyes roll into the back of my head.

“You did that because you secretly wanted to … because you’ve been dying to find out what it’s like to be with me … to know me and find out all my secrets,” he whispers. “But you won’t admit that, will you?”

He shoves a finger into me, and I gasp from surprise.

“I own you now … whether you like it or not, you’re mine, and you’ll bend to my will,” he growls as he thrusts his finger into me. Another one is added, and I struggle in place.

“Look at yourself, Natalie. What’s that face I see? That face of pure ecstasy that you wouldn’t give me before?” he says with a soft, delectable voice. “Enjoying yourself?”

I hate him. I hate him so much for doing this, but at the same time, my body wants to give in so badly that it hurts. He’s exposed my weakest points, the only thing I hate about myself, and turned it into a thing of beauty. But he doesn’t know the struggles I went through, doesn’t know the pain buried behind that scar.

In a moment of clarity, I swiftly spin around, not giving a shit to cover myself so long as I can keep him and his devilishly delicious hands at bay, and I push him away. “I’m not doing this.”

He narrows his eyes at me, a wicked grin spreading on his lips. “Natalie.”

“No, you don’t get to do this.”

“Yes, I do,” he replies. “You’re to be my wife.”

“To be?” I cock my head. That means it’s not yet happened.

“Well, first our union has to be approved by the president himself in an official Patriarchal Ceremony, but that’ll be over soon enough,” he says, licking his lips. “And then I get to have you all to myself.”

More devious fuckery. Of course.

I look around, trying to find anything to defend myself with. A bar of soap? No. A shower hose? No, he’ll never let me wrap it around his neck. What do I do?

“Whatever you’re thinking of doing, don’t. It will do you more harm than good,” he says, following my every move.

“You don’t know that,” I say, standing my ground.

“I do. And if it makes it any easier, none of this was an accident.”

I frown. “What are you talking about?”

A sparkle lights his eyes. “You being here is not a coincidence.”

My pupils dilate, and my lips part.

“Yes … the symbol, Natalie. Everything’s connected. You belong here.”

Tears well up in my eyes at the thought, and I shake my head. I won’t let him do this. “No, I don’t. I have a life beyond these walls. Beyond this prison.”

“What life? A life that gave you that scar?” He points at my body, and it feels like a knife cutting into me all over again.

“That is none of your fucking business,” I growl.

A half-hearted smile mars his face. “You want to be free? You learn the rules of this place … then learn to wield them and use them to your advantage.” He swallows. “That scar will not stop me from claiming what belongs to me. So wash up and get ready. I’ll have an elder’s wife assist with dressing you for the occasion.”

“What occasion?” I ask as he turns around and walks off.

“The Patriarchal Ceremony, of course.” He glances at me over his shoulder, a smirk forming on his face. “To officially become my wife. Until death do us part.”

Chapter 18

Natalie

I shower in silence, but my head is full of words I wish I had spoken out loud. What am I even doing here? I should be out there searching for that woman. Instead, I’m playing pretend while lathering tropical soap all over my body. I’m a hypocrite. I want the women to stand up for themselves, but when push comes to shove, I don’t either. I understand why they hesitate now. These men are powerful, and they’ll stop at nothing to get what they want.

When I’m clean, I grab a towel from the shelves and wrap it around my waist just in time before someone enters the room. It’s the same woman from before who guided me into the bathroom, and she judges me with just her eyes.

“Come,” she says, walking past me. She picks up a metallic thing and places it on the floor. A scale. “Get on.”