Masked (Royally Hot 2)

“This is how things will be,” he said, pacing in front of me. “There are rules, Iris. Rules you need to obey. You understand that?”

“Yes,” I said, but then, remembering how he had corrected me before, I added, “Yes, Sir.”

He liked that. I could see it. He smiled, smug and satisfied. Cocky. And seeing him pleased with me sent goosebumps through my body. I would do anything to see him happy like that.

Anything.

The word we’d agreed on came back to me. Cherries. I could say it and stop this, but why would I want that? I wanted to follow this to the end. I wanted to prove I could take all he could dole out and still beg for more.

Randal tipped my chin up with the V of his thumb and forefinger, stretching my throat and arching my neck.

“Here’s how it’s going to go.” He touched my cheek with the pad of his thumb, his eyes dark. That crystal gray-green light was replaced with something sinister and difficult to read. “You are here for my pleasure. Mine alone,” he growled. “I will use you. I will fuck you.” He paused, then drew a breath through his nose. “And I will keep you safe.”

I swallowed hard. “And what do I need to do in return?”

He placed his huge hand on my thigh, his thumb just inches from my opening. Inches had never felt so far.

“In return, you will give me yourself.” He squeezed harder, hard enough to make it hurt. “You ask permission to cum. You give me all of you. You deny me nothing. Ever.” He ground out the words from between gritted teeth.

His anger and pain were so apparent that it made my heart ache. He must have been through so much to make him this hard, and I wanted to be able to be tender in return. Even just for a second.

I wanted to touch him. I needed to touch him.

Though my hands were restrained, I clenched my fist, wishing so much that I could run my fingertips down the ridges of his abs, the valley between his pecs, the texture of his scars.

The clatter of my chain drew a dark glance. He narrowed his eyes at my hand, the muscles in his jaw throbbing, until I stopped my fussing.

Calm, girl. Be calm.

Whatever was going to happen next wasn’t up to me. The sooner I accepted that, the better. Tenderness and touch would have to wait. I raised my eyes to him, finally, and met his gaze.

He didn’t have to explain to me what just happened. I was in his territory now. And I would play by his rules.

Never breaking my stare, he crouched before me, so that his face was level with my sex. I could feel his hot breath tingling, just on the edges of conscious sensation, making me desperate, drawing me to the edge.

He didn’t move. Didn’t touch me. Didn’t soften his eyes.

He was like a hunter, eyeing his prey, letting the tension build and build until I could hardly think.

I squirmed and bucked and whined. I wanted his mouth; I wanted his skin.

“Relax, little one,” he said. “I know you’ve seen horses broken. You know what to do.”

Oh god. I took a deep breath and nodded. Calm. Calm. The sooner I stopped bucking, the better. The sooner I submitted, the sooner we could get to whatever came next.

I willed myself to calm. I let it pour through me like honey. Through my throat, my arms, my stomach, my legs. I even forced myself to unclench my pussy. As I did, I felt a trickle of wetness spill from between my legs, and a small mewl escaped my lips.

His eyes flashed.

“Good girl. Listen to me and I will treat you right. I will make you a fucktoy first—and a goddess always. I will ruin you and then make you whole. I will be your everything.”

With that, he slid his tongue up my sex, forcing a near convulsion from me. He toyed and played with my most sensitive area.

My body jerked against the chains, but I was powerless to move. I gripped them hard, desperate to hang onto something, anything, as the pleasure made the room swirl. With two fingers he stretched my opening and dipped his tongue inside me, sucking and biting and slurping up my wetness. My thighs desperately tried to close around his head, but my restraints were too tight.

“Fight them all you fucking want,” he said, wiping his rough cheek on my inner thigh, “There’s not a thing you can do to get away from me now.”

It was true. The more I fought, the less focus I had on him. So I let go, bit by bit, to the feeling between my legs. Somewhere in all the pleasure, my restraints gave me strength; they held me up when I thought I’d pass out, gave me something to hold onto while I let myself go.