He reaches down and rips open his zipper. His hard cock springs out from his jeans. He fists it in his hand, rubbing it back and forth through my wetness.
“Open your eyes.”
When I do, I find him staring down at me in blistering intensity, his face hard and beautiful. “Yes or no. I’m a lot of bad things, but a man who takes a woman against her will isn’t one of them.”
Yet he could. Easily. He could simply shove inside me and ignore my protests, knowing there was no one who could stop him.
That he doesn’t makes it all somehow so much worse.
“My gentleman gangster,” I whisper brokenly, and spread my thighs.
He thrusts. Then he’s in, and I’m moaning.
He leans over, bites my hard nipple right through the fabric of the shirt, and fucks me like he’s possessed. Like he’s starving.
This time, it isn’t making love. It’s a primal thing, raw and animalistic. He grunts as he drives into me, harsh, ragged sounds that rise from deep within his chest. He’s taking me, and I’m allowing myself to be had.
I wish I didn’t love it so much. I’m afraid this kind of surrender can be addictive.
He withdraws, flips me over, drags me up onto my knees, then fucks me from behind, his strong fingers digging into my hips and his heavy balls slapping against my pussy.
He pulls my hair.
Spanks my ass.
Reaches around between my legs and fondles my clit as he thrusts, sliding his fingers through my folds.
The carpet burning my knees, I moan and cry out deliriously.
He rasps, “Come on your master’s cock. My beautiful captive, be a good girl and come for me.”
His words work like magic. Within seconds, I’m convulsing around his erection, bucking back against it and calling out his name.
Had anyone told me a month ago that a man would handcuff me, get me to orgasm on command, and use the words “master” and “captive” to refer to our relationship, I would have laughed until I peed myself.
But here we are.
And holy hell, what a wonderful place it is to be.
Hands around my hips, Declan sits back on the balls of his feet, taking me with him so I’m upright. He rips open the front of the button-down shirt he dressed me in and starts to fondle my naked breasts with one hand, flattening the other over my belly and holding me against his body. I lean back against his chest, close my eyes, and sigh.
“I want you to come again,” he says roughly, rolling my nipple between two fingers. “Like this.”
He lightly slaps me between the legs.
I jerk, gasping. My eyes fly open wide.
“Harder or softer?” he growls, nipping at my neck.
My pulse is flying. My thighs tremble. I don’t know what’s up or down. “Harder. And faster.”
His groan is soft and filled with pleasure. I think he was hoping I’d say that.
The next slap stings, but also sends a shockwave of pleasure throughout my body. He does it again and again, holding me steady with an arm around my waist, until I’m shaking and so wet, it’s slipping down my thighs.
“How close are you?”
“There,” I gasp. “I’m right there.”
“Give me your mouth.”
I tip my head back and am immediately rewarded with a deep, hot kiss. Declan’s fingers delve between my legs, exploring every inch, sliding around where he’s buried inside me. When they brush my exquisitely sensitive clit, I whimper into his mouth.
“Ready?” he whispers.
“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”
His exhalation is ragged. “Goddamn, woman. Goddamn.”
Then he slaps my throbbing pussy, and I come.
Sobbing and jerking in his arms, I come so hard, I lose myself. The entire time, he whispers praises into my ear, words in English and Gaelic that melt like butter over my heated skin.
Then he’s jerking, too, hips thrusting erratically, broken moans falling from his lips. I feel him throbbing inside me, feel a spreading warmth as his hand closes around my throat.
He spills himself inside me with a roar.
As we fall limp and spent to the carpet and he gathers me into his arms, I wonder how this dark fairy tale will end.
Because it will end. It has to. The only question is who will be left standing when the castle walls come crashing down—the princess? The dark knight?
Or maybe no one at all.
Back in the kitchen, neither of us speaks. Declan finishes making the salad, puts everything into a big bowl, grabs a fork, then leads me over to the dining table.
He sits in a chair and pulls me down gently to the floor.
Appalled, I stare up at him. “I’m not kneeling at your feet.”
Eyes shining, he says, “Strange, but it looks like you are.”
He waits for me to decide what I’m going to do about it. I simmer for a few moments, debating, observing from a safe distance as my ego throws a hissy fit.
He says gently, “I just want to feed you.”
“Like an owner feeds his dog scraps under the table?”
“No, lass. Like a man feeds his lover. If you don’t like it, get up.”
He proceeds to spear a bunch of salad onto the fork. Then he holds the fork to my lips, cradling my jaw in his other hand as he gazes down at me with feverish eyes.
Oh, that look. It makes me shiver. I’ve never been looked at like that by a man. The need in his eyes is so hot, it could burn us both to the ground.
I whisper, “This is a dangerous game we’re playing.”
“You don’t know the half of it.”
Those are his skeletons I hear behind his words. His ghosts rattling their chains. What the hell am I getting myself into?
“Promise me you’ll—”
“Aye. I promise.”
“You don’t know what I was going to ask.”
“It doesn’t matter. Ask me for anything. To be careful with you, to be honest with you, to bring you someone’s head on a plate. I’ll say aye. You’re not the only one in chains here. Now open those pretty lips and let me feed you. You’ll need your energy. I’ll want to fuck you again soon.”
He nudges my lips with the fork.
Staring up at him in a weird combination of terror, fascination, and awe, I open my mouth and let him slide the food in.
Watching me chew, he caresses my cheek. He murmurs, “Your face is red.”
“Humiliation does that to me.”
“You’re not being humiliated. You’re being worshipped. You’re just too proud to know the difference.”
“Usually when I’m being worshipped by a man, he’s the one in this position.”
“I’m not your usual man. This isn’t your usual situation. None of the old rules apply.”
I glance down, avoiding his eyes. He allows it for a moment, until he gets impatient.
“Talk to me.”
“I don’t like to think of myself as someone who’s irrational.”
He knows exactly what I mean. “You can be a feminist and still want to be dominated by a man in bed.”
“Gloria Steinem would be so disappointed in me.”
“Gloria Steinem got married, lass. The woman who coined the phrase ‘A woman needs a man like a fish needs a bicycle’ eventually wanted a husband. It’s biological. Evolutionary. Even the strongest woman needs a man.”