“Others.” Her echo was quiet but threaded with new understanding. “Including your lovers.”
“Not my lovers,” he bit out. “My fuck toys, Jayd. You getting a bit of meaning now? They’re my submissives. My servants, there to obey me no matter what I ask them to give or to do.”
More comprehension hit. “Like the people—the submissives—in that place we went to,” she said. “The dungeon.”
Which had been just that, in so many senses. More than what she might have fully understood…until now.
“Yes,” Brickham replied. “Like that place.”
“Which was why you knew exactly what to do when we got there,” she returned. “And why they almost seemed to know you. To respect you.”
He hauled in another long breath. “It was more than just kinky cordiality. Bastille—the name on the card I showed the other Master in Paris—isn’t just a dungeon I belong to. It’s the club I own, Jayd.”
Her reaction to that was instantaneous—but not unexpected. The sprint of her heartbeat was not one of shock. The new knowledge in her mind was revelatory, not revolting. The expression he was clearly dreading, of her scandal and horror, was not going to happen. Instead, she faced what she had been so ardently begging from him.
The honesty of her heart.
Every insatiably curious dirty corner of it.
“All right. So you are a prince with a fortress instead of a castle. You rule from a throne of pleasure instead of policy. How does that make you less deserving of long-term love than anyone else?”
A stunned stare finally did fly across the room. His.
“And how the hell did you swing this discussion around to that?”
She frowned, genuinely perplexed. “Does any of it not make sense?”
Brickham shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “Not…entirely.”
“Then, respectfully speaking, answer my question, Sir.”
The man ditched his shock like a fleck of rust on his precious machine. “You going to keep taking the name of respect in vain, girl? Because if so…”
“Then what?” It tumbled out before she could help it. Or maybe not. Maybe she was being a royal priss, purposely calling out the man on his evasion. Or maybe she was diving headlong into this game because she already saw through his.
So. Clearly.
Did he think he could scare her off that easily? That she would crumble and cower just because of the dark things he liked doing to women? That she would think about the steps they had already danced of that tango and now want to tear up her dance card?
Then maybe he was the one who did not know her at all.
Two seconds’ worth of the thought led to one second’s worth of her upward lurch. She popped out a hip and mirrored his tough-guy stance, complete with pretzel-twisted arms.
“Another question you do not wish to answer, Mr. Brickham?” She tilted her head. “Respectfully speaking, of course.”
His composure went even more rigid. Though he dropped his arms, his muscles were still balls with pronounced veins. His thighs strained against his scrubs. His cheekbones fought with his flesh. His gaze crackled with silent but potent energy.
Oh…wow.
Her force of nature was back.
Her bloodstream responded with a thrill of desire.
Her insides churned with wild waves of trepidation.
“You seriously really want to go there, young lady?”
“I seriously really believe I do, Sir.”
“All right, then. Take off every thread of your clothes.”
She did not spare half a thought about it. She just moved, with trembling fingers and flimsy breaths, to obey his calm command. She had no idea what to expect. What plans he had for her. The feeling was like nothing she had ever experienced. She had no idea pure lust and raw fear were such an addicting amalgam.
Inwardly, she vowed to savor every precious second of it.
Chapter Six
“Move,” Brick growled when Jayd paused to close her eyes and pull in a long breath. Part of him was pissed, impatient that she might be considering a back-down at this point. The other part was desperately afraid of the same. If so, he’d have to honor her dissent—no matter how hellish it would be for the Dom she’d flickered in every cell of his blood.
Flickered? Oh, no.
She’d given him a full lick of the fire.
Now, goddammit, he wanted more. And intended to take it.
“Pixie, that was not a sweet little ask.”
“Okay, okay!” she blurted. “I—I am trying—”
“No trying. No talking.” Fuck, this felt good. “Just obedience. That’s all you exist for right now. Empty your gorgeous little head of everything else but that.”
He tossed her an approving rumble as she finally unhooked her bra and peeled away her plain T-shirt. The act knocked loose some of the foil square things piled on her head, forming cute little blue splotches across her delectable skin.
He’d never taken such delight in connect-the-dots before.
Mentally, he did just that—starting with the curious, jagged line between the light spray surrounding her left nipple, to the sizable blob coating her right. He imagined how her skin would pebble if he decided to smear that dye. How her pert nipples would become strained, erect nubs. How he could pinch them until the hard red points showed through the blue stain, both colors contrasted by the dark cream of her firm breasts. Fuck, he’d never been more stricken by a creative interpretation of his country’s colors, even if it was still in his head.
Oh, say can you see…
“Perfect. You’re so goddamned perfect, Pixie.”
By the dawn’s early light…
“Thank you, Sir.”
“No. Talking. Only obeying, little girl. Now shuck those shorts for me.”
And sweet damn, she was light. Early, late, and in-between—the entire glorious spectrum of the stuff. So much of it flowing from her desire-filled gaze. Even more shimmering across the dark curls at her intimate apex. It even reached to her toes, ten flawless points that were coated in red polish. A devilish color for his divine pixie angel.
The comparison got better as she rose from pushing her shorts to the floor. Her expression blended seraphic honesty with diabolic desire. Brick vacillated between adoring her and cursing her for it. But she couldn’t be blamed for the open ogle, considering the state to which his dick was rapidly rising. What had made him think a pair of borrowed scrubs were a wise idea for this?
Because he hadn’t, in his wildest imaginings, predicted things happening like this. By this point, he was supposed to be ejected on his figurative ass and halfway back to the infirmary, enduring the world’s most knotted gut because he hadn’t apologized decently to her. In every single scenario he’d concocted, nothing came close to standing here in shameless reverence of her total nudity. They certainly didn’t include how he’d be contemplating her next nasty act. Hopefully, something fun for him too.
Goddamn, the possibilities. The choices were so beautifully boundless, but their time was so cruelly limited.
But luckily, he’d dealt with cruelty before. He also knew how to spit back at it—especially if kink was involved.