The way he shakes his head, rotating his jaw, is a warning.
“You want to play it like that?” A dangerous roughness enters his voice. “Be very sure you know what you’re asking for.”
“I don’t ask for things I don’t want. I read the contract. I’ve done my research.”
He spreads his thighs and points at the floor between them. “Prove it.”
Any other woman might hesitate at the idea of approaching him like this. He may as well be Lucifer reclining on the throne of Hell. But now I have something to prove, and I refuse to let his proud aura scare me off. I smooth my skirt as I cover the three paces separating us on trembling legs.
“On your knees, brat.”
The urge to taunt him rises, so I hold his gaze as I lower myself to the floor, summoning a cushion to protect my knees. The small smirk says he knows what I’m doing, but he doesn’t mention it.
“Safe word?” he demands.
I’ve read enough smut to know the traffic light system, which lends me confidence as I say, “Red.”
“Yellow to slow down?” he checks, reaching forward to grip my braid, wrapping it around his palm and using it to pull me closer, off balance.
“Yes.”
“Yes, Sir,” he corrects.
“I don’t think you’ve earned that yet,” I taunt.
This is kind of fun. The way he tugs my braid a little tighter makes my nipples harden and my breath hitch. He leans in, crowding me with his body, and I’m suddenly very aware of how small this position makes me feel.
His other hand cups my chin, thumb rubbing lightly against my lower lip, which seems twice as sensitive as it was seconds ago. The slightly burnt scent of destruction magicclings to his skin, mixed with the dark earthy aftershave he wears, and I breathe it in.
“Are you sure you don’t want to rethink that answer?” he warns, caressing my mouth again. “I’m not like Lambert. If you keep talking shit, I’ll fuck your face until you remember how to use your words nicely.” His thumb slips between my lips, bringing with it a taste of him. “And you won’t come either. I only give orgasms to sweet little subs. Not cocky brats.”
A tiny part of me wonders if I should just suck on that digit. Give in to what he wants. I probably should if I want to prove that we’re more compatible than he thinks. The problem is I’m enjoying myself too much. His words aren’t having the intended effect. My breathing is rapid, shallow, and my breasts ache with each press against the stiffened fabric of my corset.
I nip his thumb. Not hard. Just enough to poke the devil a little more.
“Aww, that’s cute.” He withdraws that hand, leaving the one in my hair in place. “Keep proving my point like that.”
He yanks the fly of his jeans, then shoves down the fabric of his boxers, freeing his impressive length. There’s an upward curve to him that I long to trace with my tongue, the head fat and purple.
“Stick your tongue out and take off your shirt,” he orders, tugging my braid until I’m off balance.
My hands land on his thighs, putting me eye level with his cock. Thankfully, I have centuries of practice with manipulation magic, so I don’t need my fingers to undo the buttons of my blouse. His eyebrows rise as the cream fabric drops to my elbows of its own accord, exposing the matching corset beneath. If there’s a moment’s hesitation before I stick my tongue out, he doesn’t comment, and the satisfaction that flares from him when I do issearing.
Yes, I love the utter adoration in Lambert’s gaze as he follows my every command.
Yes, I could put North on his ass in a heartbeat if I wanted.
But watching the flare of triumph in his expression as he taps the bead of precum at the head of his dick against my tongue, spreading the salty taste of him everywhere, is somehow equally thrilling. Humiliating, yes, but the sharp twist of arousal in my gut reassures me that I like it.
He slides his cock against my tongue, rolling his hips forward and then back again in a mockery of his earlier words. Magic help me, I’m dropping my jaw farther, opening wider, inviting what he promised. Is my tongue supposed to be so sensitive? I’m almost certain there are no nerves connecting it to my nipples, and yet…with every stroke, they seem to tighten a little more.
“Last chance,” he murmurs. “If you can beg me nicely like a good little slut, I might even return the favour.”
I never, ever thought that I’d be happy to have someone speak to me like that, but it sends a tiny thrill shooting down my spine.
“If you’re so convinced that I can’t do it, why even bother asking?”
His disappointed faux sigh rolls through me like thunder.
