I nod enthusiastically, so he takes another out of the bowl and crushes it between two fingers. I watch red juice drip from his fingers, my abdomen tensing as the cold liquid spills over my hypersensitive skin. "Where do you think of these things?” I whisper, but he doesn’t reply, probably wanting me to shut up.
"Please can I do this to you too?" I ask, quietly. Now I think about it, I don't think I've ever wanted anything more.
"Anytime you like, love," he says, painting my body in strawberry juice, my core tensing and relaxing as he forges rivers of red across my skin like the god that he is. I'm aching for him to touch me now, but as usual, he's in no rush. "Rexxan,please."
"I thought you don’t like it when I ask you to beg."
That’s true. I hate it, so why am I begging? "Fuck you."
"In good time."
"Rexxan!" I shout, my limbs constrained. He feeds me another strawberry. I'm so wound up, every nerve beneath my skin raw and exposed. He tugs his shirt over his head, gazing at me through dark lashes. "You remember you can ask me to stop?"
I nod, arching my back as he puts a little clamp on my unpierced nipple. Pain and pleasure spread from the area like ripples in a pond. "Fuck!" I shout, knowing no one will hear. He lowers himself down to my level, tracing a red line of juice on my stomach with his expert tongue. He pulls away, his eyes glittering with mirth.
"Do you know how many times I asked you to unchain me the other day?"
"Nope. Two million? Probably more?" I suggest, my voice sounding unfamiliar to me, fingernails clawing at the edge of the table. His tongue carves hot lines into my sensitised skin. He is overwhelming. He is everything. My love for this man outweighs my hate for him, but right now I want to choke him.
"Six. Six times," he murmurs, his lips travelling across my abdomen, the stubble across his jawline scratching my skin. "So you'll come once for each time you denied me."
"No," I whisper, closing my eyes. "I couldn’t."
"You know you can ask to stop, Rennalya. Do you want to stop?"
"No!" I pull on the restraints, wriggling, writhing, wanting, but his delicious torture continues.
"So what do you think, angel—two on my fingers, two on my face, two on my cock?"
Holyfuck.
"Rexxan!" I shout, as his tongue traces my breast, following the red lines with pinpoint accuracy. "I hate you."
"So you tell me, often," he whispers, his gravelly voice reverberating in my bones. "But Rennalya, I just. Don't. Believe. You." Slowly, he pushes a long, thick finger inside me and I shout out his name, unable to move. "This was made for me," he says, his speech soft. "Made. For. Me. If anyone else touches you, they're dead."
"None of me was made for you," I reply, trying and failing to grind my hips on his hand.
"Agree to disagree," he states, fucking me with his fingers until I am shaking on the table. "One," he says, his voice penetrating the fog in my mind as I come around his fingers, unable to move to absorb the feeling. Ecstasy winds her sweet fingers around my muscles, tightening them in a mind-shattering climax. "Rexxan!"
"Frustrating, isn't it," he asks me, looking every bit the ruthless King he is known to be. I don’t bother begging for mercy, not from someone who hasn't got an ounce of it in his body.
I don't know how long I spend on that table, but it feels like hours. Hours of his giant frame on mine, casting spells on me and winding himself deeper into my brain until I lose track of the boundaries between his body and my own. The light from the lanterns dances across his scarred muscles, flexing as he leans down to kiss my forehead.
Sweat trickles down my skin as I half shout, half sob his name. "Five," he says, calmly, but the muscles in his neck and shoulders are tensed with loosely-contained need. "One more, huntress. You're doing so well."
"I hate you," I whisper, as he slows his pace right down to give me a moment.
He brushes away a stray tear with his thumb. "Do you need to stop?"
"No," I whisper, my legs shaking violently. He will never have my surrender, and I don’t even want this to end.
He kisses me gently, his forearms on either side of my head as he fucks me on the table. "I can't," I whisper, every ounce of energy sapped out of me. This is my punishment, a cruel but irresistible damnation that is breaking me and fixing me all at once. He surrendered all power to me when I chained him up and this is me returning the favour.
This is healthy for us, in its own complicated way.
He slams into me a little harder, hitting the sweet spot deep inside me that makes my back arch, each of my limbs tugging on the ropes. My senses are flooded. The sight of him above me, his broad shoulders flexing. The smell of him; wine, leather, and wood. The feel of him inside me, the cold marble on my skin, the soft velvet on my wrists. The sound of his ragged breaths, and filthy sentences uttered against my skin that accompany the taste of his mouth on mine. It all combines into an intoxicating cocktail that has me drunken and destroyed on the table beneath him.
"My favourite place is buried all the way inside you, sweetheart," he says, his voice low.
