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She met his blue gaze, so like Severin’s, and yet so unlike it. The gritty core of anger that held them together was the same, but Loïc wielded charm like Severin wielded violence. If anything, from what she could see, the younger brother was more cynical and bitter. It seemed as though Loïc was more alone and maybe always had been.
“He told me,” she replied, her tone flat. “You know what our relationship is. If I wanted a man who would woo me, I would have made different choices. He’s my choice.”
He snagged a carrot stick off the cutting board, bit into it then chewed thoughtfully.
“As long as you’re happy, I suppose it’s none of my business.” He slid down off the counter and came closer, until Minnow wanted to fall back a step. Leaning his elbow on the counter, he stared at her profile. She kept slicing vegetables, refusing to give him the satisfaction of looking at him. “There’s a whole Stockholm Syndrome air to this place,” he whispered. “You and Rodrigo act like he’s God, and yet at least God gave man free will.” He flicked her collar and she finally recoiled, stepping away from him. The fact that she was holding the paring knife made the whole situation feel weirder.
“I’m here, and with him, because I want to be. I love him. I have no interest in your psychoanalysis of our relationship. As for Rodrigo, their friendship goes back years. He loves your brother too.”
“Yes. I can see they’re...very close,” he said, the words full of innuendo. He winked at her and strolled from the room.
What the hell was that supposed to mean? Maybe he’d caught on they were sharing her?
Being played with by two men was one thing. Having other people know was different. Some of the slut-shaming she’d internalized over the years tried to rear its ugly head, but she pushed it away. The only thing that mattered was what she thought of herself. Besides, no one had ever made her feel important like Severin and Rodrigo did. Other people couldn’t understand that from the outside, looking in.
Besides, Loïc was an ass. What he thought wasn’t important.
*
“Miss Korsgaard, why are you wearing clothes?”
She paused, his breakfast tray steaming the air between them.
“I – was cooking when Loïc left, Mister Leduc. It didn’t even cross my mind.” She set the tray down on the table and arranged his food and coffee in front of him. As he ate, seemingly oblivious to her, she stripped off her dress and stockings, leaving her in nothing but her collar.
When she was naked, she approached him, wondering what he was planning. Sex? Punishment? Some sort of devious torment?
Fuck, now she was horny and he was probably just planning to ignore her.
“You’re such a lusty little bitch, Miss Korsgaard. You were just seen to an hour ago and I’m trying to eat my breakfast.”
Ugh. The man. She hadn’t even asked for anything.
“You don’t have to ask with words. You beg louder with your body than most women do with their mouths.”
Oh, like he’d know? Besides, he couldn’t actually tell what she wanted by the way she held herself, could he?
Not that she wanted anything. Hell, she still had come on her thighs from his last use.
Damn it, and now she was thinking about how rough he’d been, and how sore she was. Every bite of food he put into his mouth was torture for her jealous nipples.
He gestured her closer, then took a set of little silver clamps from his pocket, suspended from a thin chain. They swung, delicate looking in his big hand, twirling together and flashing in the light. Her damned nipples tightened at the mere threat of them, and she couldn’t hold back her whimper. A cruel smile curled his lips and she shuddered.
“Sweet little whore. Quit pretending you don’t want this.” He snagged the tip of one of Minnow’s pierced nipples between thumb and forefinger, twisting hard enough to make her cry out as he used it to tug her closer.
“Mister Leduc! You’re hurting me!”
His evil chuckle made her squeeze her thighs together, apprehensive arousal making her knees wobble. When he got that look in his cold blue eyes, she never knew where his sadism would lead him. Maybe he didn’t either.
He tugged and twisted at her nipples. The tiles were cold against her bare feet, even with the painful way she scrunched her toes while trying not to scream as he was a complete bastard about putting on the clamps. By the time they were on, sweat had sheened her skin. He tightened the clamps past the point of pleasure/pain, to where everything was painted white hot and she couldn’t hear past the ringing in her ears.
When she could see again, he snapped on her leash and looped the handle around his wrist. He gestured for her to kneel on the floor. The tile was unforgiving beneath her knees, and she willed its coolness to travel up through her body to ease the lick of flame in her nipples.
One of the dogs turned his gaze to her for a millisecond before rejoining his brothers in guarding the floor from possible stray toast crumbs – or, in some dream world, a strip of bacon. It hadn’t taken long for the pups to be trained to leave her alone with a simple hand command, which was a damn good thing considering how often her master kept her naked.
Master ate, feeding her bits from his plate, making her lick the butter from his thumb. Her submission became laser focused, acutely aware of every nuance of his expression, every visible shift of muscle under his clothes. She fetched him more coffee, a glass of juice. He thanked her with the stroke of a fingertip along her jaw, a kiss on the forehead.
Distantly she was aware of the ache in her breasts, in her knees, but it was nothing compared to the joy of being allowed to serve him. Deep, almost painful love buzzed through her body. Tears pricked her eyes. He had no idea how much he meant to her – he couldn’t possibly know. Her sun rose and set on this man, on his every whim, on his every look and gesture.
