Page 204 of Hunger


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“Don’t make me repeat myself, Indie.”

“What the hell does that have to do with poetry?”

“I want you to read your poem to me while riding my cock. And I prefer that to happen with your pert little ass bright pink after a very thorough whipping.”

“What am I, a fucking horse?”

“No, but you’ll get used to feeling like one shortly.”

“You’re out of your mind, Grey. How many weird alphahole kinks do you have anyway?”

He gets to his feet, pulling me up onto mine. “When it comes to you? Too many to count. And they’re increasing in number by the day.”

“Well, tough shit. You didn’t have to do anything degrading before your piano solo.”

“You didn’t ask,” he replies smoothly.

“Well, I wouldn’t have anyway!”

“Nor would I have obliged. I’m your Dom, Indigo. You’re my submissive. I get to enjoy the degrading.”

“Like hell you are!”

It’s really hard to keep your sassypants on when the giant in front of you is shirtless and moody as hell.

I plant a hand on my hip. “Did I sign some contract in my sleep or something? Because I have no recollection of officially signing up for that. Is this request all because we talked aboutpersonal stuff? Do you have to do something emotionally stunted to recover from opening up, because that’s predictable as hell.”

Dark amusement twists his face as he stalks towards me, making me walk slowly backwards towards that wall. “Well, I was contemplating tying you upside down from the ladder and employing your mouth for a while for my pleasure, but I’m saving that for a different day. Now take off your clothes, Indigo. That’s an order.”

“You know, some people are capable of opening up without needing to go into Dom mode right after.”

“Good for them,” he sneers. “Now, off.”

My gaze eats up the flexing grooves of muscle walking towards me. As unladylike as it is, I can’t help but ogle the hard mass of this man, unable to really comprehend how every ridge, bump and curve can look like it was sculpted, including his pronounced veins and that V that leads down to the cock hiding beneath his sweatpants.

His shoulders are so broad that I can barely wrap my hands around them, his arms dense with muscle. Light bounces off his eight-pack and chest in a way that makes my IQ drop by a few points. He may have scars on his back and around his ribs, but if anything, it only makes his beauty more savage.

“Well, you’re only half-naked,” I announce. “I’ll go half-naked too. Pick a half.”

“You’re really testing my patience again, Indigo.”

“Good,” I reply breezily. “It’s important to develop patience.”

But my sassiness comes to a screeching halt as I realize the wall is now less than three feet behind me. And despite this, he keeps going, placing his palm onto the wall behind me as my back straightens into it. I angle my head to see the riding crop hanging just next to me, meeting his ravenous glare as he leans into me, enclosing me in the space between the hard wall and his even harder body.

“Clothes off, Indigo.Now. Let’s not make your first real whipping too painful.”

The longer he eats me with his eyes, the more I’m aware of his energy vortex which is so indecently crackling that if you told me it opened up some portal to another dimension I’d believe you.

My palms hit his chest which is as firm as wood beneath the softest, thinnest layer of skin. My fingers can’t help but stray a little, brushing against the light-brown discs of his nipples, the sensation of them coupled with his brooding invasion of my personal space causing a tingle party between my leggings.

“Um, were you grown in a lab?” My fingertips press into his rigid flesh. “Because at the risk of making your ridiculously overblown ego swell even more, I see no other explanation.”

His voracious gaze twinkles. “You get five more seconds to obey my order, wildflower.”

As offensive to my inner feminist as his degrading orders are, they also feed right into my need to feel safe when submitting, to no longer feel like some damaged victim, to take pleasure in submission once again, especially when he regards me so fiercely, his body tensing in self-restraint.

“Which half?” I ask.

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