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"I have so many plans for you, little bunny.” His voice dropped to a husky purr. "Plans that will push your limits, make you beg and plead, make you stronger. I intend to thoroughly break you...then put you back together again as my perfect little fucktoy."
My heart stuttered at that last word. His intentions should’ve repulsed me, but instead, I felt another rush of heat between my legs.
For all I knew, ‘fucktoy’ was his code word for ‘warrior destined to kill the Red Queen’s Jabberwocky and save Wonderland.’ Since there were guests and staff around us, it made sense why he’d talk to me in code.
Ransom leaned down closer to me, brushing his lips over the shell of my ear, whispering so only I could hear him. "You can try to deny it, but I see the truth in your eyes, Alice. You crave submission...a firm hand to guide you. To hold you accountable. To teach you discipline.”
He gave a gentle tap on the ball gag, making it disappear in another glittering cloud of dust before massaging my jaw. I wiped the drool from my chin onto my shoulder and glared up at him.
“I haveplentyof discipline!” I hissed under my breath so his bodyguard bunnies couldn’t hear. “And why the fuck did you gag me? It’s not like I would’ve told anyone who I was!”
A wicked grin curved his lips as the ball gag reappeared in his hands.
“You can either address me with the respect I deserve, or I can make it so you don’t speak at all. What’s it going to be, my pet?”
I squeezed my eyes shut, not wanting to give him the words he demanded.
But he was in a mood.
And Ireallyneeded to come.
I decided to humor him. At least until I got what I needed.
“I’m sorry...my king,” I quickly answered, still getting used to not having the ball in my mouth. The gag in Ransom’s hand promptly disappeared and was replaced by a gold silk handkerchief.
“There you go. You did well just now,” he hummed in approval as he wiped the drool off my face. “To answer your question, I used the gag because my bunnies can be very naughty. I don’t trust them alone with you."
“Why not? What would they do to me?”
His eyes lit up while he let out a soft laugh.
“Whatwouldn’tthey do to you?”
He stroked a finger down my cheek, then my neck, coaxing another traitorous ache of desire from my body.
“Why did you say I have no discipline...my king?”
“Because you don’t,” he replied with a shrug. “Not much, anyway.”
I frowned at him.
“I have enough discipline to go to spin class and Pilates three times a week,” I informed him. “And I almost never eat junk food.”
“You have a personal trainer and a private chef,” he pointed out. “If you were truly disciplined, you wouldn’t need someone else to make those choices for you. You’d make them on your own.”
“I made the decision to hire them,” I snapped, quickly adding, “my king.”
“You hired them to hold you accountable as a way to avoid holding yourself accountable for your actions.”
I faltered for a response. I’d never thought about it that way before.
Had I ever held myself accountable for anything?
When I used to party before an event and puked on the red carpet, I blamed the bartenders for over serving me. When my shoe business imploded for all the world to see, I blamed my venture capitalist boyfriend Remy, but maybe I should’ve looked into the details first. Maybe I should’ve done some research before blindly signing papers and throwing money at him.
The longer I thought about it, the more I realized I’d spent more time planning my outfit for the last Met Gala than I did planning my business empire.
Maybe Iwasn’tvery disciplined. All I knew was how to outsource it.
