Chapter 27 #2
The second page catches me completely off guard.
Almost everything he’s ticked is the total opposite of Lambert’s choices.
Heat rushes beneath my skin, and I glance at his back, watching as he casts a flawless arc of fire towards the stained-glass ceiling. It’s powerful magic, the flames nearly white with the force he puts into the blow.
Northcliff Ackland is many things—most of them proud and stubborn—but beneath it all, he’s a very powerful arcanist.
Note to self: reinforce the Solarium in the morning. If that kind of fire gets unleashed near my plants or books…
Cutting off the chill of anxiety that follows that thought, I return to the contract.
While Lambert’s choices were playfully annotated, North’s are painfully black and white. No embellishments.
“Do you see the problem yet?” he asks, dropping into the seat opposite me, his posture still tense.
I shuffle the papers to buy myself time to think, scanning his answers again, even though I’ve read them a dozen times in the half an hour since he started practising.
“No. I don’t. Unless…you’re not really willing?”
That’s the only reason I can come up with. On paper, we’re perfectly compatible. We ticked a lot of the same boxes, but that means nothing if he doesn’t actually want me.
“There’s no pressure to sign this now. You can think about it some more if you’re unsure.”
He huffs, pinning me in place with his disbelieving yellow glare. “Trust me, I’ve been thinking about this since Lambert first suggested it before Christmas. You’re gorgeous, kind, and smart as hell.”
My jaw drops a little at not one, but three compliments in a row from Northcliff Ackland.
“But you don’t have a submissive bone in your body. If I told you to strip, kneel on the floor, and beg me to fuck my pretty slut, you’d shove a book up my ass and kick me the fuck out of here.”
I don’t think he knows me as well as he thinks he does, because every cell in my body just perked up with interest.
“I ticked those boxes.”
“You’re curious,” he concedes. “I get it. But you’re not a sweet little submissive. Even if you were, you don’t trust any of us enough to give over that kind of control.”
A flicker of indecision sparks in my gut. Is he right? Have I become so set in my independence that I’m incapable of half of the fantasies from my books?
No. I refuse to believe it. Don’t get me wrong, if it were anyone but him or one of the others asking me to do those things, I’d definitely retaliate. But it is them… I trust them.
I want to let go. I crave a few hours a day where I’m not expected to always be in control. I’ve done enough research to know I can be both. Switches exist. Even in vanilla relationships, dominance and submission are fluid concepts.
Indignation replaces the confusion as I jerk up from my seat. “Look, if you’re not Dom enough to handle me, just say that.”
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 magic clings 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 is searing.
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.
“Well, I tried. Tap my leg three times when you can’t handle it.” At my look, he frowns, a flash of seriousness searing through his expression. “Promise me, Ice Queen. I don’t fuck around with safe words.”
“I promise.” I cut off the automatic ‘Sir’ that tries to follow.
He notices. Without warning, his cock plunges forward, silencing the taunt I had planned. He hits the back of my throat, triggering my gag reflex, but then he’s gone again, using his hips to fuck in and out of my parted lips. It’s hard, fast, and brutal, and obscene noises erupt from me.
That uncompromising grip in my hair holds my head in place as he uses my mouth like he has every right to do so. Owns me. My fingers curl against his thighs, clawing into him for balance as saliva fills my mouth.
I’m getting lightheaded, stealing breaths through my nose as he forces himself a little deeper, pushing past muscles that desperately want to keep him out with a groan and a breathy, “Fuuuuck.”
And far from hating it, like I should, I’m soaked. The stupid primal part of my brain can’t help but wonder what these feral digs would feel like if he were fucking my pussy with the same brutal urgency. I want that. More than I should.
Wetness trickles down my chin, and I swallow in a fruitless attempt to stop it. The only thing I achieve is another uttered “fuck” from North that travels straight to my clit.
I’m on fire. One hand creeps down towards my skirt, intent on shoving it out of the way and easing the swollen ache.
North thrusts deeper, harder. “No. You don’t touch yourself. You want to play at being a sub? That means I own that juicy fucking cunt. You come when I say you can.” His words are harsh, punctuated by heavy breaths as his rhythm stutters. “And you chose to be a brat.”
He yanks free, leaving me to gasp for air as he grips the base of his dick and pumps once, then twice.
Ropes of white spurt, and he directs them straight at my exposed, heaving breasts. Droplets of warmth land across my collarbones, reaching as high as my throat.
North pants as he looks down, gold eyes darkening as they trace the marks he’s left on me and my bruised, swollen lips.
“Thank me,” he prompts.
“Thank you, Sir.” I squirm in place as my dejected clit throbs, then without thought for my stolen dignity, I add on a whimper, “Please, can I come?”
His smirk widens. “Spread your legs. Show me how much you want it.”