Chapter 44 Sloane #3
“Oh, dear,” he breathes. “I thought I told you not to move. Looks like you’re gonna get punished now.
” He grips the clamp in his hand and heat explodes between my legs as I try to move away from him.
I freeze, understanding all too well now.
If I move, the clamp gets tugged. With one arm, Zeth scoops me up from the bed and turns to sit, pulling me into his lap.
I instinctively wrap my arms around his neck to maintain my balance.
His face is an inch away from mine, the heat of his skin burning into me, the hardness of his erection prodding me between my legs.
He’s deadly serious when he asks, “You want the belt or my hand?”
“What?”
He gives me a look that tells me not to bother with any theatrics.
“The belt or my hand, Sloane? Your choice.” He reaches between my legs, fingers finding the place where the metal meets my clit.
He rubs softly, massaging the connection, gifting me with more pleasure than pain this time.
He smirks wickedly when he lifts his fingers up for me to see that they’re slick with the evidence that I’m not hating this as much as I’m pretending to.
Not for the first time, he slips his fingers into his mouth and sucks them clean, his breathing fast and labored.
“Make up your mind or I’ll choose for you. ” God, his voice is so rough.
“Hand,” I whisper. “Use your hand.” Maybe if he punishes me with that, he’ll go a little easier on me.
It will hurt him, too. In the blink of an eye, he spins me over on his lap so I’m facing the floor, bent over his knees, my butt sticking up in the air.
His hand cups my flesh, squeezing and stroking my ass cheek.
“Perfect,” he observes under his breath.
Taking a hold of the clamp’s handles between my legs, he gives it a gentle tug—a small reminder of the power he holds.
Fire pools in my belly, teasing a low moan out of my throat.
It feels… it feels amazing. And scary. And painful.
And so many other things all at once that I can’t bend my mind around all of the things that I’m fee…
CRACK!
My mind goes blank.
A shock wave of pain and surprise rocks me to my core. Zeth brings his hand down on my bare buttocks again, and I see stars. I’ve always thought that was just a turn of phrase, but no. White, glowing spots dance across my vision as I try to comprehend what he’s just done.
The third time Zeth lays his huge hand to my tender skin, he really means it.
Yes, it must hurt his hand, too, but that doesn’t stop him.
He gives me two more painful slaps, each time holding his breath.
I do not move. Do not react. He tempers the tingling sting by sliding his fingers between my legs and stroking them over my clit, easing them farther back, so that my wetness saturates my asshole as well.
He kneads my tender ass cheeks, then, whispers encouragement.
“There’s my brave girl. So brave. Are you going to be good now? Have you learned your lesson?”
The whole thing is humiliating. I’m on the brink of tears, but also so desperate for him that I can’t stop myself from turning around and launching at him. I make a rasping sound at the back of my throat as Zeth lifts me in his arms and places me back down on the bed.
“That was five,” he says, like the pain may have addled my ability to count. “Next time it’ll be ten. You ready?”
He expects a response. I nod, just once, and Zeth strokes a hand down the inside of my leg in a soothing, apologetic motion.
“Good girl.” He bends down and nestles in between my legs, propping himself up on one elbow as he ducks and finally sweeps his hot tongue between my pussy lips, pausing to tease the tip of it over my hypersensitive clit.
Pleasure rolls up my legs, settling on my chest, making my nipples ache.
“Ahh!”
Zeth hums his approval into me as he carries on, working his tongue over my center.
He gently flicks the clamp again, but this time the sensation has changed.
It doesn’t hurt now. Or it does, but when combined with the ecstasy of his mouth, the pain becomes intoxicating.
It heightens everything until I am drunk on it.
I let go of the bedsheets, but I don’t try to stop him; I dig my fingers into the back of his neck and urge him closer. Zeth responds in kind by nipping at my clit with his teeth. “Fair turnaround,” he growls, and then sets to work.
My back arches up off the bed, mouth falling open at the intensity of the feeling.
Am I responding to the stab of pain, or the tsunami of pleasure?
They feel like the same thing right now.
But when Zeth slides his fingers into my pussy, pumping them slowly in and out, the answer to my quandary becomes clear.
This is what true pleasure feels like. It isn’t just the softness of a kiss.
It isn’t just the delicate touch of hands on breasts and tongues on skin.
It’s the bite of pain. The threat of danger.
The risk taken in dancing with the devil.
I come hard against Zeth’s mouth. He leans into it, growling and sucking and licking as I scream, his hands locked around my hips, pulling me into his face.
“Fuck, Zeth! Stop! Please stop!”
His back hitches as he laughs, still teasing me with his tongue. My legs scrabble against the bed, desperately trying to escape the intense post-orgasm rushes. He gets up after that, raising one eyebrow at me.
“I’m gonna take the clamp off and then I’m gonna fuck you. Are you going to be polite?”
Polite? I’m half fucking dead. I lie in a boneless heap as he undoes the clamp and plants a single kiss between my legs. “And, yes,” he tells me. “Your lips are only allowed on my dick. But mine are allowed on these lips, at least.”
My body feels like a lead weight as he sits back a moment to inspect my languid state.
He seems pretty pleased with himself. With his cock in his hand again, he shifts up the bed and gently brushes himself against my lips.
I can’t help it—I want to taste him. To feel him fill me in every way possible, even in my mouth.
I let my tongue play over the firm hardness of his head, groaning quietly at the clean taste of him. He doesn’t touch me.
We’re back to where we started, except this time I don’t bite. I lick and suck and stroke, and just when I feel him about to come, I stop.
“That’s not polite,” Zeth breathlessly informs me.
I give him a half smile. “I thought you said you were gonna fuck me?” I lay down the challenge this time: Make me come again. Make me scream.
Zeth’s full lips curve upward. “You asked for it.” He shoves my legs apart, growling in that raw, animal way he did when he took me back in Seattle, and then thrusts inside me.
Again, again, again, he slams himself home, as though being hip-deep inside me isn’t enough.
I gouge my fingernails into his ass cheeks as he thrusts, pulling him closer, needing more of him. Harder. Deeper.
We come together. His body locks up, muscles straining, eyes on fire, hands pinning me down as he slams into me one final time. “FUUUUCCCKK!” he roars, as though this is his dying word and the whole world needs to hear it, and then falls slack, his head resting on my chest.
For a few moments, we lie there, panting, trying to catch our breath.
So strange. With him on top of me, my arms still around his body, it’s almost as if I’m cradling him.
My skin breaks out in goose bumps when I realize the slow up and down draw of Zeth’s index finger over my hip bone isn’t by accident.
He strokes my skin, soft as a whisper, holding his breath, and my heart starts pounding all over again.
What the hell is this?
Hesitantly, I raise a hand and gently trace my fingertips across the nape of his neck.
He doesn’t move. He doesn’t make a sound.
He doesn’t even breathe. His hand goes still, but I carry on, seeing how far this can go.
I venture upward, teasing my fingers through his cropped hair and then down again, tracing the lines of his muscular back, across his shoulder blades.
His hot breath skims across my breasts. “You’re confusing me.
” He whispers so softly that I wonder for a second if I imagined it.
I doubt very much that I was supposed to hear those words.
What was it he said to me the day he dropped Lacey off ?
You can trust me. You gave yourself to me back at my apartment.
I gave myself in return. I may not have wanted to, Sloane, but I didn’t have a fucking choice in the matter.
That means we belong to each other now. I’ve tried endlessly not to overthink those words, but now…
Is he just as confused by us as I am?
This is supposed to be just sex. Really hardcore, dominating sex. Right? That’s all I am to him. And yet, with him lying here on my chest, it—
THUD, THUD, THUD, THUD!
Explosive hammering nearly takes the bedroom door off its hinges, and Zeth vaults off the bed. He runs his hands through his hair, clearing his throat, and the moment vanishes in the blink of an eye. He doesn’t look at me.
“What?” he yells, pacing leonine and incredible, scrubbing his hands over his face and head as if frantically trying to wake himself up.
“Jacob wants you out front,” a male voice says through the wood. “Now.”
“Yeah.” Zeth paces a moment longer and then nods, finally looking at me. “Well, then. I guess it’s time to go convince the Black Talons’ boss that you’re my fuck of the month.”
And there we have it. He’s not confused at all. He’s never lied to me. Never fed me a flowery line about how he’s going to take care of me and treat me right. That I’m going to be his only girl, or that he feels any kind of affection for me.
Zeth Mayfair doesn’t see me as someone to fall in love with. I’m his fuck of the month, and he needs everyone else at this godforsaken compound to see me that way, too.
Well, you know what, buddy? You want to minimize me? Want me to act like I’m only in this for the sex?
So fucking be it.