Jethro #2
I fell to my knees, positioning myself behind her. Grasping her hips, I dragged her against my front. My jaw locked as my erection dug into her firm arse.
She cried out, trying to squirm away—not that it did any good.
I hissed between my teeth at the delicious friction she caused.
“You’re mine. You ran and failed. I’ll have the papers drawn up to ensure you know your place, and we can put this idiocy of you not believing this is your future behind us.”
She gasped as I rocked into her, pressing punishingly hard.
Fuck, who was I kidding? She owned me. Her laughable rage, her stupid sense of fairness. Somehow, she’d ensorcelled me.
Fuck.
Forcing my terrifying thoughts away, I said, “I’ve made you come. I gave you a gift, which you took wholeheartedly. It’s your turn to do the same for me.”
The whip grew slippery in my grip as I pulled back. “You have three questions, and I have a point to make. You ask, and I’ll make it. We both get what we want. Then, when it’s all over, we’ll go home and start our lives together.”
“Until you kill me.”
I sighed. Really? She was so repetitive. “Yes, until I kill you. Now, ask your first question.”
She smashed her lips together, thoughts skittering over her face. Fine, if she needed prompting, I would oblige.
The whip was firm—plaited black leather and two supple ends made for shocking with noise rather than pain. Wings was so obedient, he didn’t need it most of the time. It was fitting to use the equipment on something else that needed breaking in.
I stroked her lower back, ignoring her whimper. “You’re green and unbroken, Ms. Weaver. Don’t think I won’t tame you before this game is through.”
I struck.
The sound of the two leather ends snapping together ricocheted through the woods.
She cried out, rolling her hips.
“Question, Ms. Weaver. I’ll keep striking until you ask.”
To prove my point, I hit her again. “That’s for your smart mouth undermining my control in front of my father and brothers.”
Her skin pinked as I struck again. “That’s for riding my hand like I’d given you everything you ever dreamed of, then looking at me as if I was a piece of shit.”
“How long? How long will you keep me alive?” she screamed, staying my hand.
I paused. In all honesty, I didn’t know. Her mother had been my father’s charge for over two years. She’d known her place enough to permit a brief visit to her old family to sever ties once and for all.
I doubted Nila would ever be so well trained, but I didn’t want to rush what we had. After all, once we reached the final debt, it would be over.
And that...didn’t sit well in my gut.
“It depends,” I murmured, stroking her burning skin.
I waited to see if she’d ask another question, but she remained silent. Pliant and listening. Her quietness soothed my nerves, and I allowed myself to give her a little of what she needed.
You’re doing that far too often.
I shot the voice in my head.
“Years, Ms. Weaver. We have years ahead of us.”
Her head sagged, lolling forward. Quietly, another question came. “And the debts? How bad are they? What do I need to prepare for?”
“Ah, ah, ah, I said you could have three questions in total. That was three in one breath. Pick one or forfeit anymore.”
Nila sighed, a small hiccup jolted her frame. “How bad are they?”
I struck her. Short and fast. The noise was worse that the bite. I knew. I’d been on the receiving end myself.
“They start easy. Simple really.”
She sucked in a breath, already knowing what I would add.
“Then they get worse.”
I struck her again, loving the bloom of red and the way every muscle in her sinewy body twitched. Throwing the whip to the ground, I murmured, “One more. Don’t be shy.”
Her breath was ragged. “Will—will you ever be nice to me?”
The question hung between us, so at odds to the scene of her on her hands and knees and me positioned behind her. It wrapped around us with sadness, digging the newly placed dagger deeper into my heart.
“I am nice. Once you get to know me.”
Her small laugh surprised both of us. “You’re a lot of things, but nice is not one of them.”
Anger boiled in my stomach. “You pissed me off before I had the opportunity to be nice. Didn’t I say you deserved to be rewarded after this afternoon?
I have many things to lavish you with, Ms. Weaver.
You only have to give in. Grant me the power.
Give up and stop fighting me.” I stroked her spine, gritting my teeth against the ripple of pre-cum shooting up my cock.
Goddammit, she was too delicious. Too strong. Too much.
She’s a Weaver.
I shook my head, dispelling everything until only silence remained.
“You must know I can’t do that. I’ve given up power to men all my life.
I stupidly let my father control me, believing he knew what was best for me.
And you know what that got me? A one-way ticket to hell to play with a devil I never knew existed.
” She looked over her shoulder, making eye contact.
“Why should I give you that courtesy? Why should I let you rule the remaining shortness of my sad, little life?”
For once, I was speechless.
Nila murmured, “You can’t reply, because you know this is wrong. On some level, you know the only right thing to do is to let me go and forget about this madness, but you won’t. Just like I won’t give you the power you seek. Just like I will never stop fighting you.”
She suddenly shot forward, breaking my hold on her hips.
My heart raced at the thought of her running again, but she turned to face me, kneeling upright so we were eye-to-eye. The muscles in her stomach shadowed in the rapidly gathering darkness, her white skin glowing with interspersed cuts and bruises.
“You said I owe you. I agree. You gave me something in that dining room. As much as you think you were only helping save my mental state, you showed me more than you probably wanted. I see you, Jethro Hawk. I see what you’re trying to hide, so don’t delude yourself into thinking I buy your hypocritical bullshit. ”
Crawling forward, her tiny hands landed on my belt, releasing the button and zipper in one short second. It was my turn to blink in shock.
She’s a seamstress, idiot.
She dealt with buttons and zippers every day—they were her forte. Dealing with what lived behind them however was entirely another.
I hated, positively hated, that she’d stolen my power again. She’d drugged me with her witch potion, making me think only with my dick.
Fisting her hair, I growled, “You’re on thin ground, Ms. Weaver.”
Her temper exploded like a firework. She snarled, “Wrong. I’m on Hawk ground, and I’m still standing. You want me to pay you back? Fine. Tell me what to do, then feed me and take me back to your vile home. I’m ready for this day to end.”
My mind went numb as her hand disappeared into my jeans, cupping me boldly.
“Or better yet, take what I damn well give you.”