Chapter 4
Chapter
Four
Thorne
Ican't tear my eyes away from her photo. "Juno." I test the name on my tongue. I like it, even though it’s not her real name, but a nom de plume to hide her true identity.
Finding Primal Fantasies was a surprise… although I guess I shouldn’t really be surprised that even the basest of human perversions are available for purchase if you have a big enough bank balance.
And fortunately for me, I do.
Scrolling through the Primal Fantasies candidate list, I've dismissed dozens of women.
Too bland. Too eager. Too experienced. But Juno…
she's perfect. Her dark hair cascades over pale shoulders, and those wide brown eyes hold a hint of trepidation; of innocence about to be corrupted. Just like in my dreams.
"Mmm…"
My finger hovers over her profile. With one click, I could have her here. In my home. At my mercy.
Do I do it? Do I make my dreams a reality?
For a brief moment, I wonder at the kind of man that makes me. Then again, this is all above board. Nobody is being coerced. Nobody is unwilling. They’ve all agreed. All had the opportunity to add their own input into the proposal, and they all have a safe word.
Added to that, we’ve all been vetted. Myself, as well as the ladies in question.
Every contingency and protection has been afforded to both parties with nothing left to chance.
I stroke my finger over her image and imagine her trembling as she steps into my home, trying to hide her anxiety behind a brave face. Oh, how I'll enjoy stripping away that facade, layer by layer, until she's bare before me in every way.
The thrill of excitement coils in my gut. Finally, a woman who can satisfy the black hunger that's been gnawing at me, leaving me drained and unfulfilled night after night.
I press 'Select' and a message pops up: "Candidate will arrive in 24 hours."
A slow smile spreads across my face. Soon Juno will be mine. The thought causes frissons of dark delight to unravel in my blackened soul. In my mind, I can already imagine those wide eyes filling with dread as she realizes what she's truly gotten herself into, and I relish the reality.
I shut off my laptop and lean back in my chair, a predatory grin playing on my lips. There's so much to prepare. So many delicious ways I could break her.
I stand and make my way to my bedroom where I open the cupboard hidden behind a false wall in my walk-in wardrobe and peruse the contents ready for Juno’s arrival.
It’s filled with implements designed to inflict exquisite pain and pleasure.
My fingers trail over leather whips, metal clamps, silken ropes.
Which of these will I use? The possibilities are intoxicating.
As I survey my tools, I feel the familiar stirring of arousal. But I resist the urge to get myself off. No, I'll save that hunger, let it build until my little goddess arrives. Then I'll unleash it all on her willing flesh.
I spend the next few hours rigorously planning every detail of our encounter.
By the time night falls, anticipation thrums through my veins like electricity.
Sleep eludes me as visions of Juno dance through my mind.
I toss and turn, sheets tangling around my legs as I imagine all the delicious ways I'll make her scream.
When dawn breaks, I'm up and moving with renewed purpose. I have the apartment meticulously cleaned, ensuring everything is pristine. Can't have my little maid getting distracted by actual dirt, after all. I have much more interesting things in mind for her.
I select my outfit with care - a tailored charcoal grey suit that exudes power and control. As I adjust my tie in the mirror, I notice the predatory gleam in my own eyes. Good. Let her see the beast that lurks beneath the polished exterior.
The hours crawl by with agonizing slowness and I pace the floor like a caged animal, checking and rechecking my preparations. But it's not until the sun begins to set that my phone chimes with an alert. She's here.
At last.
My pulse races as I find her on the security feed, stepping hesitantly into the private elevator. She's even more breathtaking in motion - all soft curves and nervous energy. I drink in the sight of her, savoring these final moments before she belongs to me. Every part of her.
The elevator dings and I school my features into a mask of cool indifference as the doors slide open. My heartbeat quickens as Juno steps into the penthouse, her eyes widening as she takes in the opulent surroundings.
"Welcome, Juno,” I say smoothly, letting my gaze rake over her figure. Damn, she’s enticing with the slight tremor in her hands betraying her nervousness. I want to throw her down and ravish her right here on the floor.
I could, but I want to allow the anticipation to build some more.
“Hello, Sir," she replies, her voice soft but steady. She hasn’t been given my name. Despite the intimacy we’ll share, we’re kept oblivious of each other’s real identity. Unless either of us chooses to divulge.
I smile, a predator eyeing its prey. "It's a pleasure to meet you." More of a pleasure than she can comprehend, I suspect. This has been a long time coming. "Please, come in."
As she moves further into the room, I circle behind her, drinking in every detail. The way her hair falls in glossy waves down her back. The delicate curve of her neck. The slight hitch in her breath as she tracks my presence. I know I’m unnerving her. It is quite deliberate.
"Would you care for a drink?" I ask, my tone hinting at intimacy.
She hesitates, caught between obedience and trepidation, her pulse fluttering at the base of her pale throat.
For the briefest instant, her eyes flick to the door as if she’s calculating how easily she could run, how far she’d get, whether I’d bother chasing her.
But after a beat, her chin lifts and she meets my gaze, determined not to flinch.
"Yes, please." Her voice is no more than a whisper, but it’s clear, with an edge of resolve that delights me. The little show of backbone is almost as arousing as the dread.
She stands perfectly still, hands folded at her waist, not daring to move until I turn my back and stride toward the bar.
I can feel the tension coiling in her, the awareness of every moment and gesture, and I savor it like a rare vintage.
I select a bottle of red—something expensive and robust, though I’m certain she won’t know the difference.
Pouring us each a glass, I hand one to her, noting how her fingers tremble as she accepts it. How she holds it with both hands, as if it might shatter from the weight of her anxiety.
"Thank you," she murmurs, her voice delightfully hesitant. She doesn't know what to make of this. Of me.
She'll soon find out.
When she takes a careful sip, her lips leave a faint stain on the rim.
I fixate on that, the imprint of her mouth, the way the wet sheen dissolves into a smudge as I imagine those lips wrapped around something else.
How her sweet pink lipstick will be smudged over her mouth and around the base of my cock instead.
It won’t be long before I make that a reality.
I lean in close, my breath ghosting over her ear. "Drink up," I tell her. "You'll need it."
She takes another sip, larger this time. I can see her throat working as she swallows, and my fingers itch to trace that delicate column, to feel her pulse racing beneath my touch.
"Good girl," I rumble, and she shivers at the praise. "Now, shall we discuss the rules?"
Her eyes flicker slightly, but she nods. "Yes, Sir."
I circle her like a shark scenting blood in the water. "Rule number one: you do exactly as I say, when I say it. No hesitation, no questions. Understood?"
"Yes, Sir," she chokes out.
"Rule number two: your safe word is 'red.
' Obviously, I’d prefer you not to need it.
It's a matter of pride on my part not to push you harder than you can physically or emotionally endure.
But we don't know each other, and I understand you're new to this, so it’s essential you use it, if you need to.”
She swallows hard but nods again.
"And rule number three," I continue, coming to a stop directly in front of her. "You're mine now. Every inch of you belongs to me, to use as I see fit. Do you understand?”
I watch her carefully, drinking in every micro-expression that flits across her face. Fear, excitement, resignation - they all dance in her eyes as she processes my words.
"Yes, Sir," she breathes, her voice almost inaudible.
"Excellent." I reach out to stroke her cheek and although she flinches, she doesn't pull away. Good girl. "Now, let's begin."
I take her glass and set it aside, then grasp her chin firmly, tilting her face up so she can't escape my gaze. Her breath catches as I lean in close, my lips nearly brushing hers.
"Strip," I command, my voice deceptively soft. "Slowly."
For a moment I think she might baulk; I can see her reluctance. But then she huffs out a quiet breath, forming her resolve even though her hands tremble as she reaches for the buttons of her blouse.
"As you wish, Sir."
Oh yes, I do wish very much.
I step back, giving her space to undress while I stare hungrily. Each inch of pale skin revealed feeds my hunger.
When she's finally naked before me, I appraise every curve and plane of her body, slow and deliberate, letting my eyes wander over every exposed inch. I am the wolf, and she’s my prey, frozen but hyper aware of every movement I make.
The overhead light renders her skin luminous, almost ethereal, but there’s nothing angelic about the way I want to press her to the glass wall overlooking the city and make her beg for mercy.
"Gorgeous."
Even more beautiful than I imagined. Every part draws my eye, inviting my misuse.
My eyes dip to her full breasts, the pale pink tips already tightening either from the chill or suspense.
I don’t really care which. Then, dragging my eyes away from the lush mounds, I move my gaze downward, mapping the slope of her waist and the swell of her hips.
She stands tall, but her hands curl anxiously at her sides. I can see her struggling not to shield her body; to keep from crossing her arms over her breasts or folding in on herself. If she loses that battle, she’ll feel the sting of my displeasure.
I almost hope she does.
Her breath comes quick and shallow, and a faint flush is rising on her collarbone, spreading up the delicate line of her neck. I smirk, pleased my mere presence is enough to turn her skin to fire.
I pause behind her, so close I can smell the sweet, nervous sweat pricking her skin.
I could reach out and fondle her; I suspect just a brush of my fingers would send her reeling, but I want to see how long she lasts before she cracks.
I want to taste the anticipation in the air, to watch it shatter her.
I study the arch of her back, the dimples above her ass and the tension in her slender thighs.
My little Juno will mark beautifully, and I can’t wait to see her wearing my welts and lashes. She’s trembling, ever so slightly, and the sight makes my blood sing.
"Perfection."
I move to her side, drinking in the way the shadows pool over her form, highlighting every vulnerability. The softness of her belly, the delicate indent of her navel, the faint scar along her hip. She is not some faultless statue or immaculate dream. She’s real, flawed, and breathtakingly alive.
And she is mine.
When I complete my circuit, standing before her once more, her eyes flick up to meet mine.
For a second, she looks defiant, but I know it’s a front.
An anxious, desperate attempt at dignity which makes my cock ache with hunger.
I tilt my head, inviting her to hold my stare, and as soon as she does, the bravado collapses.
She quivers, a shudder running up her spine, and I see goosebumps ripple across her skin like tiny admissions of helplessness.
Absolutely delicious.
"Beautiful," I murmur, trailing my fingers down her back. "But I think you can be even more beautiful. On your knees."
She hesitates for just a moment before sinking down, her eyes fixed on the floor. There’s no grace to the movement, but I like that. Her awkwardness just makes this more real.
Drinking in every nuance of her submission, I tangle my fingers in her hair, gripping tightly as I force her to look up at me.
"Good girl," I purr, relishing the mix of dismay and the tiniest spark of want in her eyes. "Now, let's see how well you can serve me."
I unzip my pants, freeing my cock, which has been hard since I woke up this morning, and is now aching from anticipation. Her eyes display her unease as she looks, her throat working as she swallows. I trace the head along her lips, smearing pre-cum across them.
"Open," I command, and she obeys, her mouth parting like the good girl she wants to be. I thrust forward, burying myself in the wet heat. She gags, unprepared, but I hold her head steady.
"Relax your throat," I instruct, a dangerous edge to my voice. "Take all of me."
She struggles to accommodate me, tears forming at the corners of her eyes. Seeing her like this only fuels my arousal. I begin to move, thrusting deeper into her mouth with each stroke. Her gagging intensifies, but I don't relent. I want her to feel used, to understand her place.
"That's it," I grunt, tightening my grip on her hair. "Take it all like a good little slut."
Tears are streaming down her face now, her black mascara running in dark rivulets down her smooth cheeks. The sight spawns a thrill of morbid excitement. This is what I've been craving - the power to break someone, to push them past their limits.
And this little sweetheart is so untried, it’s easy to push her to places she’s never been. Hell, I’m pretty sure no man has fucked her face before, and I am more than happy to debauch her, and instruct her on how to handle each and every depraved thing I plan to do to her.
It makes her even more perfect than I ever could have dreamed.