Chapter 7 #2
I’m betting all three.
It’s exactly how a brat should be feeling after that outburst.
“Spread your legs, Princess. I need to examine the effects of my work.”
Her jaw clamps shut so hard her teeth make that godsawful grinding sound.
She glares at me with the kind of fury that makes my pussy clench but dutifully spreads her legs just wide enough I can see the glisten of wet pooling at her core.
She tips her chin at me, defiant. Pissy.
Annoyed that she liked it. Desperate for more.
I let out a satisfied sigh. “I knew you just needed to be treated right, and you’d toe the line.”
“The only line I’ll be toeing is the blade drawing across your neck as Mother executes you for touching me.”
I rub my hand over her arse cheek, soothing the sting. “The more you fight, the more I’ll enjoy it.”
I let my hand glide over her skin and between her thighs. Her breathing increases, blood flowing into her cunt, her cheeks. All of it making the air smell like that heady concoction of clean wind, sweet budding flowers and the piney heart of a forest.
She’s panting, her hips grinding into my legs, desperate. My fingers reach her pussy and stop.
“Dahlia…” she whines.
“Such a juxtaposition, aren’t you?”
She frowns.
“Cussing me out with that filthy mouth of yours, and yet, your pussy is telling a very different story. You’re begging for it.”
“Fuck you,” she spits. And yet, she doesn’t pull away, but instead shuffles her arse closer, giving me better access.
I slide a single finger from her clit to her soaking entrance. She gasps, then it dissolves into a moan.
“The word you’re looking for is, Sir. Fuck you, Sir.”
I pull away.
Her eyes flash.
I relinquish her, shoving her off my thighs so she drops unceremoniously to the floor with a thunk. Her fists ball.
I stand up, examine the finger I touched her with. She stays sitting but follows my movement, watching, waiting.
If I had more self-control, I’d wipe her excitement off me.
But I never claimed to be perfect, and I’d rather like to taste magician pussy.
I suck her juice off my finger and have to forcibly suppress a moan of delight.
Her lips part as she watches me, her expression gleaming, and I have to wonder who is playing who. Who is actually in control here?
Her flavour coats my tongue. A delicious sweetness, something a little deep and a little sharp.
I round on her. “This is how it’s going to go. One, you’re going to make this job easy, and you’re not to leave my side until the wedding is over. Understood?”
Her jaw flexes.
“I’ll take your silence as a yes. Which brings me to two. You’re going to use actual words to answer my questions.”
Darkness radiates into her features, and her mouth twists into the kind of snarl only a brat can pull off.
“Yes…” She draws out the word. “Sir.” Her eyebrow quirks as she says it. Testing me. Sir. Sir. Sir. The echo soaks into my mind.
Fuck.
She must see a crack. Because the brat pounces and leaps into my personal space.
“Oh, did Sir like hearing some respect, mmm? Does Sir like it when I call her by her proper name?” She’s practically vibrating against me.
Her eyes glimmer so hot I’m surprised the room isn’t on fire. Vampires don’t sweat and yet, the way she stares at me, the way that fucking word coils around my chest, spearing heat straight between my thighs. I’m amazed I’m not dripping.
Another fissure ruptures in my self-control. She is testing me beyond any measure of reason.
“Three, and you’re going to want to listen to this one real well…”
She pops her hand over her mouth, faking shock, and drops to her knees. Sitting on her calves and looking up at me with big innocent eyes.
She places her hands in her lap, almost nadu. Almost. Close enough to know what she’s done. Far enough away to make me understand how much of a brat she really is.
This woman… Mother of Blood.
“Three...?” She hums like she’s all sweet and innocent.
“Every time you disobey me, fail to use words, or leave my side… the consequences will get more severe.”
She sucks that bottom lip in, pushes her chest out until her very erect nipples show through her nighty.
“How severe… exactly?” she asks.
I squat down, run my thumb over her lips before caressing her jaw and bringing my thumb to the dip in her neck. My fingers wrap around her throat and apply just enough pressure that she knows I could snap her neck before she could beg.
Exactly where a brat should be. Beneath me. Under my control.
“Do it. Choke me. I fucking dare you… Sir.”
I hesitate. Confused. I have the upper hand. She’s one word away from me snapping her neck.
“Did you have me confused for a submissive little girl?” she says.
That makes me raise an eyebrow. I run my thumb through the dip between her collarbones, pressing the slightest bit of pressure on it.
“I’ve spent the last five centuries breaking brattier women than you, Princess.”
Laughing, she tries to shake her head against my grip, but I squeeze tighter.
She places her hand over mine, increasing the pressure.
“However dark you think this can go, however far you think you can push me, I will push back. I don’t know who you think you’re dealing with.
But it’s Your Royal Highness, Penelope Lee. And I don’t bend the knee.”
She shunts forward, toppling me back onto the bed and then swipes for something underneath it.
A growl rips through my chest. She pounces on top of me, a wooden stake pinned to my heart. My lips curl into a demonic smile.
I yank the stake out of her grip, grab her by the arms and spin us, so she’s flat on the bed with me straddling her.
I am going to fucking ruin her. “By the time I’m done with you, you’ll be begging to get on your knees for me.”