13. Chapter 13
Chapter thirteen
It was pitch black, the scent of aged stone and dust thick in the air as she struggled against Deyric. His arms locked her against him, his chest a wall of muscle.
“Let me go!” Emmaline twisted in his grip, her fists slamming against him, for all the good it did. It was infuriating, like he wasn’t even trying to restrain her, just holding her there, letting her wear herself out.
“Get your hands off me!” She hated how close he was, how the rough heat of his body pressed against hers, how the scent of him wrapped around her, dizzying and inescapable.
“I just pulled your reckless rear end out of certain arrest, and your first reaction is to fight me?” His words scraped against her skin, irritation threading through each syllable.
“Let me go, you… you brute.” She struggled harder, but his fingers only flexed rigidly against her arms.
Then, there was just the faintest huff of breath, something close to a chuckle, from deep in his chest. She could feel it, that lazy, infuriating confidence.
He was waiting to see how long she’d last. She shoved again, her pulse hammering, her whole body too aware of how easily he could overpower her, of how he wasn’t even breaking a sweat holding her against him.
And how it bothered her less and less each time he squeezed her tighter.
“I didn’t ask you to save me!”
“No, you never do, do you?” His hands clenched, and her head swam as heat pooled low in her belly.
She hated him. Hated how his body fit against hers, how every inch of her skin burned where it touched him, how the solid weight of his arms made her feel pinned in a way that wasn’t just physical.
She wanted to push him away. She wanted to pull him closer.
Her breathing was rapidly turning to a pant, and before she could lash out again, he moved.
The world slanted. One moment, Emmaline was fighting, thrashing against him, her nails digging into the fabric of his shirt as she tried to tear herself free. The next, she was airborne, her stomach twisting violently as Deyric hauled her up, pivoted, and dropped.
She landed hard, her body folding over the unforgiving strength of his thighs, her hands hitting rough burlap as her legs flailed behind her. Breath hitching, her blood rushed to her head as the realization slammed into her.
He had bent her over his lap.
“What—?” She kicked, but his hand pushed against her lower back, holding her in place.
“Enough, Emmaline.” His voice was quiet. “You’re going to listen to me this time. Really listen.”
Each pulse came like a strike of a battering ram. “You wouldn’t dare.”
“Oh, little killer. Why shouldn’t I?” A hand fisted in her dress, dragging the fabric slowly up the backs of her thighs, baring inch by inch of too-sensitive skin to the cold air. “Who would object?”
“Deyric—don’t you dare—” She choked, unable to name Caelith as a protector, not anymore, not after what she had just heard.
Crack. The first strike landed—sharp, precise, the sting spreading instantly across the curve of her ass.
She jerked, a startled gasp tearing from her lips.
“Caelith does not care for you.” His palm stayed there, rubbing slow, deliberate circles. “He cares for none but himself.”
“You—you can’t just—” She gulped down air, nails clawing into the nearby grain sack, but it did nothing to cool the slow, unbearable flush creeping over her.
“You are so lost in your obsession that you can’t see what’s right in front of you,” he continued, then crack. His hand came down again against her bare skin, harder this time. The bite of it sent a shock straight to her core, morphing into something dangerous, something unbearably good.
She gnashed her teeth, hating the way her body reacted, hating the throb between her thighs. Hating even more the broken little noise—half protest, half something else—that trembled from her throat at his touch.
“Ah.” Deyric ran a thumb over the spot where his hand had landed, fingers circling ever closer. “There it is.”
“There what is?” she barked, trying to focus on anything other than the way her body screamed for him to swat her flesh again.
His fingers flexed into her hip, holding her still as he leaned in, a low exhale stirring the fine hairs on her neck. “That sound you made.”
She froze, every muscle locking tight.
No. He was imagining things.
But then his lips ticked up, his voice dark with certainty. “The one that told me I finally have your full attention.”
Another strike landed, and her body betrayed her—her back arching, her lips parting in a moan she couldn’t swallow fast enough.
Deyric laughed, and everything felt too hot. Her body too aware, too exposed.
“I hate you,” she hissed.
“Hate me all you want,” he murmured, dipping a finger deeper between her legs, slipping under the hem of her underthings, then bringing it back to his lips, savoring the taste. “You’re still dripping for me.”
A whimper caught in her throat. She fought the urge to shift toward him, to find even the slightest friction, but he sensed it, the way her body tensed beneath his hold, betraying her need.
“Oh?” His fingers curved into her ass hard enough to mark. “Is that what you need?”
Her breath stuttered, a sharp, traitorous sound, and pride warred viciously against the pulse of raw, aching need burning inside her.
“Say it, Emmaline.”
She felt the rough calluses of his hands trail up the inside of her thigh, barely skimming, hovering just shy of where she craved him most.
“Fuck off,” she growled.
Humming, his thumb traced lazy, teasing strokes over the damp fabric barely covering her, a whisper of touch that wasn’t enough. She could feel him now, the length of him pressing against her stomach, the hard thickness taunting her even through the barrier of his leathers.
And then—
He pulled away.
The loss of contact was immediate and cruel, leaving her cold as he leaned back against the wall, completely at ease, as if he hadn’t just had his hand buried between her thighs.
“Oh, you’re worse than a skitterrat, Deyric.” She writhed in his lap, desperately seeking relief.
He grunted, his own breath coming faster now, and his hands clenched at his sides as if fighting the urge to touch her again. “Say, please.”
Goddess, he was awful—merciless and arrogant. But she couldn’t stop herself.
“Please.” The word fell from her lips, soft, needy, mortifying.
His head tipped back, jaw tightening. “Please what?”
“More. Please, more,” she whined, hating him, hating herself more.
“More what?” His dick twitched beneath her, his restraint visibly fracturing.
“Do you need me to spell it out for you, oaf?” Emmaline lifted herself slightly, attempting to sit upright, but before she could fully rise, his hands snapped to her waist and slammed her back down, forcing a choked exhale from her lips.
She didn’t think. Didn’t hesitate. She wriggled, pulling herself up just enough to hover her open mouth over the thick ridge hiding in his pants.
“I want... this, you insufferable asshole.” And then she bit him, her teeth clamping around the unmistakable outline of his cock, her breath hot and humid over the stiff fabric.
Deyric roared, his entire body jerking beneath her, and in an instant, he was on his feet, a sudden explosion of motion that sent her flying off his lap.
She hit the storeroom floor, flailing, her skirts tangled awkwardly over her head, completely disheveled and dazed as hell. For a moment, all she could do was blink up at the ceiling, breathless.
Then—
“GODS DAMN IT, EMMALINE!”
She peeked up to find Deyric standing over her, furious yet still visibly hard, his hands braced on his hips as he glared down at her. And despite everything, despite the absurdity of what she’d just done, the corner of her lips lifted. If he wanted her undivided attention, he was going to get it.
Deyric ran a hand through his hair, and a strained breath hissed through his teeth as he stared down at her. “You really are insane, aren’t you?”
Emmaline yanked her dress back down over her head, finally untangling herself from the mess of fabric. When she looked up again, she found him still watching her, his chest rising and falling a little too fast.
“Sweet titties of the Goddess, what the shite am I supposed to do with you, Emmaline?”
She should have laughed, should have thrown something back at him, but instead—
She looked at him and really saw him, perhaps for the first time. Not just the sharp smirks and easy arrogance, not just the way he never let anything seem to touch him, but the depth beneath it—the weight of someone who had always belonged to others and never to himself.
He’s mine. The thought crashed into her, unbidden, unwelcome, but it settled in her bones as if it had always been there, and she moved before she could think.
On her knees, she crawled toward him, the hem of her dress dragging across the floor, her hands landing softly against the edges of his boots as she lifted her gaze to meet his.
“You’re not going to try and bite it off again, are you?” Deyric stiffened, looking down at her as if she had wholly derailed his understanding of reality.
Her hands slid up, fingers teasing the edges of his belt, grazing along the waistband of his pants.
“I feel like I should be terrified, little killer.” He chuckled, but the sound was uneven, a little nervous. “What is happening here?”
Her grip tightened, and she pulled him down, yanking him to his knees with a controlled, steady force. “You asked me what I wanted.”
Deyric’s throat bobbed, his hands hovering just above her as if unsure whether to grab her or push her away. “And you closed your jaws on my cock, like a godsdamned praying mantis.”
She leaned in, resting her cheek on his chest, listening to his heart.
“Shite.” He sighed, and his hand lifted, fingers brushing lightly along her cheek as he tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear.
Then, instead of retreating, his thumb lingered, tracing a path along the curve of her face, warm and unhurried, as if committing the feel of her to memory.
His pupils were blown wide, the dark ring around his emerald eyes nearly swallowing the color whole.
Mine, her mind whispered again. And this time, she didn’t fight it.
“I may have been a little overenthusiastic.” She pulled her head back, already missing the feel of him. “Besides.” Her fingers slid lower, loosening the ties at his waist, the laces coming apart quickly beneath her touch. “You had just spanked me. It seemed fair.”
His hand closed around her chin, and before she could blink, he pulled her so close his lips brushed against hers as he whispered, “You liked it.”
The words were dark smoke seeping into her veins, and before she could even think of a response, he tilted her head back, mouth tracing down the sensitive line of her throat, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses against her skin.
A shudder ran through her, her lashes fluttering as her fingers slipped lower still, pushing past the loosened leather, finally finding him—thick, burning hot, and solid beneath her palm.
She dragged in a breath before forcing it out as she wrapped her fingers around his manhood.
“Fuck, Emmaline.” His entire body jerked at the first deliberate flex of her hand.
Her smile deepened, and she pulled him in, pressing herself flush against his chest. “Make me admit it.” She flicked her tongue out, tracing the delicate edge of his pointed ear, delighting in the way his entire body went tense. “Make me admit that I liked it.”
He’s so close. The thought alone was nearly enough to send her over the edge.
And when he did finally lose that last thread of control—when he threw her onto her back and slid that glorious cock deep between her thighs, ruining her completely—her last coherent thought was that she had never felt so deliciously wrecked in her life.
And that, yes, she did, in fact, like being spanked.