yourself at risk for me?”
“No.”
“What happened?” He deliberately led her to a spanking bench, certain he would see her bound and restrained there, regardless of her answer.
“Laurel was going to kill her.”
“So what…you fucked her as sort of a pre-killing erotic festival?” Laurel was going to kill Molly and didn’t? Now, thanks to Laurel, his mate had blood on her hands. Even worse, his mate had the stench of sex on her flesh. Laurel had been too weak to save his mate. Too weak?
No. He’d never believe that. Laurel had let Romy Nichole sacrifice herself because she’d indulged in the acts unfolding before her. “Did Laurel watch?”
“I…”
“Did. She. Watch?”
Romy pulled free of his grip. She glared at him as if she wanted him to know she was far angrier with him than he could possibly be with her. “I don’t know if she watched, but I doubt it.
If you want to blame what happened here on someone, then you blame yourself. You’re the one who left me behind. You’re the one who didn’t want me to ride. So while you’re shaking that condescending proverbial finger at someone, do me a damned favor and crook it back at yourself.” She paused, took a deep breath and continued, “Because you’re as much to blame for leaving me behind as I am to blame for spreading my legs and wanting to feel a tongue fluttering inside me!”
A subtle groan fell from his lips. He grabbed hold of her then, tempted to kiss her, desperate to taste some of that rage for himself. Instead, he latched onto her high lace collar and with one sudden jerk, stripped her dress from her body and was nearly awestruck for the first time in his thirty-two years.
“You’re fucking insane.” She shivered, but she didn’t try to hide from him. Instead, she held her shoulders back, her head high.
“Not yet, but I have a strange feeling you’re about to drive me out of my blasted damned mind.”
Chapter Ten
Romy had always suspected it would be like this with her mate. Maybe she hadn’t known what he’d look like or who he’d be, but from the moment Laurel and Brittany had begun to school her on the possibilities of mating with one of the guys, she’d known her chosen one would be hot as hell and equally attracted to her.
It hadn’t helped that she’d spent her days down here in the cellar. She’d imagined herself in every possible scenario, in most every possible position.
With one exception—this one.
She muttered against the latex ball gag and looked up at Chuck. She wasn’t sure what she’d said or done to anger him, but she’d undoubtedly done a splendid job of pissing him off.
“What’s that?” He cocked his head and bent his ear. “I can’t hear you.”
She tried to scream, but given the contraption, the effort was pointless. She closed her eyes and left them closed even when he demanded she open them.
When all efforts failed, he unhooked the headgear and gently pulled free the ball and bit.
“Want to tell me what’s on your mind. Do you?”
“You didn’t give me a safe word.”
“Considering it’s very difficult to use one of those at the moment, I had planned to give you a hand signal.”
“I still want a safe word.” She was standing her ground there. “Dominant men understand the importance of a safe word.”
“Yes, they do and submissive women understand the importance of being respectful of their Doms and their dominant partner’s wishes.”
“It’s dickhead.” She smiled and waited. When he didn’t push the ball gag back in her mouth, she did it for him and smirked at him in a ‘take-that’ fashion.
As soon as he snapped out of his shocked state, Chuck affixed the bit to the headgear used to hold the ball in place. He then whispered at her ear, “Dickhead works for me, darlin’ because I have every confidence in the world that you’ll never want or need to use it.”
He reconnected with the flogger he’d flipped around like a constant reminder.
“No.”
“What happened?” He deliberately led her to a spanking bench, certain he would see her bound and restrained there, regardless of her answer.
“Laurel was going to kill her.”
“So what…you fucked her as sort of a pre-killing erotic festival?” Laurel was going to kill Molly and didn’t? Now, thanks to Laurel, his mate had blood on her hands. Even worse, his mate had the stench of sex on her flesh. Laurel had been too weak to save his mate. Too weak?
No. He’d never believe that. Laurel had let Romy Nichole sacrifice herself because she’d indulged in the acts unfolding before her. “Did Laurel watch?”
“I…”
“Did. She. Watch?”
Romy pulled free of his grip. She glared at him as if she wanted him to know she was far angrier with him than he could possibly be with her. “I don’t know if she watched, but I doubt it.
If you want to blame what happened here on someone, then you blame yourself. You’re the one who left me behind. You’re the one who didn’t want me to ride. So while you’re shaking that condescending proverbial finger at someone, do me a damned favor and crook it back at yourself.” She paused, took a deep breath and continued, “Because you’re as much to blame for leaving me behind as I am to blame for spreading my legs and wanting to feel a tongue fluttering inside me!”
A subtle groan fell from his lips. He grabbed hold of her then, tempted to kiss her, desperate to taste some of that rage for himself. Instead, he latched onto her high lace collar and with one sudden jerk, stripped her dress from her body and was nearly awestruck for the first time in his thirty-two years.
“You’re fucking insane.” She shivered, but she didn’t try to hide from him. Instead, she held her shoulders back, her head high.
“Not yet, but I have a strange feeling you’re about to drive me out of my blasted damned mind.”
Chapter Ten
Romy had always suspected it would be like this with her mate. Maybe she hadn’t known what he’d look like or who he’d be, but from the moment Laurel and Brittany had begun to school her on the possibilities of mating with one of the guys, she’d known her chosen one would be hot as hell and equally attracted to her.
It hadn’t helped that she’d spent her days down here in the cellar. She’d imagined herself in every possible scenario, in most every possible position.
With one exception—this one.
She muttered against the latex ball gag and looked up at Chuck. She wasn’t sure what she’d said or done to anger him, but she’d undoubtedly done a splendid job of pissing him off.
“What’s that?” He cocked his head and bent his ear. “I can’t hear you.”
She tried to scream, but given the contraption, the effort was pointless. She closed her eyes and left them closed even when he demanded she open them.
When all efforts failed, he unhooked the headgear and gently pulled free the ball and bit.
“Want to tell me what’s on your mind. Do you?”
“You didn’t give me a safe word.”
“Considering it’s very difficult to use one of those at the moment, I had planned to give you a hand signal.”
“I still want a safe word.” She was standing her ground there. “Dominant men understand the importance of a safe word.”
“Yes, they do and submissive women understand the importance of being respectful of their Doms and their dominant partner’s wishes.”
“It’s dickhead.” She smiled and waited. When he didn’t push the ball gag back in her mouth, she did it for him and smirked at him in a ‘take-that’ fashion.
As soon as he snapped out of his shocked state, Chuck affixed the bit to the headgear used to hold the ball in place. He then whispered at her ear, “Dickhead works for me, darlin’ because I have every confidence in the world that you’ll never want or need to use it.”
He reconnected with the flogger he’d flipped around like a constant reminder.
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