Page 62 of Serpent King's Prisoner

I followed her, my footsteps deliberate, the weight of the whiskey bottle a reminder of the twisted game we were playing. Her body moved with an unexpected grace, each motion deliberate and laced with a silent plea. I watched, entranced, as muscles shifted under smooth skin, as she made her way to where I’d told her to go.

The scent of her arousal filled the air between us, a sweet fragrance that spoke of forbidden desires and needs unspoken. It clung to the back of my throat, and I could see the evidence of her arousal glistening at the apex of her thighs, her pussy swaying side to side as she crawled. It was intoxicating, knowing I had this effect on her, even as the gravity of what was to come loomed over us like a shadow.

In that moment, with the burn of whiskey in my veins and the sight of Abby’s submissive form inching across the floor, I felt a carnal hunger take hold. It threatened to consume me, to make me forget the reasons why this was all wrong, why she was more than just a means to an end.

“Good girl,” I crooned. “Now get in bed, on your back.”

My voice was a low command, stripped of warmth. Abby didn’t hesitate, climbing onto the mattress with an obedience that sent a jolt of satisfaction through me. She laid back against the pillows, her chest heaving slightly, eyes locked on mine. They were deep pools of green, flecked with something like defiance but softened by what I knew was lust.

The quickness of her compliance twisted something deep inside me, a part that craved control and reveled in her submission. It was a dangerous cocktail of emotions, one that made my pulse race and my cock throb with anticipation.

I moved to the locked bedside table drawer and put in the code like I was in a trance, eager for what was to come…and dreading what would happen after.

I could already feel the Serpent’s Fang rearing his ugly head inside me as I gazed into the drawer. Inside, the metal cuffs gleamed dully under the dim light. They were cold, unyielding—much like the life I’d been born into.

With deliberate movements, I approached the bed where Abby lay. She watched me, the flush on her cheeks betraying her nervous excitement.

“Give me your wrists,” I instructed, a hint of roughness edging my words. Without protest, Abby stretched out her arms towards me, her wrists pale and delicate in my grasp. They were still bruised and raw from the last time I’d had her in cuffs.

I told myself she wouldn’t have to suffer through that soon, as I closed the cuffs around her wrist, securing the chain to the bedpost.

“Is this what you want?” she asked, her voice soft but laced with an edge…an edge I was falling for way too fast.

I hummed. “Right now, it’s what we both want.”

“Stop playing with me, Nathan. What are you doing?”

I crawled over her, boxing her in, then leaned in close. My face was inches from hers, her breath puffing out in fearful gasps against my skin.

“I’m playing with my toy,” I murmured, letting the darkness within lace my words. “I don’t want to talk.”

Abby’s eyes flared with a mix of emotions—anger, fear, maybe even a hint of desire—but she didn’t cower. “You can’t just shut me out. You need to talk to me eventually,” she insisted, her voice rising in challenge.

“Eventually isn’t now,” I replied tersely.

Moving away from the bed, I grabbed a strip of duct tape from the nightstand drawer. Abby’s eyes widened, and she shifted uneasily as I approached her again.

“Sorry,” I said, not really sorry at all. “But this is one conversation you’re not going to win.”

With a swift motion, I pressed the tape firmly over her mouth, silencing any further arguments. Her muffled protests vibrated against the adhesive as I smoothed it down, ensuring it wouldn’t come off easily.

There was no turning back now. The die had been cast, the game set into motion. And whether Abby liked it or not, she was playing by my rules tonight.

Kneeling over her, I grabbed the whiskey and took a swig of it, taking a moment to drink in the sight of her. Bound and gagged on my bed, she was an intoxicating blend of vulnerability and defiance. My heart raced with a primal need, the desire for her coursing through me like wildfire. I wanted her—badly. Her chest heaved with anxious breaths, eyes locked onto mine, a silent question in their depths.

What was I going to do to her?

“Abby,” my voice was rough, almost a growl. “You have no idea how long I’ve been thinking about this. All fucking day…thinking about you, hard as a fucking rock.”

I let my fingers trail down her body, watching as goosebumps rose on her skin. Her hips bucked slightly when my hand found the heat between her legs, and I discovered just how aroused she was. Soaked. The revelation sent a jolt of satisfaction through me. She was responding to me, to this dangerous dance we were entangled in.

“Looks like you want this as much as I do,” I whispered, half to myself, as I began to explore her. My fingers teased and stroked, learning every quiver and sigh that I drew from her. She writhed against the restraints, the duct tape muffling her cries. It was maddening—this power, this control. I reveled in it, even as part of me fought against the darkness that wanted to consume the moment.

Taking a step further into the abyss, I shifted lower on the bed, positioning myself between her thighs. My breath ghosted over her sensitive skin, and she shuddered in anticipation.

With one last look at her bound form, I gave in to my baser instincts and tasted her.

It was a heady experience, feeling her squirm under my mouth, her flavor bursting across my tongue. I’d tasted her before, sure…but this was different. This was truly what it meant to devour another person, to feel her as I licked her, to find that clenching heat begging for my tongue, my fingers, my cock. I ate her out with a fervor that matched the hunger roaring inside me. With each stroke of my tongue, each nip and suck, I pushed her closer to the edge, driven by the need to hear her scream from beneath the duct tape.

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