Page 94 of Serpent King's Prisoner

“Get on your knees,” his command was sharp, a blade slicing through the silence.

I obeyed without hesitation, letting my backpack slip from my shoulder to thud against the polished floor. My heart hammered against my ribs, each beat a reminder of the danger and the thrill that came from being this close to him.

He reached out suddenly, his fingers wrapping around a fistful of my hair. It wasn’t gentle, but it wasn’t meant to be—it was a claim, a declaration. “You need to remember that you’re not my girlfriend,” he growled, his voice low and unyielding. “You’re my possession. I don’t give a fuck if you like me.”

It felt like he definitely gave a fuck if I liked him.

“I understand,” I managed, my voice steady despite the burn in my chest. The rumbling beneath my sternum was my heart, protesting against the man before me.

Nathan pulled my head toward his hardened cock, and my lips traced the outline of his impressive erection over his pants. But I didn’t have time to even think about it; soon, Nathan’s grip on my hair pulled me to my feet, his movement swift and sure. The room spun for a moment before I found my balance, my body responding instantly to his commanding presence. Wetness pooled between my thighs as if my own treacherous desire sought to betray the fear that gripped my heart.

“I don’t give a fuck what you think at all,” he muttered under his breath.

Really? Then why are you so mad?

But I said no such thing. I wasn’t crazy.

He dragged me toward the living room with unyielding purpose, each step punctuated by the sharp tug of my hair in his fist. I stumbled after him, half dragged across the threshold where shadows mingled with the sparse light filtering through the curtains. The familiar surroundings now felt like a predator’s den, and I was the quarry.

With a force that left no room for resistance, Nathan seated himself on the couch and hauled me over his lap. He pressed me hard against his erection, my pussy rubbing against him.

“You could just come like this, right?” he asked. “Just humping yourself on me, because you’re such a fucking cockthirsty little slut.”

I didn’t have time to answer him. My dress, a simple fabric that suddenly seemed too thin, too vulnerable, was yanked up over my hips with one swift motion. I braced myself, skin tingling with the anticipation of punishment and something far more complicated.

The first spank landed with a resounding crack that echoed off the walls, heat radiating instantly from the stinging impact. I gasped, rocking my hips, the pain and pleasure mingling as I let out a harsh cry. “Nathan!”

But he wasn’t done.

His hand didn’t hold back, delivering firm, measured blows that left my flesh burning and my breaths coming in ragged gasps.

“Remember the deal,” he said. “I want your opinion–”

Smack.

“–only when I ask for it–”

Smack.

“Do you understand?”

I nodded, whimpered, I thought I said yes. Each strike was a harsh reminder of his power over me, an assertion of ownership that pushed me deeper into this dark whirlpool of sensation. My body writhed in his lap, one arm keeping me firmly on my belly, the other hand hitting me over and over…

“You’re so wet, aren’t you?” he asked. “You love this shit.”

He didn’t wait for an answer. He didn’t want one.

His hand slipped between my thighs, fingers probing with a practiced touch that coaxed my body to respond despite the smarting pain of my rear. “Don’t you dare come before I say,” he warned, his voice a rough whisper that carried all the threat of his position. “Only good toys get that privilege.”

And then he plunged his fingers into me.

A gasp tore from my throat at his invasion, my nails digging into the plush cushion as he claimed my body. His fingers moved with a brutal precision, curling and thrusting with a rhythm that had me writhing in his lap. The pain from his spanking was morphed into a different kind of burn, one that left me aching for more.

For a while, Nathan remained silent, enthralled in his exploration of my body. His fingers moved expertly, stretching and pressing against me in ways designed to draw gasps and pleas from my lips. I was teetering on the brink, the tension building within me like a bowstring pulled taut.

“Please,” I heard myself begging, the word slipping out through gritted teeth.

The silence stretched on, punctuated only by the obscene sounds of my arousal and the harsh rhythm of his breaths. He was unyielding, indifferent to my pleas for release.

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