Page 59 of Servitude to Serpents

“Ms. LaMonica, your husband is already on his third glass of bourbon andwaiting for you downstairs. Henrietta will escort you.”

Mahari hesitates, stepping close to me. My chest clenches for her, for her protection, even if it is unnecessary. Sure, I’m terrified of disappointing him. His punishments are often brutal, but I’m not scared of my master, not truly, even with the memory of last night fresh in my mind.

I give her a reassuring smile. “I’ll be right down.”

She returns it, even if it is tense, before leaving the bathroom. The swish of her dress acts like a beacon of color in the dark home.

Master signals for me to stand, and I do, hesitantly lifting my eyes to his. It’s an act of disobedience he has never reprimanded me for. His stare is a physical thing I can feel every bit as much as I can his hands…or mouth. My nipples peak underneath the fabric of the dress as I press my thighs together.

“You are stunning, my pet. The collar doesn’t match, though. I have a new one I think would work well.”

I smile widely at him. A new collar, even after yesterday.

“Would you like that?”

“Yes, Sir. Very much.”

He nods, his jaw tense. “Come.”

I follow him, the smell of sage and oak making my mouth water as I inch closer, as close as possible without bumping him. When we reach my jewelry box in his bedroom, a large chest more than anything, my eyes scan lovingly over all the collars there. Most of them are lavishly inlaid with diamonds and rare jewels. My smile only falters a little when he passes over all of them and goes for a thick leather box underneath the velvet trays.

My lips part as he opens it, my stomach sinking.

It looks…painful.

I rip my eyes away from the daunting collar up to him, looking for any sign, any answers, reasons why, but I only find those thunderous hazel eyes, the quiet anger in them growing louder. I swallow hard as he places it over his wrist, letting it hang there as he removes his key, stepping behind me to unlock and remove my current collar. His warm hands tickle my flesh. “Master?”

“Hm?”

“Am I in trouble?” I breathe out, forcing myself not to hold my breath.

“Did you think I’d allow another’s lips to touch you without repercussions?”

Chapter twenty-three

To own is to… Dictate

Warrick

“I didn’t— It wasn’t like that,” she stumbles over her words, her eyes wide with panic.

“It doesn’t matter if it was your own mother. You’re mine. Nobody else is to show you physical affection.” I calm my hands as I lift the pinch collar to her delicate neck, letting the chilled chain tease her flesh. “You are not to show anyoneelseaffection. I hope this will be a proper reminder tonight. I’d hate to make a mess of her.”

She stills, whether from my threat or the collar being fastened, I’m not sure. Its dull inner claws are already digging into her neck, each swallow, breath, and tiniest movement causing them to dig in deeper. She hisses as she turns to me, lifting on her tippy toes to place a kiss on my cheek. “I’m sorry, Sir.”

Instantly, a few of the flames roaring in my chest lessen, a sigh leaving me as I grab her chin, forcing her back up, making the back claws dig in a little deeper, my hand forcing her mouth open. I watch the desperate, needy hope bloomingin her eyes.

I’m content to just watch her squirm, but Pup is rarely quiet, her nervous chatter the reason for many headaches and lost work. “Am I—"

My thumb finds her tongue, capturing it between my thumb and pointer. “Are you a bad dog? Is that what you wanted to ask me?”

She nods, tears welling in her eyes.

“Pitiful thing. If we had the time, I’d fuck this pretty little mouth, maybe even find something to fill your poor little holes.”

She whimpers, her doe eyes pleading as I lean in, pressing a kiss to the spot Mahari had. Mine lingers as I suck the spot gently, leaving a little mark. My mark. She moans as I release her tongue, mine lapping at her sweet flesh. It’s barbaric, me scenting her like an animal, but I don’t stop until I feel sated. As much as I hate sharing her time, the faster we get to dinner, the faster this ends. When I pull back, I wipe her spit off my hand, using my thumb to edge away the small smudge of her lipstick before heading down the hall with her on my heels.

It’s well into the night by the time we finish dinner, most of it spent listening to Andres’ long stories with full theatrical production. Even Stuart seemed fit to stop scowling at some point in the night. He and his wife seem to compete, working in tandem like a well-oiled machine. Their shared adoration is jarringly clear.

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