Page 51 of Servitude to Serpents

Held.

Adored.

But anyone who isn’tme.

She’s eroding everything, and it’s not even her fault.

Her sweet smell hits me first, like the first sip of alcohol after going too long without drinking. “Master?”

“Yes, Pup?” I answer, not bothering to open my eyes.

“Y-you’ve been in a bad mood today.”

“Yes, I suppose I am.”

She hesitates, the tickle of air hitting me as she drops to her knees, resting her chin on my thigh. My body reacts viscerally to the gesture, my cock jumping to life while my arms move to wrap around her, to pull her so close, neither of us can breathe. “Why?”

My eyes open as I tilt my head, staring down at her. Fucking hell, she’s beautiful. Her blonde hair falls over slender shoulders, the milky blue streak like a lightning bolt above her teardrop-shaped pupils. Out of the hundreds of collars she now owns—because I can’t get enough of how excited she gets each time—this one is her favorite: a wide, black leather base with a small loophole in the shape of a heart. I sigh, feeling the action deep in my bones. “It seems I cannot fight the impulse to spoil you rotten, and it's gone to your head.”

She smirks.

She fuckingsmirks.

Fuck.

Me.

To.

Hell.

My head cants back, allowing me to glare up at the ceiling, trying to remember every reason I should put a bullet in her skull and be done with this.

“Master?”

“Yes?”

“I’m hungry.”

“Hard to believe, seeing as you just had ice cream an hourbeforedinner.”

Her nose tickles my thigh, and my cock is already pressing against my zipper. “I was thinking maybe I could have you too?”

“Speak clearly. My head is throbbing,” I warn, pretending not to enjoy this, like I wouldn’t commit war crimes to have her hot mouth wrapped around my cock.

“I want your cum, Sir.Please.”

What was the fifth reason I should kill her again?

Chapter twenty-one

To own is to… Rule

Blinding Lights by The Weekend (Piano Cover by The Chillest)

Chloe

Sitting at a proper table, expected to maintain proper table manners after months of being fed from a doggy bowl on the floor, is a strange feeling. Even if I’m still being fed and my seat is Master’s lap. I inhale him, savoring the deep sage and oak that makes my mouth water far more than the expensive steak he’s cutting. His muscular arms, the veins that stand out on his inked flesh, are tight around me as he cuts. Everything Master does is addictive. My breath hitches in my throat as he leans forward, his hair tickling me, the hint of gray in it telling me my master is much older than he looks. I would have guessed, at most, that he was in his late thirties. I’ve never asked, wouldn’t care either way. My heart lurches as his hazel eyes suddenly cut to mine. “It's rude to stare, pet.”

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