Page 65 of Servitude to Serpents

I reach up, tugging down the headphones just as Henrietta’s voice comes through. “How can I help you, Sir?”

His rapturous golden hazel eyes are on me when he speaks.

“Please notify Stuart that the meeting did not go well. I have a gift I want delivered to Ragnar with my sincerest regards by morning.”

“Yes, Sir.”

My chest is heaving still, but now, shameful arousal mottles the shock and panic. He looks…crushingly handsome, as messy as he is. His wavy hair he’d slicked back today is undone, hanging over his forehead into his eyes. “You disobeyed me.”

“I was worried.”

“For him?”

My breath hitches as he rounds the desk, stalking me. “For you.”

“Your captor.”

The smell of him is only slightly lessened by the tang of gore. I have well and truly lost any grasp I had on my remaining sanity as he towers over me. “My Master.”

“The man who defiles and abuses you.”

“You care for me. You make me feel…” I pause, swallowing hard as my mouth waters. I want him, just like this, sickeningly.I need him.

“I make you feel what, pet?”

“Needy and…small.” He watches me with darkened eyes as I speak, like I’m the only thing in the universe worth listening to. “Adored and cared for… Loved. You make me feel special, Sir.”

“You aren’t.”

“I don’t believe you.” I breathe out as he leans over, caging me against the back of the chair. It’s almost funny how tall, how imposing he looks when he sits here, compared to how tiny I feel in his seat.

He shakes his head. “You're fucking crazy, Pup. I think it's rubbing off on me."

"Maybe it's you who rubbed off on me."

Something snaps.

Like a damn breaking.

A nebula imploding on itself.

The crescendo, and it happens all at once.

His mouth captures mine in a brutally claiming kiss, ripping the breath from my lungs. He takes me and takes hard. For a moment, I don’t respond, shock rolling through me until his tongue mingles with mine. Not coaxing, but demanding. God, I open, because I’d give this man anything.

My love.

My trust.

My life, he’d need only to ask.

I melt against him as I’m jerked up out of the chair, only vaguely aware of him swiping everything from the top of it. His suit jacket falls around my waist as he wrenches my legs open, ripping through the underwear I was permitted to wear today with lethal efficiency. There's no working me up, no stretching me with his fingers or foreplay. I don’t need it. My body was made to be owned, to be abused and contorted by him. I was built, brick by agonizing brick, to be my master's perfect little fucktoy, to well and truly be used by him.

To match him, blow for blow.

He enters me with one brutal thrust, sinking to the hilt so hard and fast, my vision blacks. I would scream if I could, but the sound comes without substance,my mouth gaping against his as my body adjusts to his girth.

“You’re driving me fucking insane. Every waking moment, I’m consumed by the thought of you, and not even my fucking dreams offer respite. Every day, I’m plagued with fucking rage because I do not want you and want nothing other than you. It's fucking maddening, Pup.”

---