Page 57 of The Devil's Pawn

“He’s been showing me the ropes and how to ride English style. Saskia suggested I ask you, but I knew you’d be too busy to teach me.”

“But you didn’t ask, did you, wife? You didn’t give me the chance to agree or refuse.”

He’s furious. Oh, he’s hiding it well, but it’s right there in the depths of his amber irises. A shudder runs through the length of my body, despite the warm temperatures.

“I should have.” He’s brought it up, so I may as well call him on it. “I know you warned Will to stay away from me. It’s unacceptable, Alexander. I can speak to whomever I choose.”

“No, you can’t.”

His voice is low, almost agreeable, but it’s a front. Beneath the cool exterior, he’s raging. Using the tip of the crop, he lifts my chin.

“Want to know the reason you can’t?” He angles his head to one side. “Because you’re mine, and I don’t share.”

My stomach tilts. I’m equal parts thrilled and appalled at his statement. Even with flattened lungs, I somehow make words.

“People aren’t possessions.” I risk meeting his eyes. His pupils are dilated, and he’s breathing faster than normal. Not panting like me, but still faster. He pauses for a second, his eyes flicking between both of mine. When I don’t look away, he dips the crop between my breasts.

“You have a beautiful body, Imogen. I can’t stop thinking about it.” Removing the crop, he draws the tightly wound leather across my parted lips. “I’d like to spank you with this. I’d love to bend you over my lap, exposing your beautiful backside, and watch as it pinks with each lash.”

Every muscle in my body clenches in unison. Why is the idea of him demeaning me so exciting? Is there something wrong with me? I have no frame of reference to draw upon, but what I do know is that every time Alexander sayssomething dirty or degrading, it’s as though my internal temperature controls go haywire, and I burn up from the inside.

The feel of leather against my nipple makes me cry out in surprise. He’s barely touched me, but my body is craving release so badly that the lightest of touches has me on edge.

“Tell me to stop.” His voice is low and husky, filled with a yearning that mirrors my own feelings. He wants me as much as I want him. More, maybe.

I shake my head in answer to his question.

“You want this, Little Pawn? You want me to strip you naked, to whip your greedy little cunt, to make you come until your knees buckle?”

Air leaves my lungs in a rush. I nod.

He shoves the tip of the crop in my mouth. “Suck.”

I do as he asks. The leather touches my tongue. It’s unpleasant, a dry, almost dusty flavor, like an old, worn book, but the way his eyes flare and his pupils dilate is enough for me to continue. This is turning him on, and it’s turning me on, too.

“Such a good girl.”

Rightly or wrongly, I yearn to push him, to take advantage of this momentary weakness. He wants me, but if I’m reading him right, he doesn’t want to want me. My fingers tremble as I reach for the first fastened button on my shirt.

He tsks. “No, you don’t. The only person who gets to unwrap my prize is me.” He reaches into the right-hand pocket of his riding jacket, withdrawing a pocketknife. My eyes widen, my breath coming in shallow bursts. My thigh muscles lock as an instinctive fight or flight reaction surges through me. Alexander won’t hurt me… will he?

“Hold still, Little Pawn.” His smirk holds more than ahint of savagery. “I wouldn’t want to slip and cut this beautiful, unblemished skin.”

My heart beats faster, pummeling my ribcage. With one swipe, the first button snaps free. The second follows, then the third, until my shirt is gaping, and my nipples protrude through my lacy, cream bra. Alexander draws the crop over one peak, then gives it a little flick. I cry out, not because it’s painful, but because I feel the sensation between my legs where I need his attention the most. My core aches, desperate for a resolution to the heat pulsing through my veins.

He slides the knife between my breasts. Every muscle freezes.

“Alexan—”

“Shh.”

He flicks his wrist, and my bra splits in two. He puts the knife in his pocket and pushes my bra and shirt off my shoulders. Heat rushes to the surface of my skin, and my nipples bead as he stares at my naked chest.

“It’s better than I remember,” he rasps. “Stunning.”

Embarrassment forces me to drop my gaze. The breeches he’s wearing leave nothing to the imagination. He’s impossibly hard and big. So big. I’ll never fit that inside me. He’ll tear me in two. Even tampons hurt some months.

He tips my chin up with the crop. “Where’s my combative wife gone?”

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