Page 16 of Unholy

But she doesn’t.

Fuck, the things I would do to run my fingers up her soft thighs. But I resist, allowing her to take the lead. My knees hit the floor, and my body gently folds, my backside resting on my legs while I wait for her next instruction.

“I know this is not something you are familiar with, Duke.” Her voice is calm yet authoritative. And her statement is absolutely correct. I submit to no one; they submit to me. But not for even a second did I question obeying her every demand.

“This may not be my dungeon, but we are still going to play by my rules.” Her face is hard, and her eyes look into mine, trying to penetrate through the thick walls I’ve built around myself. She leans forward slightly as she speaks, each word carefully curated. “Mistress is what I demand. Ms. Vandenberg is what I’ll accept only from you. Only during our sessions. Rylee is what you’ll call me otherwise. Understood?”

I give a curt nod in understanding, but it’s not good enough.

“I can’t hear you.”

Clearing my throat, my heart is racing, and I feel like a nervous schoolboy in the principal's office. “Yes, Ms. Vandenberg.”

She smirks, satisfied by my response.

Uncrossing her long, delicious legs, the sole of her shoe placed on my forehead, she applies pressure, almost enough to push me back, but I resist, staying still.

“And you are not Duke in here, Mr. Sinclair.”

Again, I accept these terms. She could tell me to put on a cloth diaper and cry like a baby, and I fear I would. She has me absolutely captivated; no fear or hesitation is sensed. She’s strong, confident, and sees no limitations before her.

My heart continues to race; her head tilts. “Safe word, choose one.”

“Greta,” I say, chuckling to myself, but it does not impress her. The force of her foot gets stronger.

“Try again,” she demands.

Apologizing, I pick a new one. “Right, sorry.” Feeling the pressure, my mind races when the perfect word comes to me, one I know I’ll never forget. “Devil.”

Ms. Vandenberg rolls her eyes at me but releases some of the pressure of her shoe against my forehead, a sign she must be satisfied with my response. No praise leaves her lips.

It leaves me needy.

A million and one thoughts are circulating throughout my brain. I don’t feel pressure, I don’t panic, and I never show my hand.

And tonight, I broke every single fucking rule I have. Why? Because of the feeling I get when I’m around her. A feeling I never allow to enter my inner core with anyone else, not even my late ex-wife.

“It was you at Hell Fire Night, in the latex mask, wasn’t it?” I suspect I already know the answer, but I need her verbal confirmation.

Her brows rise. Acknowledging me, a soft whisper follows, “Yes.”

Our eyes locked at the cabin. I couldn’t understand why, but I knew I needed to know more.

She isn’t one to partake in Exiled traditions; I would have recognized her if she had.

It finally clicked when her dark eyes were looking up at me through her full lashes and my cock in her mouth; it was her. And now it’s confirmed.

“If I may interject..." Before I am able to finish, I’m cut off.

“You may not.”

I’m taken aback; my nostrils flare ever so slightly, and through gritted teeth I acknowledge her. “As you wish, Ms. Vandenberg.”

Her foot leaves my skin, then both are placed on the ground before me, where I am still kneeled, at her mercy. Her bottom slides off the desk ever so slowly, and my mouth is watering with my cock still firmly pressing against my trousers.

With both hands on her hips, she says, “Playtime is over.”

My heart drops. “The fuck it is. I paid…” Again, she cuts me off.

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