Page 46 of Ruled By Magic

“Of course. Tell me more lies.” He moved toward me quick as lightning and fisted his hand in my complicated updo. I yelped at the sudden sharp pain. He dragged me to the dining room table and forced me down over it, breasts and cheek pressed into the cool wood. I had to stand on my tiptoes.

Adrenaline kicked in and I pushed up, tried to lift my head. He held it fast.

“Behave.” He brought his hand down and struck my ass hard.

I cried out and fell still. The stinging pain faded. He adjusted his grip on my hair.

“Explain, then.”

“I saw—”

Crack.

He smacked me again, and I broke off with a yelp.

He laughed, a harsh sound without humor. “You’re going to be very sore tomorrow if you keep stopping. Get on with it.”

I tried.

Each time his heavy hand slammed down on my ass, my thoughts disintegrated. The edge of the table pressed into my hip bones and I stretched higher on my toes, seeking a more comfortable spot. Heat burned across my skin, every smack resonating through me, adding more fuel to the fire.

“And then Catrina—” Crack. “Catrina—” Crack. “She—” Crack.

Too much. I gave up with a frustrated whimper. I’d lost count of how many strikes he’d landed.

He leaned his head on the table, his face inches from mine, studying me.

The burning pain in my ass traveled to my core, and desire sang through me. Why must I be wired this way? Why was the feel of my face forced against the hard wood more erotic to me than a caress? It was fucked up, but true. He’d done this to me, awakened this unnatural need for pain and subjugation.

As if reading my mind, he slid his fingers along the outside of my now-damp underwear. I let out a moan at his touch as he pushed the thin fabric to the side, probed inside me, and found me soaked. His dry voice mocked me.

“You’re so easy. You were born to be my plaything, weren’t you? Is there anything I could do to you that wouldn’t turn you on? Always so needy and wet, the instant I touch you. What would your friends at the NPU think, if they knew you beg me for pleasure every night?”

Cruel, and horribly accurate. He was right. It was laughable how easily he reduced me to a whimpering mess. I tried to form the words to protest my innocence, but they dissolved before they reached my lips.

He pushed deeper inside me, teased me with pulses of vibrating magic. His gaze locked on my face and I tried to keep it blank, to hide how his touch sent lust curling through me, but my lips parted anyway. Pleasure built, and he cut it off, of course. I couldn’t stop my core from clenching around his hand, seeking the lost sensation. A cold smile flickered, and he raised wet fingers to my lips, brushing my arousal over them. The taste mocked me, drove home how my body surrendered to him.

“I’ve been kind to you. Kinder than I wanted to be, sometimes. Now I don’t have to be. You’re going to spend the next three months squirming in frustration. And if you can’t behave, I’ll just have to restrain you whenever I’m not around. You’ll beg me for release until your voice is hoarse. Is that what you want, Liv? To be chained to my bed like a true slave, waiting for me to come home and make use of you?” He leaned closer so his lips brushed my ear. “I bet thinking about that is making you even wetter.”

Zantus help me. He was right. His words coiled through me like vines, a mix of horror and twisted arousal in their wake. He’d thought about treating me with real cruelty. Fantasized about it. The fragile connection we’d built had restrained him, but the sadistic part of him sat uncovered now. His fingers penetrated me once more. He made a low noise of amusement in his throat and wiped the evidence of my unhealthy desires on my cheek.

“I’m going to take my hand out of your hair. Don’t you dare move. Stay where you are.”

He let go. I sighed at the release of pressure.

“Ten with my belt. You’ll probably enjoy that too.” Acid laced his words.

On my sore skin? My legs went weak. Fear and clamoring excitement warred in the strange part of me that craved the brutal kiss of his belt. I tensed.

The first strike painted a white-hot line across my ass. I pictured it, a bright red welt on my pale skin. The pain lit up nerve endings straight into my center and I moaned, dreading and craving the next lash in equal measure.

Every strike brought me closer to the end of my endurance. The edges of the world swam, and I lost count. Everything was pure sensation. The blinding shock of the belt, the hot aftermath, and the desperate need for pleasure. I heard the clatter as his belt fell to the floor and my body lay limp on the table.

I sensed him close behind me. He stroked one finger down the length of my spine, and I shuddered at the gentle touch. Hand tangled in my hair once more, he positioned his cock at my entrance and drove deep inside. He fucked me with hard, punishing thrusts, pleasure wrapped in pain. I struggled to keep my balance, and he brought his other hand around my hips, holding me tight as he slammed into me.

My climax built as he pounded into me and I focused on it, willing it to happen before he could take it away. I was so close. A shared moment of satisfaction, a renewed connection. A way to make everything feel right again.

He pulled out.

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