Page 22 of Joined By Magic

The prince gave everything a critical once-over. “You did well. Chose a good selection.”

I smiled at the compliment. “Thank you.”

He looked me up and down and took a seat on a box. “It’s time we observed some proper protocol once more. Strip, and kneel.”

Not an unusual demand. In the palace, the prince applied protocols whenever he felt like it, depending on his mood. I sat opposite him as often as I knelt at his feet and accepted both as part of my position, just the way things worked between us. But here, wrapped in basic work clothes against the cold and surrounded by normality, the instruction caused a ripple of irritation coated in something else. A rebellious itch.

Who does he think he is?

He was the man who owned me, but we weren’t in the palace now. For the first time, he needed me as much as I needed him. Even as my conditioning urged me to obey, another force needled me to push my luck a little further. To see what I could get away with.

“No.”

The prince’s eyes widened. How many times had he heard the word from anyone but his father? Probably never.

“What did you say?” His voice was soft, laced with danger, but I pressed on.

“No. It’s cold.”

It felt like standing on the edge of a tall cliff, arms outstretched. The pure joy of defiance, the anticipation of what he would do. My nerve endings lit up. I wanted him, but I didn’t want to bend over in meek compliance. My gaze traced his broad shoulders down to his powerful hands. With a sudden, intense hunger, I needed to feel his physical strength.

He watched me, eyes narrowed, considering. I’d shocked him. Good.

“You can use magic to make me, of course. I know that.”

He surged toward me like a striking viper and gripped my chin, lifting my face to his. His eyes blazed. “You think I need my magic to take you? To punish you?”

I shrugged. A small, scornful motion. “You mages rely on it for everything.”

That did it.

My feet left the floor. The breath whooshed out of my body as he slammed me face down on the bed. I yelled as he shoved his hands underneath me, pulled apart the fastenings of my jeans, and yanked them down my thighs. I tried to push up, but before my arms could straighten, his hand gripped my neck and forced my head back down, pressed into the soft cushion. He braced his knee on my calf, trapping me.

He paused for a moment and held me there. Fear and burning need scorched me as I pushed against him, testing his strength and finding it iron hard. Unyielding. He leaned down close to my ear as his free hand traced circles over my naked ass cheeks.

“I don’t need magic.”

Crack.

His hand smacked down in a brutal, openhanded slap across my ass that stole my breath. I jerked against his solid grip. I was used to his cane, and his belt, but this felt different. Less controlled. Fiercer.

His palm came down again, and I stifled a yelp. “I don’t know why you’re trying to provoke me.”

Crack.

“But it stops now.”

Crack.

“Disobedient little sluts suffer consequences.”

I moaned into the pillow and pushed against his hold on my neck as he smacked me again and again with vicious force. My skin felt seared. Glowing. The pain radiated from every strike, growing in intensity at the relentless onslaught. My white-knuckled hands gripped the cover as I sank into the place where pain felt right. I breathed it in as he layered strike after strike on already sore skin, and my struggles slowed.

He finally stopped. I panted, limp. Before I’d caught my breath, he thrust two rough fingers deep into my pussy, and I moaned, pushing back against him.

His voice was bright, alive with sadistic enjoyment as he fucked me with his fingers, grinding his thumb against my clit in a way that had me squirming.

“You’d like it if I fucked you here, wouldn’t you? But disobedient sluts don’t get fucked in their soaking wet cunts, however much they beg for it. Where do you deserve to be fucked, Talia?”

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