Page 158 of Malicious Claim

She huffed. "For how long?"

"A few days. Maybe two weeks. Not more than."

Her arms folded tighter. "You're being annoyingly vague."

I only smirked.

With a dramatic sigh, she looked up at me through her lashes. "Fine. But before we leave... I want something."

I raised a brow. "What?"

She stepped closer, pressing against me. "I want you to take me to the dungeon."

A chuckle escaped me. "Are you that desperate?"

She nodded shamelessly. "Yes."

"You do realize I have another one in Greece?"

She smirked. "It's not about the place."

"Then what?"

She licked her lips. "I want you to do whatever you like to me. And I want it now. Because I love being used."

I drew in a slow breath, satisfaction settling deep as I gripped her chin and tilted her head up.

"Oh," I murmured, my grip firm. "I'm going to use you until you don't know what to do with yourself."

"So, what are we waiting for?"

My fingers curled around Leila's wrist, firm, possessive. "Come."

She followed without hesitation, her breaths shallow with anticipation. I led her through the dimly lit hallway, where silence pressed heavy around us. The dungeon lay deeper into the house, past the main living area, tucked away from prying eyes and unnecessary interruptions.

We stopped at a set of double doors, and I pushed them open. The air greeted me like an old lover. I motioned for her to go in before stepping inside myself. I exhaled slowly, letting the space settle around me.

My gaze swept over the tools lining the walls, each meticulously placed, each holding its own purpose. Floggers, crops, restraints. Chains dangled from the ceiling, their metal links catching the lantern's glow. The St. Andrew's cross stood against the far wall, its thick wooden frame waiting.

I stepped forward, my fingers trailing over a coiled whip. I smirked in satisfaction. Each tool had a voice, a rhythm, a purpose. I knew their weight, their bite, the reactions they could pull.

Behind me, Leila stood in silent anticipation.

I turned to her.

"Strip," I commanded.

Without second thoughts, she obeyed.

Chapter Fifty-Seven

Bound for Him

"Strip," Makros said, his voice rough and almost strained.

Leila didn't hesitate or stop to think. Her body had been burning for him since the morning ride, a slow, aching need she refused to deny any longer. She craved a different kind of ride now, one that would have her screaming his name and dripping with pleasure.

As she reached for the thin straps of her nightgown, her fingers trembled, not from hesitation but from the weight of anticipation. She slipped one strap off her shoulder, letting it slide down her arm before freeing the other. The fabric glided over her skin, catching briefly against the swell of her breasts before finally free falling at her feet.

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