Page 21 of Royal Deception
“And then,” I continue, leaning in so our faces are close, “I’m going to spank you hard until you can’t remember how it feels to speak back to me. You’ll learn then exactly who is in control here.”
Her breath comes out shaky, and she lowers her gaze as I give her a moment to process my instructions, to give her time to reconsider. I want her to fully understand what is going to happen.
“Do you understand, Little Mouse?” I ask, tilting her chin up with a finger to force her to meet my eyes.
She nods, but I need to hear it. I need her to say it, to make it real.
“I understand,” she says, her voice soft but clear.
There’s a vise grip around my heart now as I realize just how deeply she’s allowing herself to trust me here. This is a level of trust that we hadn’t even reached by the last time we spent the night together.
“Good,” I say, finding my voice again. “What’s your safe word?” I ask, hoping she isn’t as innocent and virginal about things like this as she looks.
“Pumpkin,” she says, lips twitching into a small grin. “I hate the taste of pumpkin, so I’d never ask for it.”
I nod, fully understanding. “Pumpkin,” I repeat. “Use that and we’ll stop this any time. No matter what. But once we start,there’s no turning back. If you want out, I want to hear you say it now.”
“I’m ready,” she says, the words slipping out like a challenge.
I take another step forward, my heart pounding in my chest. She’s not backing down, and neither am I.
She wants me to make her regret crossing me?
Her wish is my command.
Taking a step back, I shrug off my jacket and roll up my sleeves, buttoning them beneath my elbows. "Go and get me one of those paper cups from the water cooler," I order, my voice low, firm.
Clary doesn’t hesitate, springing into action immediately as she hurries from the room to obey my request.
I smirk, straightening up as I tug at the tie around my neck. Good. I despise bratty submissives, so her immediate obedience pleases me.
Heart pounding in my chest, I watch her walk back into the room, the cup trembling slightly in her hands. She offers it to me, and I nod with a small smile. She lights up, and for a brief moment, something soft flutters in my chest before I bury it back down.
“Good job,” I say, watching her try to hide the impact of the praise. "Now, fill it." My voice drops lower. "Fill it with soap. I want to see just how much you can handle."
The task is a test. She could still stop me, still call it all off. But she doesn’t waver.
Her fists clench slightly, jaw tightening, and she begins to pump the soap into the tiny cup, each spurt of blue liquid pooling together. I watch her carefully, studying every movement.
When she returns, she hands me the cup with an almost defiant look in her eyes. There’s no going back now.
I take the cup and place it casually next to me on the desk. The deliberate delay hangs in the air like thick smoke, filling the space with heightened tension. Clary clearly expected me to start pouring the soap into her mouth right away. When I don’t, confusion and uncertainty flicker in her eyes.
Instead, I step forward again, my voice firm. “Place your arms behind your back, as best you can.” Her arms fall to her sides, and without hesitation, she obeys. I circle her, pulling her wrists together as I wind my tie around them, the silk gliding across her skin, securing her in place. She flinches slightly but doesn’t fight. The vulnerability of the moment settles over her, and I relish the control.
Once the tie is securely holding her arms, I stand in front of her, my eyes dark with anticipation. Her gaze meets mine—defiance, hesitation, and a flicker of something I can’t quite place before it finally settles on quiet acceptance.
I tilt my chin up slightly, looking down at her. “Open your mouth,” I command, savoring the moment.
Her tongue darts out as she opens her mouth, and I pick the cup back up, dipping a finger into the viscous soap. I glide it over her tongue, watching her face as she coughs slightly but doesn’t pull back. I repeat the motion, spreading the thick liquid over her lips, gums, and teeth, savoring every second of this slow, deliberate process.
Tears gather along her lashes, the sharp, bitter taste of soap forcing a gag from her throat. A thick strand of it spills slowly down her chin, dripping onto her blouse, and I watch, mesmerized by the helplessness in her expression. My fingers are sticky now, but I don’t care. I grab her chin firmly, tilting the cup over her tongue and spilling even more soap into her mouth.
She tries to pull back instinctively, but my grip on her jaw is too strong—she can’t move. Her body trembles slightly with the effort to resist, but I hold her in place, savoring the power.
More tears leak from her eyes, and something stirs inside me at the sight of them. They make her look so vulnerable, so completely humiliated, yet she continues to stare me down. There’s fire in her gaze, defiance burning through the helplessness.
She’s not going to break and she wants me to know that.
