Page 53 of Rust the Rejected
Her pupils dilate.
“Do you trust me?”
She nods.
I clasp her chin between my thumb and index finger.
“Words, Little Girl. I will have your words.”
She blinks, but responds, “Yes, Sir.”
“There’s my good girl. Next.”
She bites her lip and spins around, then gasps as the pearls and my cock arouse her further.
I remain behind her as she bends over to reach the largest box. My fingers skim her hips. Tugs to each silk ribbon presses the pearls closer to her clit and puckered hole. She moans and bucks with a mini orgasm. The scent of her arousal wafts into my nostrils. I growl.
Her hands tremble as she opens the box.
Beneath the tissue paper lies an exquisite hand-crafted black corset with pearls. The sculpting design creates an hourglass figure with lace panels across the front in a butterfly shape and nipped in at the waist with a narrow strip of velvet. Elastic trim crisscrosses to form the shoulder straps, center panel, and outer panels of the lace.
She lifts it with an awed expression on her face.
“Astounding,” she breathes.
“Here, I will help you.”
Deftly, I place the corset on her and adjust it for a perfect fit. A bow around her neck and tiny ones between her amble tits lifted just right and at above the pearl thong make her look like a present. My present.
I step back. My mouth curves into a devilish smile as I twirl my finger for her to spin. She blushes but keeps her glittering onyx eyes on mine, glancing over her shoulders with each rotation. My feral grin spreads. My wolf howls.
“Come, Little Girl, or we will never reach our destination,” I command as I rip the wrapping paper from the last box and remove a black Burberry trench coat. She slips her arms through the sleeves. I place my arm around her waist to keep her steady in the fuck-me mules. “Now, we go.”
We ride the elevator down to the garage and slide into my McLaren P1 LM. She remains quiet during the short ride along Ocean Drive. But the sexual tension is palpable as she fidgets in her seat and my cock throbs in my leathers. The musky aroma of her arousal fills the supercar’s interior.
I guide the McLaren into a driveway directly across from the Atlantic Ocean in a South Beach historic, beachfront gated mansion. She glances through the windshield, then out her tinted window.
“Where are we?” She asks as she squints at the discreet gold plaque with to Club Sol & Mani Miami written in a script font.
Cole—the club’s valet and a young wolf shifter—opens her door.
“Good evening, Rust, Natalie.”
“Good evening,” we respond in unison.
She giggles as she takes his hand and rises from the low supercar. I growl at him for touching my fated mate. He raises his hands palms out and rounds the back of the McLaren. She offers him an apologetic smile as I place my hand on the small of her back and usher her to the side. Laughter from members as they frolic in the mosaic-tiled pool within the sun-filled courtyard floats in the balmy evening air.
“Welcome to Club Sol & Mani Miami the luxury, members-only club owned by our pack.”
She frowns and glances down at herself, then back at me with an arched eyebrow.
“If you think I’m going dancing in this risqué outfit, you have another think coming, mister!”
I hold back a chuckle and put on my stern Dom face.
“Oh, naughty girl. You will learn to trust me. All the more reason tonight’s lesson is so important,” I say. She lowers her eyes. “The club provides a safe space for those in the BDSM lifestyle. And as you know, I am a Dominant. You, my Little Girl, are a submissive.”
Her eyes jump to my face as her mouth opens to protest. I place a finger on her lips and shake my head.
