“I need you to understand,” she said.
“I’ll never understand,” he returned. “After this week, Simone, honestly? You can ask that of me?”
Her hands gripped him harder. “You don’t get it.”
His hands came up and gripped her just the same, positioning her so they were nose-to-nose and his eyes were drilling into hers.
“Then explain it to me,” he bit out.
She automatically retreated, trying to physically, which he disallowed, so she did it verbally.
“You push too hard,” she snapped.
“Learn this about me, darling,” he drawled ominously. “When there’s something I want, and I have it in my sights, I will do anything, absolutely fucking anything, to secure it. You think this is pushing hard, you know nothing about me.”
“You’re not making this better,” she warned.
“Why won’t you allow yourself to be happy?” he asked, irate.
That question, one Aryas had posed to her using different words what was now years ago, made her move so violently, she tore out of his arms and was across the bed before he could snatch her back.
Naked, on three limbs, the last held up, palm out toward him, when he made to lunge at her, she hissed, “Don’t get near me.”
His face turned gentle.
As it always did when he took it too far and she snapped.
Then fear spiraled up her spine when that wiped clean and his expression set to determined.
Switching tactics.
Doing absolutely anything.
“Get over here,” he ordered.
“No,” she denied.
“Get over here, Sixx,” he bit.
He called her Sixx.
He knew precisely who he was dealing with.
God, he knew her down to her soul.
And that terrified her most of all.
“No!” she yelled and moved to throw herself off the bed.
He caught her around the waist and dragged her back, and this was good.
This was great.
With this, she could show him precisely who he was dealing with.
He said if she took him to his ass, it would sting his pride. But the man Stellan was, she knew if she did that, it wouldn’t just sting his pride. It would alter who they were to each other forever.
And when she went at him with no holds barred, it tore her apart at the same time it gave her hope that she’d finally found the means to save him.
She discovered the faults in this hastily-formed plan immediately.
The facts were that Stellan might be well-bred, well-dressed and wealthy.
But a predator was a predator no matter how polished he appeared to the world.
And when an urbane predator was pushed to claim something that was his, he was an animal.
In the ensuing battle, she had a few openings, and he bested her at each one. He was strong, he was sly, and he was a fucking cheat.
He—her Stellan, the man she was in love with, the man who looked at her adoringly when she held his balls in her mouth or anytime—knew he was bigger than her, stronger than her, and as she’d expected him to do, something he did not do, he gave her no quarter.
It could be Ami he was grappling with.
So when he had her facedown on the bed, her arm torqued up her back so tight, the pain in her shoulder was acute and almost blinding, but definitely immobilizing, and he commanded, “Spread your goddamn legs,” she did it.
He kept his hold on her even as she sensed him reaching, heard a nightstand open, knew he was doing something just out of sight, so she didn’t know what it was until she had a scant second to feel it and tense the muscles she needed to tense to refuse it.
But the latter had no effect.
He rammed the plug up her ass, which set her groaning and sliding slightly up to her knees.
Then he spanked her, and if she thought the sharp blows he’d given her the day of the pool party had a good sting, this was a damned thrashing.
“Stellan,” she breathed.
“Master,” he bit.
“Baby,” she tried.
His hand hitting her flesh was his only reply.
He gave it to her and he gave her more, holding her wrist twisted up her back, until she felt the pain in her shoulder rocket down her ass, gathering with the pain he was inflicting there, and scattering between her legs, down the backs of her thighs, and without any warning and thus with no control whatsoever, she started coming.
“That’s it, darling,” he growled, she knew, taking her flesh from pink to red and welted.
“God,” she whispered hoarsely.
“No, sweetheart,” he returned, the spanking ending, the torture beginning. He held her down and dove his hand between her legs. “Master,” he finished.
She quivered, she shook, she shuddered, she came again and again and again from deft, talented, relentless clit stimulation and deep, hard, penetrating finger fucking until her body was not her own … at all, even a little of it, all the way to her marrow.
It was his.
Only his.
“I can’t … no more,” she begged feebly, but her muscles clenched and another orgasm burned through her.
He took hold of the plug and started fucking her ass, and she shoved her face in the bed and moaned.
“Sorry?” he called.
“Please.” The word was muffled in the bed.
He filled her, and his hand went back between her legs.
Abruptly, of its own volition, she shuddered in surrender.
Her body going lax, her legs spreading wider, she turned her face again so her cheek was to the sheets and whispered, “Please, I can’t take more, Master.”
In a blink, the plug was out, she was up, in his arms, her body wrapped around his, his arm tight at her waist, his other hand cupped to the back of her head, and he was kissing her deeply.
Shifting his hips, he slid inside, and using his arm around her waist to lift and lower her, he was fucking her gently.
He pulled her mouth from his, shoved her face in his neck, and moved her on his cock. Each time he filled her, she sighed against his skin, too spent to do anything but hold on and grip him as hard as she could with her pussy.
“You won’t be able to leave me,” he declared thickly.
She closed her eyes and centered on the pull and release, the push and seal.
Seal.
Seal.
Sealed.
His orgasm was lazy and so beautifully orchestrated, having Sixx in the state he put her in, she could do nothing but hear it, feel it, absorb it in every way that could come to being, accepting it as the precious gift he had every intention of giving.
When he was finished, he impaled her on his cock and held her in his arms.
“I thought I knew what I was doing,” he murmured. “But you’re full of surprises. And in matters of meaning, in other words, battles worth winning, I adore surprises, sweetheart.”
Great.
“You need a firmer hand,” he decided.
She didn’t think she could have it in her, but apparently she did because she shivered.
He chuckled.
She loved the sound.
God!
“I think every weekend we play, I’ll command a day where I get Simone and a day where I get to break Sixx,” he said.
And he could also find a way to get off on the messed-up insanity of her split personalities.
Fabulous.
“Yes?” he asked.
“I think you’re more nuts than me,” she muttered against his skin.
“I said something once that, at the time, I didn’t even realize how true was its meaning,” he shared.
Sixx had a feeling she didn’t want to know.
She also had a feeling he knew she didn’t.
But Stellan didn’t give a damn.
“Sweet pussy is worth any hassle. But to earn the attention of a queen…” He curled his hand around her jaw and used it to force her to look at him. The touch was dominant, but gentle, and achingly sweet, and when he caught her eyes, he concluded, speaking every word in a way each was laced with steel, “I. Will. Do. Anything.”