His hand clenched around her nape and pressed her to her knees. “Tonight, I’m everything to you.”
How did he know the pressure of his hand, the gravel in his voice, and the touch of his fingers around her neck would melt her insides like a supernova? Because he was a Nyral dominant and she was a submissive who needed to submit. She bit her lip to control the whimper in her throat.
“Nothing will happen tonight unless I will it.” He drove her to her knees.
“Let me go. I want a safe word, damn it,” she snarled.
“Tsk tsk.” With sudden violence, he ripped the thin silk blouse she wore and tossed it in the corner. Her blood heated, fear only intensifying her arousal. Damn him. His smile only made her pulse pound harder. “You turned off the cameras and the audio. No one will know whether you consent to this or not.”
Right. So that’s what he’d become.
Her instincts must have been clouded by hormones. Worse, part of her hungered for the violence of his intent, his possession. Fast and efficient, she broke his hold and bounded to her feet. If he thought she was helpless because he'd cuffed her hands, he was sadly mistaken.
Wary, she faced him. He hadn’t moved, his hands up in the air. “I didn’t say I would continue without your consent.”
“A true dominant wouldn’t need to imply it,” she snapped. She glanced toward the door and tried to plan her escape even as her body betrayed her, moisture pooling in her underwear.
“I only pointed something out to you that you seem to have forgotten in your haste to feel safe. You put your trust in me that far. Why not all the way?”
“And ripping my clothes?”
He cocked his head to the side. “Are you going to say you didn’t like it?”
She opened her mouth, then shut it. He nodded. “Shall I slide my fingers over your cunt to see if you liked it?”
Her nostrils flared, and she started to struggle with the cuffs. He was an experienced dom, one who played the game fully to its conclusion. This was no casual fuck, and she couldn’t allow anything more.
His eyes narrowed. “Answer me, sub.”
Her gaze jerked to his. “No. Yes. Leave me alone.”
He stalked her, circling the room, never closer, but crowding her nonetheless. “You need this.”
“You don’t know me.” She yanked on the cuffs, and they bit into her skin, which only added to her need.
God, he was fast. One second he was mocking her, an arm's length away from her body; the next instant, he tackled her to the floor.
They hit the bare surface hard, and the breath whooshed out of her lungs. She still hadn’t caught her breath when he trussed her up like a damn chicken. Her feet were restrained, bound together with electrocuffs. An adjustable chain stretched from her ankle restraints to the handcuffs. He tightened the length until she couldn’t move without toppling over.
He panted for breath from the exertion and yanked her up from the floor to her knees. She had to arch her back to stay upright. Tears gathered at the strain, but she held the position. Her pussy throbbed, and moisture trickled down her leg.
He didn’t speak, but he took off her bra and used a knife to remove her skirt. All her strength had to be used to remain on her knees, the chain pulled taut between her ankles and her wrists. His hands were hot on her skin, traveling, learning every curve, every crease. Her breasts jutted out, and she gasped when he took one nipple into his warm mouth. She almost whimpered in protest when he stopped.
He stood in front of her and spoke. “I want your eyes on me, machinka. You will call me Master. I don’t want you quiet. You’ll beg me for what you need, and you’ll do it loudly.”
“No, please,” she whispered.
He lifted his hand, and she flinched. When his fingers tangled in her hair and tipped her head to force her to meet his gaze, his face was somber. “Yes. The more you whisper, the worse your punishment.”
Punishment? She was a Blueshift Brotherhood assassin. What could he do? She pursed her lips and glared at him.
He nodded sharply. “Punishment it is.”
When he stepped away, she almost protested but caught herself in time. Then he retrieved a strange device from a wall cupboard. It was long, like a dildo, but had a programming pad on the end of it. He pressed some buttons and then slid it slowly inside her pussy. She shuddered, almost losing her balance. The man’s hand braced her so she would stay upright.
The dildo began to thrust inside her automatically. Slow and steady, it didn’t penetrate deeply, and she longed to grab it to make it fuck her hard. Close, so close. Then he approached her with the first clip. Her eyes widened and jerked to his face. He stroked one of her nipples and then slid his fingers up to the sensitive skin on her arm.
She gasped when he pinched her flesh and clipped it. Pain ripped through her, but he wasn’t done yet. Another clip. And another. He cupped her tits and sucked a nipple into his mouth. Heat curled in her belly, and then electricity shot through her as he clipped the skin of her belly even as he nibbled her breast.
When she lost count of the clips, she lost her ability to remain quiet. For so long, she’d had to keep her words contained, deep inside her, written on her heart. The needs she had, the dreams that had shattered, the lies she told were all kept hidden, unspoken. Now, this man was driving her voice to the surface and demanded truth.
The slow torture of the dildo, the shooting pain from the clips, and his mouth everywhere drove her insane. “Please,” she managed, though her voice cracked.
His mouth was by her ear. “Louder.”
“Please,” she said in a shout.
His finger rolled her nipples, and she arched closer to his hands. The demand in his eyes held hers captive. “Please what, machinka?”
She snarled at him and lunged. She would have toppled over, but he gripped her arm. “Goddamn you,” she shouted. “Fuck me. Make me come.”
Tears streamed down her cheeks. The sizzle of pain from her pinched flesh and the wild yearning in her pussy flooded her senses. Her silent tears only emphasized what she already knew: she was broken, damaged goods. A killer who had rejected everything she believed for one thing -- revenge. What would be left of her after her job was finished? Nothing. Nothing at all.
With a jerk, she tried to break his hold, to curl up in a ball of misery on the floor. All she’d wanted was a good fuck. Instead, she’d found a man who dominated her, understood her needs better than she understood them herself.
He gripped her chin. “You know what we both need.”
She hiccuped and then nodded. “Master,” she whispered.
He pinched her nipple hard, and she gasped in pleasure-pain. “Louder,” he insisted.
“Master,” she screamed.
“I am your master,” he said, and his hand reached down and manipulated the buttons on the dildo. “You will not come until I order you to. Do you understand?”
She swallowed. “Yes,” she said through a tight throat.
The dildo began to thrust deep, touching her very soul. Her orgasm gathered, rolling everything in front of it away. She desperately tried to stop the wave of pleasure, jerking the restraints to rub them roughly against her skin. “I can’t, Master,” she wailed.
“God, you’re beautiful. Stunning. If you could only see what I see,” he said, his tone rough.
She gasped and twisted to stop the onslaught of her release. “Help me,” she cried.
“Yes,” he hissed and removed one of the clips. The throb of pain shoring up her resistance for only a second before it beat at her door again. Again, he unclipped another one of the clips, and the blood rushed back to the bruised skin. Marks were all over her skin, and she used the sting to keep her orgasm at bay. But soon the rush of adrenaline only added to her intense pleasure.
“Master, I can’t --” Her voice broke, and she shattered like glass.
The orgasm blew through her, ripping away carefully placed shields, leaving her wide open. Every nerve in her body twitched and stretched, and every muscle clenched. She couldn’t control the keening cry that poured from her mouth. She convulsed and squeezed the dildo hard.
She was still shuddering with the force of her release when he opened the restraints, and she was crushed against him for a soul-shattering kiss. His tongue devoured her mouth as the dildo still thrust inside her pussy. Helplessly, she arched against him, her bruised body desperate for his.
He laid her down on something soft, like a mattress, and removed the dildo. His mouth dipped down to taste her, own her, drive her even higher than any mechanical device ever could. Words tumbled from her lips. “Oh God, your mouth. So good. Please. Master. I want -- I want --”
When he lifted his head, his volcanic gaze burned into hers. “What do you want?”
“Your cock. In me. Please, Master.” She didn’t whisper her need. She said it. Out loud.
With an animalistic growl, he covered her body with his and plunged inside her. She wrapped her legs around him, driving him deeper, urging him to be rougher. He lifted her legs and opened her wider to his invasion. He stared at her, demanding, without words, to keep her eyes open.
Her hands free, she touched him. She cupped his face and wound her fingers in his hair. “Master, come inside me. Set me free,” she said.
It was erotic to watch him let go, to come for her. His neck muscles corded, and his face clenched, and it was all she could do to hang on, not to come.
But then it happened. She dropped off the edge, before she even realized what had happened. Burning pain, a ripping sensation combined with overwhelming pleasure that stunned her.
Her arm was on fire, licks of burning heat etching her skin and shriveling her nerves. The pain added to her pleasure, increasing it, extending it. She screamed a long ear-ringing wail.
Burning. Pain. Her arm.
“Fuck,” he shouted and jerked his cock out of her, his cum spilling over her belly, her breasts, her neck, and splattering her face. One of his hands pumped his cock to spread more of his seed all over her. The smell was intoxicating, and she arched toward him.
Her arm still throbbed, and she glanced at it. Red lines were burned into her skin, a recognizable shape beginning to brand her. The bastard had almost marked her. Part of her reveled in the fact he wanted to possess her so much. But the fear was far more prevalent. Had he succeeded, the consequences, for her at least, could have been unimaginable. Yet, deep down, she wanted that mark desperately. She shut her brain off and ran on instinct. She needed to get away. Now.
Still dizzy from the force of their sexual collision, she managed to slip out from under him and stumble to the door.
“Wait,” he said, and he lunged for her, grabbing her ankle. She sprawled on the floor and managed to roll away from his hands.
He froze. “You’re a Nyral female?” His gaze was riveted on her arm.
A combination of anger and fear spurred her to jump to her feet and then kick her leg out in a vicious swipe as she went. She nailed him in the gonads.
He crumpled to the floor, and she scrambled to open the door. Briefly she glanced back, afraid she might have hurt him. His breath hitched, and he glared at her. “You’ll pay for that,” he growled and stumbled to his feet.
But then, she sprinted out the door, naked, cum stuck to her skin, frightened, with the mark of a herwalk, a bird of prey and a known enemy of the little machinka, burned faintly on her forearm.