Page 9 of Her Royal Master (Master Me #1)

C helsea

D arius brought me to climax three more times before carrying me to the shower and fucking me against the wall. I’d never felt so sexualized, so desirable in my life. By the time we emerged from the shower, my body was wrung out and sore, my brain mush.

I stood in the middle of Darius’ room, clutching a towel around me. “Am I allowed to wear clothes?”

He gave a decisive shake of his head, but he opened his closet. From the floor, he picked up a shiny leather dress shoe and yanked out the lace, a thin black cord. “Only this.”

I tensed, fearing I already knew where he wanted me to wear it.

And I was right.

“Lift up your hair,” he commanded, his deep, accented voice making my knees go weak.

Still, I resisted.

His expression turned stern. “You will wear a symbol of my ownership. If you don’t like this one, I’ll get the collar you wore yesterday.”

I held out my wrist. “Can’t I wear it here?”

He shook his head. “A collar goes around your neck. It’s a symbol of submission that I require you wear. You belong to me now.”

I nibbled my lip, ignoring the spike of pleasure in my chest. Why should hearing I belonged to him excite me?

He’d already made it abundantly clear. And he didn’t mean permanently.

It was for the duration of the voyage. But I must’ve wanted to belong to him, because I did as he asked, lifting my hair and turning around for him to tie the black cord around my neck.

I hated it. My throat spasmed the moment the cord touched it, my tongue seeming to swell until it was too big for my mouth, cutting off my windpipe. I dug my fingers under it to pull back and earned myself a swift slap to the ass.

“Hands on the top of your head. Now, little girl.”

Little girl. The term was condescending and demeaning and… hot to me. Which made no sense. If Derek had ever called me little girl, I would’ve smacked the side of his head and given him a lecture on women’s rights. What made it so unbelievably thrilling from the mouth of the Devil Duke?

I liked being at his mercy.

No, I freaking loved it.

What in the hell was wrong with me? I was a career-oriented woman with control issues. Could it be all this time the secret button to arousal for me was dominance?

All the time with Derek I’d held the reins in the bedroom.

I’d said when I wanted sex and refused when I didn’t.

And our lovemaking had been lukewarm at best. With Darius, control had been stripped from me from the very start.

It had terrified me, but had also ignited a level of lust, of passion, I hadn’t known existed.

Without the layer of control—the armor of control—I became nothing but a willing body, eager to receive.

I hadn’t moved, and Darius growled, stalking away and taking the cord with him.

A sigh of relief puffed from my lips, but it was too soon.

When Darius returned, he carried a roll of black tape.

Twisting my arms behind my back, he wrapped the tape around my wrists, securing them at my lower back.

I fought for a moment, not because having my wrists taped frightened me, but because I wouldn’t have them free if he choked me.

Fuck. He was going to choke me with that cord.

As if he recognized I needed soothing, Darius pulled my hair back from my neck and pressed his lips to my shoulder.

“Easy, American. You can trust me. I know you’re scared.

” He reached around the front of me, holding the cord out in front of my face.

“It’s just a shoelace. This thing would break before it could choke a girl.

And strangulation isn’t my game. Not today, anyway.

With you, probably not ever, although I like a challenge. ”

Waves of cold flooded my body. Was he talking about auto-asphyxiation? Or whatever that sex kink was where people died from choking during sex? All rational thought fled my brain as sheer terror enveloped my body, swallowing me whole, drowning me in darkness and cold.

“Shh, you’re okay, baby.” Warm arms held me tight, Darius’ voice murmured in my ear. “You’re shaking, sweetheart. Take my strength. I have you. I won’t let anything bad happen to you. I promise.”

I fought to slow my heart rate and regain control. “I’m sorry,” I squeaked, embarrassed at how easily I turned into a quivering ball of fear.

“No breath play. I’ll accept that hard limit from you.” He stroked up and down my arms. “But if I kept you, angel—if you were mine forever—someday I’d cure you of this phobia. You’d beg me to have my hand around that lovely throat.”

If you were mine forever.

The words sent a pang of longing through my chest. Three days were all I had with this man. This complex, dominant, wonderful man. I hadn’t allowed any shadow of hope for more to enter my mind. Until he spoke those words.

Damn him. I wanted to be his forever.

And that was utterly impossible.

Laughable.

Ridiculous.

I was disposable to him. Even if he kept me a while longer, it wouldn’t last. These things never do. He wasn’t going to marry an American journalist from a lower middle class single parent home. Please.

So yeah. I needed to erase any and all images that sprang in my head of what it would be like to be kept by Darius Halsburg.

“I’m going to put this on you now. You’ll feel it, but it won’t squeeze. Just like a necklace.”

“I don’t wear necklaces,” I squeaked. Or turtlenecks. Or shirts with small collars.

“What happened to you, baby? Did someone hurt you?” His voice sharpened at the end, like he couldn’t quite maintain the calming tone he’d adopted. “Give me a name.”

“No,” I barely managed to speak as I controlled my reaction to the cord which he’d laid gently over my skin. “Nothing happened. I’ve always been like this.”

“Past life, maybe,” Darius suggested, surprising me with such an open-minded assessment.

He believed in past lives?

“It doesn’t matter what caused it. You’re going to learn to wear my collar. You’re going to love wearing my collar—do you know why?” He was talking just to distract me from my discomfort. He’d tied the cord in the back and now clipped off the ends, leaving a neat knot.

“Why?” I croaked.

He spun me around and cradled the side of my neck, looking down at me, his chocolate brown eyes dark with intensity.

It seemed he would leave his hands as well as his cord on my throat, demanding I get used to it.

“Because I take care of my subs. This collar means you’re under my protection.

I’ll make sure your needs are met. I won’t let anyone else touch you.

” His expression blackened. “You’re sure no one ever choked you, baby?

Because if they did, I will make them sorry they were born. ”

My lips parted, surprised to hear violence from the gentlemanly royal.

Violence offered in my defense. Had anyone ever offered to protect me?

Only my mom and only until I pushed her assistance away, desperate to stand on my own two feet.

Certainly no man. Not my father. Not Derek or any earlier boyfriends.

“No one choked me,” I whispered.

He ran his thumb over my pulse, lightly stroking.

It almost felt… nice. Sensual, even.

To distract my careening heart from getting attached, I reminded myself that this man was in the lifestyle.

He’d said subs , plural. I take care of my subs.

Not me. I just fell in the lump of submissives he’d trained and made his own.

I wasn’t even sure what that meant, but it made me want to jump off the ship and swim home.

With effort, I re-erected the armor he’d pulled off me. I was here for a story. Nothing more. I needed to get more information out of my subject so I had something to write about.

I drew a deep breath. “So, how long have you been into BDSM?”

~.~

D arius

M y brows slammed down, and I released Chelsea.

Damn. That hurt so much more than I expected. How long have I been into BDSM? I could practically see the practiced journalist pull a pencil out of her hair and moisten the tip with her tongue, ready to take down notes.

I stalked around the small room to get some distance from her. She wanted to ask me questions? Fine. I had some for her, too. I pulled my rattan cane from my toy box and whapped it into my palm.

Chelsea’s eyes widened.

“Okay, little journalist. You have questions, and I have questions, so we’re going to play a little game.

” I grabbed her elbow and swung her to face the bed, pushing her torso down over the mattress.

“For each answer you give me, I will allow a question from you. If you choose to pass or if you lie, you get three strokes of the cane.” I tapped the cane against her pretty bare ass for effect.

“What if you choose to pass on a question?” Defiance rang out in her voice.

I considered, nudging her legs wider with the cane. “I will subtract two strokes from your total.”

“That’s not fair!” Her outrage made me chuckle.

I bent over her and lifted her head with her hair. “Our relationship isn’t built on fair, princess. What made you think it was?”

She made a huffy sound into the covers when I released her head.

I repositioned myself behind her. “I could simply cane you now because I wanted to.” I brought my hand up between her legs, spanking her pussy.

“Because your ass would look gorgeous with my stripes across it.” Another spank.

Her wet folds told me her indignation hadn’t diminished desire.

“Or because I’m pissed you want to use our time together for your fucking story. ”

Her back shuddered when she sucked in a shaky breath.

“I’ll give you a taste of the cane before we begin. So you know what you’re in for if you displease me.”

The muscles of her back and shoulders bunched up in expectation.

I stood to the side of her and let the cane swish through the air, striking her right in the middle of her buttocks.

She screamed, rising up on her tiptoes, making a beautiful sight. “You’re mean!” she shouted when she’d regained her breath.