Page 7 of House of Cards (The Devil’s Den #2)
“You belong to me now. I decide what’s fair.” He leans back, letting me see his smirk before he slams his finger knuckle-deep inside me. I gasp, my back arching from the chair.
Another hard thrust has my eyes squeezing shut as a shudder rips through me.
“I decide what you wear.”
He pinches one of my nipples, then tugs it hard enough to make me yelp.
“I decide what you eat.”
His hand clamps around my throat,
“I decide who fucks you. And I decide when you come.”
He decides who fucks me?
I don’t know if it’s his touch or his words that rocket me to the edge of sanity, but I’m there in seconds.
My handful of mediocre hookups never prepared me for this. The last guy I slept with couldn’t find my clit with Google Maps and a flashlight, yet a complete stranger finds it in seconds?
I desperately fend off the urge to give him what he wants, scowling as I ignore the pleasure damming up inside me. He returns my scowl with a hooded gaze that’s so fucking sexy, so fucking dark, my entire body clenches like a fist.
“That’s it. Now come for me, kitten. Come for me now. ”
I whimper as he fucks me with his hand, one finger pounding into my dripping pussy while his thumb works my clit. The hand around my throat tightens until I’m seeing stars, the trapped blood in my face turning my flesh hot and puffy.
A climax swells, sends me soaring, and then brings me crashing down.
My body shudders like I’m having a fit as I arch back my head and let out a loud, wordless gasp. My pussy grind against his hand, eking out every last drop of pleasure from his fingers.
I’m still panting when he lowers his head to my shoulder and lets out a sadistic chuckle against the side of my neck.
“There’s my good girl.”
I veer away from him, staring up at him with shell-shocked eyes. My thighs slam closed, but I can barely keep them together. Everything is trembling, weak, spent.
His heat goes with him when he straightens.
This is so beyond the realm of normal that my brain blue-screens. All I can do is just stare up at him wordlessly as my clit pulses like it’s angry at me for something.
He studies me with narrowed eyes as he slowly peels the gloves off his hands. I can’t help but notice how glossy they are, how disgustingly wet I made them as I came. He tugs loose the suspenders he used to tie me up, and calmly reattaches them to his pants.
Needlessly adjusts his glasses.
Tosses me my dress.
I try to catch it, but my body is still numb, my fingers fumbling as I pull the fabric over my head and shimmy it down my torso. I don’t trust my legs enough to risk standing.
This fucking asshole. Deranged lunatic.
How dare he—he…make me come like that?
Soon as I catch my breath, I’m going to rip him a new one.
His phone rings and he doesn’t break eye contact as he takes it from his pocket and puts it to his ear. “Smith.”
At least I know his name now. Might be useful for when I file a police report. My mouth quirks up in a mirthless smile.
I can see it now.
Well, Officer, he caught me counting cards in his casino, and then he finger-fucked me so hard I saw stars. Did I enjoy it? Of course I didn’t… not enjoy it. What do you mean, I was asking for it with a dress that short?
Smith’s face doesn’t change as he listens to whatever the other person says and he ends the call without so much as a goodbye.
Guess he’s not good with people. Then again, he just forced me to come on command.
And I did. Like an obedient slut puppy.
I stand, slowly, trying to make as if I’m just stretching my legs. “Thanks for the orgasm, but I’m still a little foggy on the details. I mean, do your sex slaves get dental?”
He doesn’t even blink. “If you’re worried about us pulling out your teeth, that only happens if you try to run. After we’ve dismembered you, of?—“
He cuts off when I spin away.
I know it’s useless, but that doesn’t stop me.
Instinct is louder than logic, louder than the pathetic scrape of my shoes on the floor as I slam into the locked door with a desperate grunt.
Smith’s hand is on my wrist before I can even bounce back. His other clamps my second wrist like a cuff as he twists them both behind me without so much as a grunt of effort.
I jerk and slam my elbow into his stomach, but pain rings up my arm as I crash straight into solid muscle.
It’s like trying to dent steel. He doesn’t even grunt.
One flex of his arms is all it takes to pin both my wrists into the small of my back before he slams me against the door.
A strip of something hard and flexible snakes over my wrists, and my stomach plummets violently when I hear the rasp of a zip tie being drawn taut.
Gloves. Zip ties. Suspenders, when he’s feeling kinky.
An icy chill runs through my body. God, who is this man?
“People have seen me with you,” I blurt out. “Eye witnesses!”
“Amnesia’s cheap.”
“You can’t do this!” Despite trying to kick him or wrestle my arms free, he holds me easily.
“It’s already done, Zoey. You belong to me now.”
Smith grabs my shoulder and spins me around, shoving me against the metal. The corner of his mouth curls up, but it’s not a smile. He crowds against me, so close that our bodies touch.
When his thumb brushes my lips, they part as if on instinct.
He slowly drops his head, our mouths less than an inch apart. His warm breath makes my lips tingle because, apparently, they haven’t been paying attention. And when his dark eyes search mine, it feels like he’s cataloging every sign of weakness for when he needs to break me again.
“Welcome to the Devil’s Den, kitten.”