Page 26 of Redemption (Favorite Malady Duet #2)

“I absolutely can.” He chuckles, a sound of arrogant amusement. “Try to stop me. Give me the satisfaction of clipping on your leash and making you crawl.”

I narrow my eyes at him. “You can’t make me do anything.”

“Oh, little dove,” he croons. “I definitely can. But for now, I’m giving you a choice.”

“These aren’t choices,” I shoot back. “It’s coercion.”

With every “choice” I make, I’m making myself more vulnerable. I’m surrendering to him just a little bit more.

He traces the curve of my purple curl. “And you love being coerced.”

You liked it. I remember how he justified his actions as the masked man. How he justified what he did to me in the studio.

The chill is closing in on me again, and my throat tightens to restrict my breathing, as though his long fingers are squeezing my neck.

He kisses me again, taking his time to caress my lips with his, imbuing me with warmth.

“Time to join the other guests, pet.”

I try to stall, but he strides forward. The metal cuff tugs at my wrist, dragging me in his wake.

“This is crazy,” I insist.

I’m wearing a collar and handcuffs. I can’t be seen publicly like this.

He laughs again and doesn’t slow his confident pace through the massive, open front doors. “Don’t worry. You’ll fit right in.”

Dozens of people wearing fine clothes and elaborate masks fill the foyer. Several curious glances rake over us, witnessing the embarrassing spectacle we’re making.

To my horror, I feel something slick between my thighs with every shaky step. I’m getting turned on by this humiliating scene.

I lift my chin and school my features to an impassive expression that’s far better at concealing my emotions than the gold mask.

“My proud, brave little pet.” Dane says it like praise, not mockery. “You’ll enjoy yourself tonight. I guarantee it.”

As we near the other guests, shock makes my feet stick to the marble floor.

The guests’ outfits are obviously expensive, but several of them are dressed in leather and latex rather than fine silk.

A statuesque blonde wears a corset over her voluminous taffeta skirt.

Her breasts are almost spilling out, and the skirt is open at the front to reveal sheer white tights. She’s not wearing underwear.

I gasp and tear my gaze away. It falls on the man to her left.

What I originally thought was a formal kilt is actually crafted in leather, and his loose-fitting white shirt is unbuttoned to reveal masculine chest hair.

He’s holding a leash causally in one hand.

The other end is clipped to a collar on the corseted woman’s neck.

“What is this, Dane?” I ask breathlessly.

He fixes me with a wicked smirk. “It’s a party, darling. Haven’t you always wanted to go to a ball like one of your fantasy princesses?”

I gape at him. There’s nothing romantic about this. It’s deviant. Carnal.

Perverse.

And my blood is humming through my veins.

“That’s one of my favorite colors,” Dane rumbles, caressing my heated cheek. “Almost as pink as your pretty cunt.”

“Dane!”

Judging by the kilted man’s smirk, he heard that scandalous remark.

A server carrying a silver tray with Champagne flutes pauses to offer us a drink. Dane assesses me with an x-ray gaze, reading every nuance of my jittery, indignant mood.

He selects a glass for himself but doesn’t offer me one.

“I’d rather not end up with Champagne in my eyes,” he teases. “I have a feeling you’d toss the drink in my face as soon as it was in your hand.”

“Good idea,” I mutter.

“Sorry to disappoint you. Now, do you want a drink?

I blink at him. He just said I couldn’t have one.

“Yes,” I reply before he can change his mind. Now that he’s mentioned it, I would very much like to throw Champagne into his smug face.

One of his big hands slides into my hair at my nape, anchoring me in a firm grip. He applies steady pressure and tugs my head back slightly. He lifts the glass to my lips.

“You wouldn’t,” I insist.

He won’t actually give me a drink from his hand like I truly am his helpless pet.

“Your choice,” he says again, but he doesn’t lower the glass.

I press my lips together in denial, but I can’t shift my head. The glass tilts despite my glower, and Champagne spills down my chin, dripping onto my chest.

I open my mouth, cheeks flaming. Having him pour the drink down my chest feels more embarrassing than accepting the drink. The fizzy liquid bubbles over my tongue, reminding me of the drink he bought for me on our first date.

That memory is so terribly tempting, and for a moment, I want to give in.

I want to belong to Dane again. In every way.

But the Champagne is still spilling from the corners of my lips, and I realize he’s doing it intentionally.

“Not too much,” he chides, as though I have a choice in how much I’m drinking. “I don’t want your senses impaired.”

I consider spitting the Champagne in his face, but it’s too late for that. He pulls the glass away, and I’m left panting for breath and covered in expensive wine.

His eyes darken when they fix on my chest, and I realize my nipples have pebbled to hard, aching buds. They’re clearly visible against the dark purple silk. It clings to my breasts now that the material is wet.

“I want a taste,” Dane rumbles, but he sets the half-empty glass on to a passing server’s tray.

I try to ease away from his predatory energy, but the handcuff keeps me closely bound to him. And he still hasn’t released my hair.

He tugs sharply, forcing me to expose my throat.

His lips are unbearably soft against my sensitive skin, and his tongue brands me when he licks the line of my vulnerable artery.

He takes his time sampling the Champagne on my skin, making his way lower down my chest with a trail of hot, hungry kisses.

“No.” My protest is so breathy that it might as well be a welcoming purr.

His lips close over my nipple, his teeth grazing it through the thin barrier of my wet dress.

Pleasure floods my body in a strong wave that crashes from my breasts all the way to my fingers and toes.

It goes straight to my head, and for a moment, I’m euphoric.

Desire layers over my embarrassment, and sparks dance down my spine to heat my core.

“Lovely.” The woman’s voice is far too close.

Oh, god. I remember all of the people that surround us. They’re all bearing witness to my shameful, wanton responses to Dane’s cruel game.

I lift my free hand and try to shove his head away from my chest. He bites my nipple in sharp reprimand.

I yelp, and the woman giggles.

I turn desperate eyes on her and suppress a whimper as Dane returns to teasing my tight, sensitive bud with his tongue.

“Help me,” I beg. I can’t bear further humiliation, no matter how my body is humming for him. “I don’t want this.”

Dane nips at me again, and my knees almost buckle. He steadies me with an arm around my waist and continues to torment my breasts as though this is completely normal and natural.

The blonde fixes me with an indulgent smile, and one blue eye winks through her silver mask. “Of course you don’t.”

“You don’t understand,” I insist, and the words are almost a desperate groan. “I don’t want to be here.”

The woman’s smile tilts. She thinks this is a game.

And Dane is still tormenting my nipples in the way that makes me come undone for him.

“No,” I moan, equal parts horror and lust. I try to keep the woman in focus when my eyes are threatening to roll back in my head. “I’m here against my will.”

She giggles again and sips her Champagne, indulging in the carnal scene like a spectator at a particularly sensual play.

“He kidnapped me!” I burst out.

Someone has to help me. This has to stop.

But Dane doesn’t stop. He drags his tongue up my sternum before his teeth graze my throat in warning.

“Please,” I beg the woman. “This is real.”

She just continues to smile at me. “I’ll leave you two to enjoy yourselves.”

“No! Wait!”

But she doesn’t listen.

No one listens to me. No one will help me.

The cruelty of Dane’s dark game crashes down on me, and I shriek out my frustration. Several people look at us, but they don’t seem alarmed in the slightest. Instead, they’re merely curious. Interested to see what Dane’s pet will do next.

My right hand is cuffed to his left, and his free hand is still in my hair.

My left hand slaps his stunning face with a shocking crack.

I immediately regret it.

His wicked grin is far more terrifying than a thunderous scowl.

“Are you ready to struggle, little dove?”

“I want to leave,” I insist, my chest rising and falling on rapid, heaving breaths.

“It’s too late for that,” he admonishes. “Do you really think I’ll let you go unpunished?”

“Don’t do this,” I beg. “Not in front of all of these people.”

His fingers soften in my hair, and he massages my scalp in soothing circles. “Is it the audience that bothers you so much?” he croons. “Beg, and I might show mercy.”

I lick my lips, shame searing my cheeks. I don’t want to beg him for anything, but I can’t endure more of this erotic torment.

My pride makes my spine stiffen, but I force out through gritted teeth, “Please. I want to leave.”

“You didn’t ask very nicely, but you’ll do better by the end of the night.”

For a moment, I think he’ll refuse. I think he’s going to force me to remain here where everyone can witness my degradation.

Then he lifts me over his shoulder and strides out into the night.

I huff out a relieved breath, but I don’t yet realize that this isn’t over. It’s barely even begun.