Page 9 of Royal Deception (Royals of the Underworld #2)

RORY

H er words hang in the air between us, the tension blanketing us like a heavy weight. She wants this. She wants me. Something dark and primal shifts inside me, like a slumbering beast waking up for the first time. I haven’t done anything like this with another person in several years.

It’s titillating, the thought of doing this to Clary.

Her wide, gray eyes bore into mine as I search for any sign that she’s afraid, that she might not want this.

Any sign that she’s bitten off more than she can chew.

But as her chest rises and falls with each breath, her gaze never wavers.

She’s given me a challenge, and she’s waiting for me to respond.

Good. I like that she’s not backing down.

“Bad girls don’t get rewards with me,” I say, my voice so low it’s practically a growl.

“You’ve been defiant and rude, coarse and uncouth toward me, and I’ve had enough.

You’ve earned yourself a punishment. You’re going to learn what it means to disrespect me, why you aren’t allowed to talk back to me like that. ”

Her breath catches, but something flickers in her eyes at my words, a hungry look that tells me everything I need to know. Clary wants this just as much as I do. Excitement courses through my veins as I take in the sight of her flushed cheeks, her slightly parted lips.

I can’t wait to take control, show her exactly where her place is.

“I’m going to wash your naughty little mouth out with soap until you’ve learned to speak respectfully to me.”

Her eyes widen a fraction, but she swallows and nods, shifting from foot to foot as if trying to steady herself.

“And then,” I continue, leaning in so our faces are close, “I’m going to spank you hard until you can’t remember how it feels to speak back to me. You’ll learn then exactly who is in control here.”

Her breath comes out shaky, and she lowers her gaze as I give her a moment to process my instructions, to give her time to reconsider. I want her to fully understand what is going to happen.

“Do you understand, Little Mouse?” I ask, tilting her chin up with a finger to force her to meet my eyes.

She nods, but I need to hear it. I need her to say it, to make it real.

“I understand,” she says, her voice soft but clear.

There’s a vise grip around my heart now as I realize just how deeply she’s allowing herself to trust me here. This is a level of trust that we hadn’t even reached by the last time we spent the night together.

“Good,” I say, finding my voice again. “What’s your safe word?” I ask, hoping she isn’t as innocent and virginal about things like this as she looks.

“Pumpkin,” she says, lips twitching into a small grin. “I hate the taste of pumpkin, so I’d never ask for it.”

I nod, fully understanding. “Pumpkin,” I repeat. “Use that and we’ll stop this any time. No matter what. But once we start, there’s no turning back. If you want out, I want to hear you say it now.”

“I’m ready,” she says, the words slipping out like a challenge.

I take another step forward, my heart pounding in my chest. She’s not backing down, and neither am I.

She wants me to make her regret crossing me?

Her wish is my command.

Taking a step back, I shrug off my jacket and roll up my sleeves, buttoning them beneath my elbows. "Go and get me one of those paper cups from the water cooler," I order, my voice low, firm.

Clary doesn’t hesitate, springing into action immediately as she hurries from the room to obey my request.

I smirk, straightening up as I tug at the tie around my neck. Good. I despise bratty submissives, so her immediate obedience pleases me.

Heart pounding in my chest, I watch her walk back into the room, the cup trembling slightly in her hands. She offers it to me, and I nod with a small smile. She lights up, and for a brief moment, something soft flutters in my chest before I bury it back down.

“Good job,” I say, watching her try to hide the impact of the praise. "Now, fill it." My voice drops lower. "Fill it with soap. I want to see just how much you can handle."

The task is a test. She could still stop me, still call it all off. But she doesn’t waver.

Her fists clench slightly, jaw tightening, and she begins to pump the soap into the tiny cup, each spurt of blue liquid pooling together. I watch her carefully, studying every movement.

When she returns, she hands me the cup with an almost defiant look in her eyes. There’s no going back now.

I take the cup and place it casually next to me on the desk. The deliberate delay hangs in the air like thick smoke, filling the space with heightened tension. Clary clearly expected me to start pouring the soap into her mouth right away. When I don’t, confusion and uncertainty flicker in her eyes.

Instead, I step forward again, my voice firm.

“Place your arms behind your back, as best you can.” Her arms fall to her sides, and without hesitation, she obeys.

I circle her, pulling her wrists together as I wind my tie around them, the silk gliding across her skin, securing her in place.

She flinches slightly but doesn’t fight.

The vulnerability of the moment settles over her, and I relish the control.

Once the tie is securely holding her arms, I stand in front of her, my eyes dark with anticipation. Her gaze meets mine—defiance, hesitation, and a flicker of something I can’t quite place before it finally settles on quiet acceptance.

I tilt my chin up slightly, looking down at her. “Open your mouth,” I command, savoring the moment.

Her tongue darts out as she opens her mouth, and I pick the cup back up, dipping a finger into the viscous soap.

I glide it over her tongue, watching her face as she coughs slightly but doesn’t pull back.

I repeat the motion, spreading the thick liquid over her lips, gums, and teeth, savoring every second of this slow, deliberate process.

Tears gather along her lashes, the sharp, bitter taste of soap forcing a gag from her throat.

A thick strand of it spills slowly down her chin, dripping onto her blouse, and I watch, mesmerized by the helplessness in her expression.

My fingers are sticky now, but I don’t care.

I grab her chin firmly, tilting the cup over her tongue and spilling even more soap into her mouth.

She tries to pull back instinctively, but my grip on her jaw is too strong—she can’t move. Her body trembles slightly with the effort to resist, but I hold her in place, savoring the power.

More tears leak from her eyes, and something stirs inside me at the sight of them. They make her look so vulnerable, so completely humiliated, yet she continues to stare me down. There’s fire in her gaze, defiance burning through the helplessness.

She’s not going to break and she wants me to know that.

I have to bite my lip to keep from moaning at the sight of her. The strength she’s showing, even now, sends a thrill through me. I nearly shiver, my role almost slipping, but I push it back. Clary has no idea the level of control she holds over me right now.

So many people think submission is about completely surrendering, but the truth is that there is more trust in submission than anyone realizes. Clary doesn’t know that yet, but she’ll learn.

Clary jerks again as she gags on the soap, but my grip on her tightens and I stare down at her with a level gaze. “Do you think you’ve learned not to talk back to me?” I ask, keeping my tone cool.

She nods slowly, a few stray tears leaking down her cheeks. It takes all my self-control not to combust on the spot, but I shove my burning desire to the side, focusing instead on the way her lashes make a perfect little U-shape as she lowers her gaze.

“And do you agree to think twice before saying such foul, rude things?” I prod. She nods again and tries to swallow but gives up, letting the saliva mix with the soap to spill down her chin.

“Good girl,” I say, releasing my grip. “Go wash your mouth out now and come back to me.”

I don’t release the bonds, though, amusement filling me as I watch her struggle to get the faucet by the coffee bar turned on with her chin, then tilts her head under the stream to start rinsing the soap from her mouth.

It takes a good few minutes for her to get it all out but when she’s done, she comes back over to me and stands in front of me, breathing slowly through her nose. I step behind her again and release her from the tie, carelessly tossing it onto my chair before coming to stand in front of her.

“You’re going to strip for me,” I order her. “Take off your skirt and your panties and kneel on all fours.”

A mix of uncertainty and anticipation crosses her face before she brings her hands up and unzips the side of her skirt, letting it fall to the ground as she steps out of it, heels still on her feet.

I glance down at the skirt, then back up at her. “Fold it, neatly,” I command. “Then your panties.”

She draws in a sharp breath and nods, reaching down to pick up the purple fabric, folding it into a neat square, though her hands tremble as she moves. My mouth quirks up in satisfaction as she stands in front of me once more, then slowly, inch by inch, tugs her panties down and lets them drop.

She’s standing in front of me in nothing but a white blouse that’s gone sheer from the soap and water soaking through it, revealing a white, lacy corset top underneath. My cock hardens immediately as I take her in, need pulsing through me.

“Now kneel,” I say, my voice commanding, tone almost harsh in my attempt to hide just how much I’m turned on by the sight of her.

Sinking to the ground, she gets on all fours, exposing her bare buttocks to me as she faces the door. It’s a damned good thing my office is soundproof because I plan on making certain to take full advantage of her position.

“You have three options,” I say, reaching out to trace a hand over her bare skin. She shivers, a slight tremble in her shoulders when I rest my hand against her. “My hand,” I offer, “the ruler from my desk… or my belt.”

I pause, letting the options sink in for her. She gasps, and I see her swallow, a grimace on her face as she tastes the faint, lingering scent of soap. “The b–belt,” she stammers out. “Please.”

My eyes widen, a mix of disbelief and shock rippling over me. I wouldn’t have thought she had it in her, but Clary is constantly surprising me lately.

“Very well,” I say, reaching down to unbuckle my belt with a slow swish. Clary flinches almost imperceptibly then straightens out her shoulders and leans forward on her hands a little more, her backside raising higher.

I fold the belt in half, then let it fall forward, gently caressing her skin with the supple leather. The only sound in the room is that of her soft breaths as I raise my hand back. “Count each one,” I say, then let it fall.

The sharp crack of the first blow echoes through the room, followed by a sharp gasp. Clary jerks forward instinctively, but she doesn’t pull away. Not yet.

“One!” she cries out, her voice cracking.

The belt falls against her skin again and again, marking up her backside with red stripes, marks that practically glow with heat as I stop briefly to run my hand over them.

She continues counting, the few leaky tears turning into full sobs by the time I’m at number eight. Her body shakes as she tenses up, fingers curling into the plush carpet of the floor as if to try to ground herself.

But she doesn’t beg me to stop. She doesn’t use her safe word. She continues taking the punishment, one painful hit at a time, without complaint.

Clary never ceases to amaze me, I realize as I deliver the last two blows in quick succession. She calls out, “Nine, ten!” before all but collapsing forward, and I reach out to catch her, steadying her as I scoop her up and carry her over to sit with me on my couch.

Her body flails as she tries to get away from me, the humiliation and torment of the punishment finally breaking the walls down around her until she’s squirming in my lap, half-hysterical, but I gently stroke her hair, shushing her to calm her down.

“You did so well,” I murmur, pressing kisses against her temple, her cheeks. “You did perfectly, Kitten. You took your punishment perfectly. It’s all over. You’re forgiven now.” I’m proud of her for how well she managed, for how unfailingly she accepted every delivered hit of the belt.

Her sobs slow into stuttering breaths, then down to a few whispered sighs as she comes down from the adrenaline rush of the experience. I continue murmuring soothing words to her until she sits up a little, looking at me.

“I’m sorry,” she says, hanging her head. “I shouldn’t have yelled at you.”

“It’s okay,” I whisper, brushing a strand of hair away from her face.

It’s easier to be gentle with her when she’s like this, tucked up and vulnerable in my lap.

There’s some part of me that cherishes the chance to show her a different side of myself, one that I’d never willingly show anyone else under any other circumstances.

Not only that, but my own head feels better now too. I feel more clear-minded, less tense, less anxious than before. It’s like the session with Clary gave me something too.

“You’re forgiven,” I continue. “Would you like your reward now?”

“Reward?” Clary asks, tilting her chin up to search my eyes.

“Yes.” I smile, running a thumb over her lower lip. “You’ve earned a reward from me. I’d like to touch you, to get you off. Is that alright with you?”

I hold my breath, waiting for Clary’s response. I hope I haven’t pushed her too far or frightened her away.