Page 78 of The Enslaved Duet

I’m his.

“Mine,” he seemed to echo as he planted himself at the end of me and let my fiercely clenching walls milk him dry.

I slumped against the wall, reeling from the way he could break me apart and put me back together better than I was before every time he touched me. I wondered idly if I’d been trained to respond to pain and control this way because of my conditioning or if it had always been in me to give, a dark seed at the heart of me that only had to be sown by the right hand in order to bear fruit.

Alexander was still inside me, but I felt him bend over close to the fire. I tried to turn my head to see what he was doing, but his hand went up to press my cheek gently against the wall, immobilising me.

“What are you—?” I screamed as something white hot kissed the bottom edge of my left ass cheek, searing so deeply into my almost sensitive nerves, white and black stars popped through my vision.

Alexander held me still with a firm hand and his hips for a long moment before taking the god-awful pain away.

Tears ran down my cheeks and into his fingers as he finally turned me to face him and cupped my face. I tried to move my hand back to touch the burning pain lodged in my butt, only he caught my hands and brought them between us so he could kiss each knuckle.

“What did you do?” I hiccoughed.

His dark blond brows knitted tightly over the cold burn of steel in his eyes. They branded into my gaze just as something had irrevocably been branded into my ass.

“I marked you with my coat of arms,” he said, kissing then biting my knuckles in a gentle, rhythmic way that lulled me like a hand over a kitten’s back. “Now, no matter where you go or how far you get from me in this life, now or after our five years are up, everyone will know who you belong to.”

I sniffed. “The Davenport family?”

“No,” he snarled softly, biting hard into the fleshy pad of my thumb and then sucking it into his mouth. “You will only ever belong to me.”

“You are an extension of myself tonight, my beauty, therefore I expect you to be a paradigm of submission and sensual power. Is that understood?”

I nodded from where I kneeled on the floor, my hands behind my back and my head tipped down so that my face was curtained by my silken hair.

Alexander stood over me, having come into the room after readying himself in the bathroom of his London home in Mayfair. I’d been given instructions to bathe, dress in the complicated leather straps laid out for me, and then kneel for my Master to inspect me.

He was doing so now, circling me, taking in the way the lines of the harness curved around my hips, accentuated the shape of my large breasts and cut pleasingly into the underside of my plump ass. My hair was down, brushed out like a slick cloak of pure night around my shoulders and over my back, and my make-up was just as dramatic, highlighting the bright gold of my eyes and the exact shape of my full mouth.

I’d stared at myself in the mirror as I got ready, and I’d grown damp between my thighs. I looked like sex. Not something cheap and tawdry you could pick up on a street corner, but something classy and expensive as a down payment on a house.

It should have made me feel hollow the way my beauty often made me feel, but that night, barely dressed in something chosen for me by my Master, I felt like a goddess.

“You rival even Aphrodite’s beauty tonight,” Alexander told me, as usual on the same page in the dark novel of our life. “You put her to shame with your combination of purity and sin.”

“Persephone then, Master,” I offered as I stared at the high shine of his shoe and fought the urge to kiss it.

I was desperate for his touch and satisfaction. There was something about being dressed that way, trussed up for sex, that made me want to seduce him with every single one of my female wiles, my mouth and my hands, my cunt and my ass, my words and my sass.

I wanted to gorge myself on his beauty and his cum.

He stroked his hand down my head and back. “You’re trembling. Do you want me very badly, my beauty?”

I licked my dry lips before I could respond. “Yes, Master, very badly.”

“If I gave you permission to get off against the table leg, do you think you could?” he mused.

I eyed the bulbous curve of the table leg and nodded. “If I could also suck your cock at the same time.”

His chuckle was a dark thread weaving my arousal tighter and tighter inside me. “Don’t tempt me to keep you at home tonight. We have a mission.”

We did.

I had to shake my head to clear the fog of arousal shrouding my rationality, but then I remembered all too clearly that there was a purpose to being in London.

We were going to Club Dionysus, the Order’s exhibition space in London where slaves were taken to be presented like a debutante at court and displayed frequently by seasoned masters just for the fun of it. Alexander had been putting it off because he didn’t like the idea of sharing me with the Order after everything that had happened six week ago, but Sherwood had sent a missive sealed in red wax and stamped with the official insignia. It had mentioned the disappearance of Landon Knox.