Ruthless Doms Boxset

by Jane Henry

  I swallow hard and nod.

  “And hell, I may still do just that.” Reaching for my face, he drags my mouth to his. I gasp when our lips meet, hard and soft at once. He’s never kissed me like this, fierce and possessive. It takes my breath away and almost hurts in its ferocity, before his tongue sweeps into my mouth, sensual and intimate. I’m melting, sinking into this, shivers of arousal snaking down my skin and pooling between my legs. My hands fly instinctively to his arms as I drown in this kiss. I’m grasping for purchase, but I don’t want to surface.

  I’ve wanted him for so long, the pain of our separation so intense, there’s a near desperation between us. Every moment together is stolen, every breath a gift. Yesterday nearly broke us, tomorrow may do the same. But this moment, right here in the present, I belong to Nicolai. There are roles that define us, an appearance we need to keep, and I don’t know what will happen next. I’m not sure he does either. Right here, right now, when I’m wrapped up in his arms and his lips are joined with mine, when I breathe him in when I inhale and my heart beats along with his, nothing matters but this.

  He called me his star. His light in a world of darkness. And I will not let anything dim my light.

  We break away panting. Our foreheads touch. We don’t say anything, but we don’t need to. Though trapped in a crowded room, it’s just the two of us right now. Right here. He’s given up everything to find me, and I’ll give up who I am to save him.

  Wordlessly, he arranges me on his lap so that I’m facing away from him and nestled in the crook of his arm. He gives me one command. “Watch.”

  I blink, my eyes still growing accustomed to the dimmer lighting in the room. And for the first time, I become aware of the other people who are in here.

  Some of what’s before us is familiar. Cuffs. Whips. Chains. And others surprise me. A thing that looks like a saddle, wooden stocks, oddly shaped chairs and benches. And there are people, everywhere, engaging in… all sorts of things. The scent of sex is so pungent in the air, I can’t help but pull closer to him. It’s weirdly intimate, and unsettling to me that so much is on display.

  His right hand rests on my upper thigh, pressing in with just enough pressure to claim me while his left encircles me and holds me to him. As my gaze roves over the room, he gently begins to touch me. First, the very tip of one finger grazes the top of my breast, right over the sheath that covers me, while his other hand travels beneath the hem of my sheath, his thumb gently grazing.

  “Watch,” he repeats.

  His ruthless companion, the one accompanying the woman with the black hair, has her strapped to a bench belly-down. He wields a stout wooden stick in his hand, and I cringe. I turn instinctively away and burrow onto Nicolai’s chest.

  “Does that frighten you?”

  I hear the snap of wood on skin, and heat floods me. I swallow hard.

  “I… I don’t know,” I tell him. I was beaten in captivity, and I inwardly cringe at the memory.

  He holds me to his chest. “What if that were me?” he whispers in my ear. “If I were the one dominating you?”

  “There’s a difference between dominating and hurting,” I whisper back.

  “A world of difference, but much overlaps,” he says. “We could explore that world.”

  I pause, not sure how I feel about this. “Do you want to hurt me, Nico—”

  Oh, God. I almost said his name. Half of the word tumbled out of my mouth, and I immediately know my error. His face is granite, his eyes flint, but I only get the briefest glimpse of his reaction before I’m strewn over his lap, belly-down.

  He gathers my sheath up at the small of my back then slams his palm against my ass once, twice, three times.

  “What is my name?” he demands.

  “Master,” I wail.

  Another hard slap of his palm, then another. The pain is so intense, I can’t breathe, and I know why he’s punishing me, why I’ve earned this. He wants to prove he’s my master to anyone who sees us, but it isn’t just part of the act. I can never speak his name out loud.

  The spanking ends abruptly. He gathers my hair in his hand, yanks my head back, and brings his mouth to my ear. His breath is hot, his voice molten.

  “You address me properly.”

  “Yes, sir,” I manage to say. My voice shakes.

  “If you ever do that again, I’ll take my belt to you. Do you understand me?”

  I try to nod, but I can’t with my head so tight in his grasp, and for some reason, the threat both scares and arouses me. My pulse races even as my mouth goes dry.

  “I don’t want to whip you, but I will if you force me.”

  It’s a lie that he doesn’t want to. His cock is hard beneath my belly. And it would be a lie if I told him I didn’t want him to. Still, I don’t want to displease him. The very thought makes me want to cry, my need to hear his praise stronger than anything else I hunger for.

  “Yes, sir,” I repeat. “I’m so sorry.”

  He releases my hair and I slump over his knee. He’s holding me there, still belly-down, his large palm resting on the small of my back, then grazing over the tender skin he just punished.

  “You asked if I want to hurt you. I don’t know how to answer that question. Does the thought of dominating you appeal to me? You have no fucking idea.” His voice is softer now, and it seems his initial anger at my transgression is fading. He took it out on my ass.

  “But do I want to bring you to orgasm while over my knee? Hell, yes, I do.” And then he’s parting my legs with the back of his hand, and I’m helpless to stop the waves of arousal that skirt up my legs and between my thighs. I don’t understand what’s happening. All I know is he controls this, and my body reacts.

  “I don’t want to punish you,” he says. “But I fucking will if you do that again.” To anyone overhearing us, I forgot my place, and it’s his job to remind me. To bring me back “fully trained,” as he’s been instructed. But I know what just happened is much more than that. He punished me because I almost betrayed our identities.

  “As far as hurting you… no,” he says. “But there’s a line between punishment and pain I like to flirt with. And I want to show that to you. I will.”

  He’s exploring my inner thighs but not touching where I want him to. Caressing the skin with the back of his hand, each touch drawing closer and closer to my throbbing pussy. He stops speaking, but his fingers probe harder, deeper. A pinch between my thighs has me gasping out loud, before he swipes his fingers closer to my folds, the lightest touch before it’s gone.

  “Tell me,” he says in my ear, his hand on the back of my neck. “How this makes you feel.”

  “How what does, master?” I ask.

  “Being under my control. I just spanked you,” he says, his hand back between my thighs now. “Did that turn you on?”

  He parts my thighs. I open for him, eager to be touched. I don’t breathe as his touch travels higher, a moan escaping me when he strokes my pussy.

  “Khristos,” he growls. “You’re fucking soaked.”

  I whimper, wanting so much more than the gentle touches. I don’t know why being punished turned me on so much, but there’s no denying that it did.

  “Someone liked her spanking.”

  “I didn’t, sir,” I protest, but that only earns me another sharp spank. I moan again.

  “Are you lying, slave?”

  “I want to please you,” I try to explain. “I don’t want to disappoint you.”

  “That pleases me very much,” he says.

  But I can’t deny that I am turned on.

  “Open your legs wider,” he commands. I immediately obey, and he takes full advantage. Fingers in my center, circling my hardened clit, stroking me closer and closer to release. He glides easily in and out through my arousal, and I can’t deny how aroused his punishment made me. I’m getting closer and closer to orgasm, my body tensing over his lap.

  “I’ll make you crave this,” he whispers in my ear. “Lying o
ver my lap for a spanking before I finger you to orgasm. Taking both pain and pleasure from my hand. A master’s job is to command every aspect of her life. Your orgasms belong to me.”

  I nod, my chest so tight I can’t speak or move. The center of my focus is between my legs, my need to climax overshadowing everything else he says. I grind against his hand with wanton abandon, his words only making my need intensify.

  “You will ask for permission before you come,” he says. “Do you understand me, slave?”

  Slave. I shiver with delight.

  Nicolai is my master and I belong to him.

  “Yes, sir,” I manage to say. “May I, please?”

  “This time, yes,” he grants, stroking me harder, faster, until my body tenses and my core begins to spasm. I groan, writhing, ecstasy flooding me. I want to scream his name out loud but I learned that lesson. I bite my lip to keep from crying out, while he wrenches my orgasm from my body.

  Finally, the spasms subside and he slows the strokes.

  “You come so beautifully,” he whispers. “Your pleasure is a gift you give me. Such a gift.”

  My head is tilted to the side. He kisses my temple and whispers, “I want to be in you now, sweet girl.”

  I nod my head. “Please, sir.”

  It’s time.

  He gathers me to his chest and rises with me in his arms, carrying me. I hide my face against him, suddenly vividly aware that we have an audience and he just brought me to climax. That he’s going to take my virginity next.

  Noises fade, and all I can focus on is the beating of his heart. Somehow, some way, he’s found me, and no matter what happens, we will find a way not to be separated again. He will seal our union.

  I long for this. Yearn to be filled with him. Connected irrevocably.

  We walk past the crowd, down the hall, and I don’t look at anyone or anything. I close my eyes so my whole world is Nicolai. My face pressed up against his shirt, I breathe him in, so strong and clean and masculine. I wrap my arms around his neck and the beating of his heart drowns out the noises around us.

  Soon, we’re back to the room. He slides me to the floor, standing in front of him before he spins me away from it and locks it.

  “Wish I had a fucking deadbolt and iron bars to keep you safe,” he says.

  “You don’t need those things,” I whisper. “You’re enough.”

  Gathering me to his chest, he kisses my forehead. “I’m not,” he says, shaking his head. “If I were, you never would have been taken.”

  I know why he feels this way, why it kills him, but it isn’t his fault.

  “No man could have taken on that ambush solo and survived,” I tell him. “It isn’t your fault. It’s the fault of whoever did this to me.”

  “I should have found a safe place for you,” he says. It kills me that this eats at him so. “I should have hid you where no one would have ever found you.”

  “But you found me,” I tell him. “You found me, and now I’m yours.”

  His eyes meet mine, bluer than the deepest part of the ocean. “Not yet you’re not,” he contradicts, his words imbued with meaning. “But you will be. Soon.”

  He captures my mouth, kissing me so fiercely I bow beneath him. Our lips still joined, he takes me to the bed and lies me down on my back. Kneeling on one knee, he looks down at me hungrily and traces the tip of his finger down the side of my face.

  I look up at him, my hand on his, granting him everything he’s asked and everything he hasn’t. I want this. I want this so badly I ache with it.

  We don’t speak. Anything we say could be used against us, and words aren’t needed now anyway. Together, we remove the thin sheath. He gathers it in his hand and whips it against the wall as if he hates it, or hates what it symbolizes. Separation from him? Subjugation to another?

  Kneeling above me, he holds my gaze as he deliberately begins to strip out of his clothes. First, the tie, followed by his shirt. I swallow when he grasps his belt buckle and unfastens it. His eyes twinkle at me.

  “You couldn’t hide the way the threat of a belting turned you on,” he says.

  “It didn’t!” I protest, but we both know it’s a lie. He cocks one brow up at me as he doubles his belt over in his fist, then before I know what he’s doing, he’s tipping me to the side.

  Whoosh.

  Leather smacks against my ass. It hurts. It fucking stings.

  I moan. He chuckles.

  “It didn’t?” he asks, dragging the leather along my naked back and backside. “You can’t lie to me. You know if you lie, I’ll have to punish you.” The leather trails back and forth. It’s soft but rough, and I imagine myself bent over the bed while he brings the leather down. Lecturing me. Stern and corrective. I swallow hard.

  “But not today,” he says, tossing the belt to the floor, before he leans down and kisses my shoulder. The belt slithers, the buckle clangs, as his warm, soft mouth caresses my naked skin. “You belong to me, Marissa,” he says, dropping another kiss to the opposite shoulder, as if blessing me with his mouth. “And today I will make you mine.”

  I close my eyes, overcome with anticipation and so much more. Hope. Longing. Before our separation, I’d have died knowing this moment was coming.

  “I’ve loved you for so long,” I whisper, gently tracing my finger down the side of his face as he works his way to my collarbone, kissing a sensual trail. “And I thought you hated me. I was convinced I couldn’t possibly mean anything more to you.”

  He shakes his head and lifts his eyes to me, as he gracefully moves his body over mine, caging me in beneath him. The blue fathomless depths do something to my heart, reminiscent of the vastness of the ocean, the endless sky, his gaze brims with conviction.

  “I wanted to keep you safe,” he says in explanation. “I couldn’t let on how I felt about you or both of us would be in danger. Your father would have killed me and you’d have been locked up forever. Sent to a boarding school.” His voice cracks. “Taken away from me.”

  Then he closes his eyes and brings, his lips thinning, before he bends and whispers in my ear. “We aren’t supposed to speak of this now.”

  Oh, God. I totally forgot.

  “I’m sorry,” I whisper.

  He places a finger to my lips and shakes his head. “Sweet girl,” he whispers. “There are many ways to speak with no words at all.”

  He’s bare from the waist up, and I let my eyes rove shamelessly over his powerful body, muscled and strapping, marked with ink and slightly tanned, he’s the epitome of strength and tenacity. My shelter from the storm.

  I open my mouth to speak, then close it again. He’s right. Even though there are so many things to say, we don’t need words to say them.

  He holds himself above me, braced on his elbows, his hands caging me in on either side. I feel small and fragile in his grip, and I love the way his large hands frame my body. I brace myself on his neck as he lowers his mouth to mine and gently, so gently it’s only the ghost of a kiss, brushes his lips to mine. Once, twice, three times as he gently rocks his hips against mine.

  I want to tell him I love him. That no matter what happens, I always will. But I need to tell him silently. I grip the back of his neck and pull his mouth harder to mine, kissing him back with matched ferocity. The soft, sensual feel of his mouth on mine makes delicious tingles spread through my body. I lift my hips and spread my legs. Welcoming him closer. Giving myself to him.

  He tears his mouth away from mine with great reluctance, groaning as he shifts his weight to avoid crushing me. I reach a finger to his cheek, biting my tongue so I don’t speak. There are so many things I want to say.

  I missed you.

  I’ve wanted this for so long.

  We will find our way.

  I knew you’d come for me.

  Instead of speaking, I run my hand gently down the side of his face, thrilling with the rough feel of his scruffy beard, before I lightly trace the fullness of his lips, swollen from kissing me.
He holds my gaze and lifts his brows.

  Are you ready?

  I bite my lip and nod. It will hurt, but if he doesn’t satisfy this ache in me I’ll wither up and die. It’s more than a craving for the physical connection. So, so much more. It’s the deep, abiding need of becoming fully, truly his.

  With deliberate movements, holding my eyes, he pushes himself to kneeling and finishes undressing. I help him, reaching for his pants, and he allows me, guiding the fabric down together. I let my gaze wander unabashedly over him once he’s naked. I want to run my tongue along the grooves of his abs, and rub my bare skin against the coarse hair that trails down his stomach. I trace each tattoo with the very tip of my finger before I take his shoulders and pull him down to me.

  But at this point, he’s had enough. With fluid grace, he captures my wrists and pins them above my head. His eyes grow flinty and he shakes his head once. No more taking control. This will be his privilege now.

  I sigh and sink into the pillows and sheets. I grin and give him a wink.

  Have at it.

  With a deep chuckle that ghosts over my skin like a shadow, still holding my hands pinned above my head, he begins to work magic with his mouth. First, a gentle stroke of lips to skin at my temple, my cheek, my chin, holding my mouth prisoner for a fraction of a second before he goes lower still. When his lips come to my neck, I shiver and writhe, my hands trying to pull free on instinct but held firmly in his grip.

  He suckles the fragile skin into his mouth so hard my back arches, the erotic pull of his mouth racing straight between my legs. Next, my collarbone, his tongue tracing over me, savoring the taste. I tremble when he gets to the valley between my breasts. He’s making his way down, and with every second that passes, my heartbeat ratchets higher and higher, my breath frozen in my lungs. He holds me at the precipice of need and want, wrapped up in emotions so deep, I’m choked up. I close my eyes. Watching him master my body is almost like sensory overload. I need to submerge into the feel of him.

  Skin to skin, he maneuvers his way down my body, trailing kisses on every tender spot he can reach, until he makes his way to my breasts. He releases my wrists and I go to move them on instinct, but a sharp shake of his head makes me freeze. He places them back where he put them, firmer this time. Eager to please him, I nod and he gifts me the slightest tip of his lips. It makes my heart sing. I love pleasing him. I crave pleasing him.