Finding His Strength: The Dirty Heroes Collection

by Stone, Measha

  “Relax, Megara. I’m not going to pounce on you.” He shook his head. “You’re my wife now. It’s a little silly to keep looking like a lamb being taken to slaughter every time I want you.”

  She swallowed back the retort burning on her tongue. If he wanted to use a warm body, he could visit his mistress again. Surely that was what he’d been doing all afternoon upstairs. She’d been up there. She knew what sort of rooms were there. Did he keep his little fuck-toy locked in one of the rooms, or was she free to come and go at her own will?

  “How do you want me, Henrik?” she asked, tossing her purse onto floor. “Do you want me bent over the bed? Up against the wall? On all fours on the floor? How do you want me to present myself for your gratification?” She fisted her hands on her hips.

  Maybe it was seeing Chef Ramone and everything she’d thought would be her future at dinner, or how relaxed she’d been with Henrik, or it could be her full stomach that gave her such bravery. Whatever it was, she’d reached her peak of patience. If he wanted to treat her like some whore he could mate and breed, fine. But she wasn’t going to go along with any pretense this was anything other than what it was.

  He could take her to dinner and wine her and dine her and try to make casual conversation. He could show interest and play at being a real husband, but it wouldn’t work. She knew her lot in life, and without any actual ability to fix her course, she would plow through full-steam ahead. But she would not pretend for his sake or hers their marriage was anything other than a business arrangement among thieves.

  Henrik untucked his shirt from his pants. The open shirt framed his hard body, showing off his abs and strong chest.

  “All of those sound good.” He stepped toward her, toeing out of his shoes. “Up against the wall? I’d have your legs wrapped around my waist while my cock thrust up into you. That sounds good.” He unbuttoned his wrist cuffs. “Bent over the bed...already had you that way. But on all fours on the floor…now that has merit.” He unbuckled his belt, swishing it from the loops and dropping it to the floor at her feet.

  “Henrik…” her protest died when he walked past her to a wardrobe behind her.

  “But I have a better idea for tonight.” He pulled the door open.

  What could be confused as a tie rack lined the inside of the door. Except instead of ties, ropes and leather straps hung.

  “What are you going to do?” she asked. Stepping back, her heel tangled in the coiled belt on the floor. He was quick and caught her before she stumbled to the floor.

  He helped her back to her feet and squatted in front of her, taking one shoe off, then the other. Once both shoes were removed, he rose to his full height again, touching her chin with his fingers. No force or pressure, just a featherlike touch.

  Her body’s reaction wasn’t as gentle. Her heart thumped in her chest, and her breath clogged her throat.

  “This morning, I showed you how pain can be used to punish. Tonight, I’m going to show you how pain can be used to please.”

  “W-What?” She needed to retreat, to run from him. He was crazed if he thought anything similar to what he’d done to her downstairs would be considered pleasureful.

  “I trusted you at the restaurant,” he pointed out. “You could have ordered something disgusting for me, but I trusted you’d pick something I’d like. And you did. It’s your turn to trust me to do the same.” His thumb flicked over her lip.

  “This is hardly the same thing,” she countered. Though, if she was going to keep a tally of his good deeds for the day, he did have a solid score. After he’d punished her, he hadn’t held a grudge the rest of the day. He’d let her see her cousins and didn’t interrogate her when she’d returned. Instead, he’d taken her to a beautiful dinner. She wouldn’t be stupid and imagine he wasn’t every bit the monster she believed him to be before their wedding, but she could see a kindness when it presented itself.

  “You won’t harm me?” she asked.

  He tilted his head, a playful grin dancing on his lips. “I never break my toys.”

  At first, indignation bloomed, but the rest of her, the parts his eyes were wandering over, the areas listening more to his lips and his hands than his words, tingled. His toy.

  “What do you want from me?” she asked, fighting back the urge to escape his touch. Not because his touch disturbed her, but because it warmed her. She should be shielding herself from the intimacy, but when he looked at her that way, like he wanted to devour every bit of her, the electric current running through her body melded her to him.

  He went back to the wardrobe, plucked two bundles of rope from their hooks, and moved to the bed. Four large square posts with a thick, dark purple canopy made the bed look like a more muscular version of her own.

  “I want a lot of things from you, Megara.” He dropped one coil of rope onto the bed and held the second in his hands, running it through his fingers. “I want your loyalty, your devotion, your obedience.” He pointed to the floor in front of him. “But right now, I want you naked and standing right here.”

  Keeping her gaze lowered, she pushed the straps of the dress over her shoulders and let it fall into a puddle at her feet. Heat rose up her neck as she reached behind her back and unclasped the simple black bra. Her nipples hardened as the cups fell away and she dropped it onto the pile. Hooking her thumbs into the waistline of the black satin panties, she licked at her dry lips and pushed them down, lightly kicking them onto the puddled dress.

  With her arms folded in front, cupping her elbows, she walked to the bedpost. Upon further inspection, his bed had more features than hers. Small iron rings protruded from all sides of the posts. At first glance, they looked to be part of the intricate carvings of medieval castles and ruins, but as she grew closer, they became more clear. Three sets of the rings: one at her ankles, another near her throat, and the third high over her head.

  “No. Leave it up.” He stopped her when she reached to work the pins from her hair. “I want your back bare.”

  She straightened her spine. No matter how much she shook on the inside, she would not cower on the outside.

  He ran the backs of his knuckles along her jaw as he lowered his mouth to hers.

  “Be this sweet all night, Megara,” he whispered, then kissed her. Her shoulders relaxed, then her back, until all of her went lax beneath the power of his kiss. When he pulled away, his pupils were dilated, and he smiled gently at her.

  “Put your wrists together for me,” he instructed. “You need to tell me if it’s too tight. If you lose sensation in your fingers, tell me right away. Do you understand?” He continued his instructions as he wound the rope around her wrists and between them. “Megara.” He stopped and looked up at her when she didn’t answer.

  “Yes. I understand,” she said once her tongue started working again. This man was tying her, keeping her from escaping his grasp, and while her mind warned her to be afraid, her body responded to the warmth of his tone, the intimacy of his touch.

  “Face the pillar,” he ordered once her wrists were bound. He pulled the rope, bringing her hands far over her head, stretching her body until she was close to having to raise up onto her toes. “There.” He maneuvered around her, his naked chest brushing against her shoulder as he worked the rope over and over through the ring. She watched his face as he worked.

  Determined and serious, he focused his attentions on his task. He must have felt her gaze, because he looked down at her briefly. Catching her stare, he smiled. It wasn’t a grin of pleasantries and joy, but a dark uplift of his lips that held a promise of arousal and the unknown. How could such a sinister expression send such electric pleasure coursing through her veins?

  “Now your leg.” He tapped her right thigh.

  “What?” She looked down at her body. He’d tied her tightly to the post. She couldn’t maneuver very far from it.

  “Bend your knee and raise it up.” He hooked his hand behind her knee and lifted it to the height he wanted. With the second c
oil of rope, he began the task of running it around her thigh and tethering it to the post.

  She wiggled slightly. The pressure on her left foot increased with having all of her weight on it, but she could easily forget that when she realized she was completely open to him. There wasn’t a part of her body he couldn’t touch at his will. And with the binding, she’d be helpless to stop him.

  “There. Perfect.” He placed a kiss to her shoulder. She craned her neck to watch him make his way back to the wardrobe. He shucked off his shirt, tossing it to the floor, and grabbed something from a hook inside the cabinet.

  “W-What is that?” she asked, straining more, but still unable to see what dangled in his hand.

  “This…” he moved to stand in her view, “is a flogger.” He ran the thick leather falls through his fingers.

  “I…I know what that is,” she whispered, pressing her heated cheek against the cool wood.

  His brows arched. “Really? How do you know?”

  She closed her eyes, wishing the moment would pass quickly, but he seemed determined to make her tell him. “I’ve seen them…at a club.” She’d only been twice, and she hadn’t participated, but the memories of them being used, the welts some had created, the pleasure they’d exhumed from women—she hadn’t forgotten any of it.

  “Which club?” he asked curiously.

  Could he not just get on with it!

  “Mount Olympus.” She turned her head to keep from looking at his reaction.

  “My father’s club?” He laughed. “At least, it was. It’s mine now—a wedding gift to us.” He paused. “When did you go? Who were you with?”

  “Do you need to know everything?” she snapped.

  He paused in his carefree movements of playing with the flogger and narrowed his eyes.

  “Where you lying to me when you said you were a virgin?”

  “No,” she almost shouted. “It was months ago. Celeste and I went together. Nothing happened.”

  “But you wanted something to happen, is that right?” He dragged the leather falls across her shoulders as he moved behind her.

  Wild boars could not drag the answer from her.

  “Never mind. I already know the answer.” He cleared his throat. “Prepare yourself, Megara.”

  She clenched her body and clung to the post of the bed as best she could, but it made no difference. The flogger struck her ass, and she rose up to her toes, trying to escape the heavy pain that followed.

  “Easy,” he said softly, then brought the flogger down again and again over her ass. The strikes fell in a rhythmic pattern, over one cheek, then the other, and back to the first. He was painting her ass with straps, but she couldn’t deny the warm haze building in her mind as the pain grew but remained steady at the same time.

  The first thud to her back shook her, and she cried out from the shock.

  “Good girl,” he cooed, then struck her again.

  She jolted forward into the pillar. Avoiding the flogger was impossible. She couldn’t even maneuver around the pole because of her leg being trussed up. The ball of her left foot ached with all the pressure, but another strike would land across her back or her ass, whisking her attention away from it.

  A sensual hum covered her body.

  “So good.” His tender voice pulled her slightly from the haze as he stroked her back, tracing where the flogger had struck. “Pretty marks, but they’ll fade by morning.”

  She released a breath and relaxed into his touch. He hadn’t demeaned her, or cursed her, or hit too hard too fast. He’d taken his time, warmed her, and brought her higher and higher.

  “Breathe, Megara. We aren’t done yet.” He kissed her cheek. “Not by a long shot.” And then he was gone.

  Cool air hit her back while he moved behind her. A sharp narrow pain in her ass signaled his return. She yelped and rose up to her toes.

  “No. Down.” He tapped her shoulder with the small strip of leather he’d used to smack her ass. “Keep flat on your foot or you’ll hurt yourself.” The leather ran along her shoulder.

  Once steady on her foot, he swatted her again, this time on the inside of her thigh. She cried out.

  “Sweet sound, Megara. Do it again,” he teased, then smacked her once more. She fisted her hands. “Oh, don’t start being naughty now. You don’t want that, I promise you.” He tapped the leather bit to her pussy, reminding her how exposed she was to him.

  Again, the strike hit her thigh, and she cried out.

  She twisted enough to see his weapon had changed to a riding crop. The swats would be more precise. He could aim better.

  Another hit to her thigh, then her ass, then her shoulder blade. He moved around her, delivering the shots of pain as an artist would lay strokes of paint to their masterpiece.

  “Fuck, you’re pretty like this,” he said softly as he traced her ass cheek with the crop.

  His chest pressed against her back, pushing her slightly into the pillar as his fingers shoved between her legs. A need like she’d never known consumed her as his fingers brushed over her clit and sought entrance to her cunt. She arched her back, pushing her ass toward him, wanting him to fill her, to relieve the ache he’d created, put out the fire he’d started.

  “Perfect,” he whispered into her ear. “So perfect. Your cunt is soaked for me.”

  She clenched her eyes shut. There was no denying the evidence before him. Her body shouldn’t have reacted so easily to him. He shouldn’t have known how to strum her chords so fucking well.

  “I’m going to fuck you, Megara. So fucking hard, you might tear down the bed. But that’s okay.” His zipper lowered, and before she could register the meaning of his words, his cock thrust into her.

  She screamed out at the sudden fullness. He gave her no time to adjust as her body tried to accommodate his thick cock. Powerful thrusts shook her, making it harder to keep her foot planted on the floor.

  “Fuck,” he growled, then bit down on her neck. She cried out, but tilted her head, giving him better access. He licked the spot he’d bitten and hoisted her leg up from the floor.

  One leg tethered to the pole, the other in his grasp, he plowed into her over and over again. Savage and raw, he growled against her ear.

  She wrapped her hands around the rope, trying to gain some leverage, but there was none to be had. Henrik had control. Like the toy he claimed her to be, he maneuvered her and used her, but every stroke of his cock shoved her one more foot closer to the edge. Again and again, his body slapped against her ass as he continued to plow into her.

  “Henrik,” she cried out his name, throwing her head back to lean into his hulking form.

  “I have you, Megara. Let go. Let go for me.” He kissed her cheek, licked the single tear sliding down.

  “I…oh…fuck!” The waves of pleasure wrapped around her, taking her higher and higher. Her body wound tight and unleashed into a storm of its own making while he continued to fuck her with controlled power.

  “Fuck!” He grunted and thrust again and again, until he stilled inside her.

  She floated, barely aware of his kisses against her shoulder as he chased after his breath. She leaned her head against the pillar, taking short breaths and letting her body ease back to a normal state.

  “Megara.” His voice was raw with her name. “Don’t move. Let me get you down.” He eased her foot back to the ground, and in doing so, slipped from her body.

  With a few tugs, her leg was released, and she had both feet on the ground. Seconds later, her arms were free of the ring.

  “Stay.” He helped bring her arms down, then swooped her up into his. She leaned her head into the crook of his neck, expecting to be carried to her bedroom.

  He placed her on his bed and pulled the blankets back, helping her maneuver beneath them before he tucked them up around her chin. She blinked a few times, watching him shove out of his pants completely and walk naked to the bedroom door. There wasn’t a soft muscle on his entire fucking body. Even his ass
looked like it could crush a man’s skull.

  Henrik flicked off the light switch and sauntered back to the bed, climbing in beside her.

  “I said I wouldn’t wash…” She started to push the heavy blankets from her body. “You don’t have to—” Her words cut short when he wrapped his arm around her middle and hauled her up against him.

  “I want you here,” he said into her ear, his hot breath matching the heat of her cheeks. “This is where you belong now, Megara.”

  Every muscle ached in her body, and the bed was supple and cozy. His heavy arm laid over her middle, and his head nestled beside her own.

  “In your bed?” she whispered into the darkness of the room, sure he was asleep.

  “In my bed or out of it, you belong with me, Megara.”

  19

  “Your name,” Henrik demanded for the second time. He set his glare on the slender redhead beauty sitting defiantly before him.

  “I already told you, Autumn.” She crossed her legs and folded her arms over her chest.

  “Your real name,” he countered, steeling his hands before him and leaning back in his chair.

  She pinched her lips together and shrugged.

  His patience was through.

  Brushing her hair back from her shoulders, she exposed a mark just behind her ear. A mark he knew. A mark that gave him more information than her fucking name.

  Shoving out of his chair, she rounded his desk. She barely had time to register his movement before he had his hand in her hair, yanking it back from her neck. She grimaced, but kept her hands to herself, letting him examine the small tattoo.

  A lightning bolt just behind her ear.

  “Fucking hell!” He jerked her head as he pushed away. “You’re one of my father’s girls. What were you doing in that crate?” He wouldn’t play guessing games anymore. She could keep her fucking name—he didn’t want it.

  “No. I’m no one’s girl!” She shot up at him.