“Sit over here and watch quietly.”
“Why should I? Are my days not mine to do with as I please?” I retorted.
“They are unless I have need of you.”
“And you need me to sit here and validate your prowess with a child’s sword?”
My tyrant’s eyes were dark, thrashing like storm clouds as he glared at me, but just as there was in a storm, electricity crackled in the air between us. My skin buzzed and raised into goose flesh.
“I need you to sit here and watch your Master. I need you to watch me move, witness the strength of my body and the discipline of my gait. I need you to watch as I attack and parry with calculation as easy as my next breath.”
“Why?” I asked even though every time I’d asked such a question before, he’d mocked me with silence and enigmatic looks.
He quirked a brow and snapped forward to grab my hand, tugging me into his body so hard I fell against him. His torso was stiff with Kevlar, but I could still feel the heat of him against me and the way his erection pressed like its own weapon against my hip. “I fight the same way I fuck. Think of it as foreplay.”
He let me go so abruptly, I stumbled a step forward before I could right myself. His soft chuckle burned like too close a flame against my cheeks, and I kept my hair curtained across my face as I moved over to the small set of stands opposite the mats to sit down.
By the time I was settled, both men were in crouched stances with their thin swords raised and one hand behind their backs.
“En garde,” Riddick called out.
And the flurry began.
Their movements were quick as dragonfly wings, landed and parried with total calm and precision. I noticed a servant sat at a table off to the side and kept score on a digital screen. There was never more than a moment when Riddick was the one in the lead.
Alexander was right.
He was a Dominant in the bedroom just as much as he was on the court and in life. It awed me to watch the sheer breadth of his large body move with such speed and grace. Unbidden, thoughts of how he’d used his quilted arms to rain the flogger down on my heated skin roused to my mind, of how easy it had been for him to chase me across the ballroom on his thick thighs and quick feet then to hold me down with every carved inch of his frame when he fucked me into the floor.
They fenced three games, and Alexander won all three.
It didn’t surprise me.
In fact, I felt an odd fluttering of pleasure in my chest that Alexander had so soundly beaten Riddick.
Maybe it was that the man who had conquered me in so many ways had just proved himself capable of conquering another, someone even more capable of thwarting him than I could be, and still he’d lost.
Alexander was the king of this animal jungle, and it gave me a sense of relief to know I wasn’t the only one forced to bend to his rule.
But there was the fear that it was something else entirely. That it wasn’t mere schadenfreude. That I’d derived some primitive pleasure from the very masculine display of his power, two males fighting over their desire to fuck me, but the man who was rightfully mine declaring the victory.
That it was pride making my chest tight and my heart light. That if he was king of this animal kingdom, then maybe I could be the queen.
By the time they were finished, I was flushed, sweated beaded on my forehead like a crown of shame for Alexander to note as soon as he ripped off his mask and approached. There was that boyish, smug smile on his handsome face again.
I hated how it made my heart soften to him.
“I won’t ask how you enjoyed the display,” he said languidly, his usually clipped words elongated with mockery as he teased me. “If I was to put my hand between your thighs right now, you’d be wet.”
Unconsciously, I squeezed my legs together.
“Unlike you, I am not constantly thinking of sex,” I replied with a haughty tilt of my chin. “In fact, I was just thinking I’d like to ask Riddick if he might teach me fencing or some self defence while you’re out working some days.”
Alexander pushed back an errant lock of his sweat dampened hair and scowled at me. “There is no man of this planet who is allowed to touch you without my permission. And, it should be noted, there are none who would receive it.”
“So permit him,” I suggested, trying to ignore his delicious sweat-soaked scent of cedar and man wafting from him as he stood too close to me.
“Out of the question.”
“Then teach me yourself,” I dared even though it terrified me and thrilled me in equal measure to think of such a beast fighting against me.
I could feel arousal bloom like a rose between my thighs.
Something was wrong with me, some trigger he’d flipped in my psyche to make the thought of his flesh against my fists and his blood in my mouth arouse me.
Alexander clenched his teeth, a muscle popping in his jaw as he studied me. I watched as he reigned in his base excitement, filtering it through his gentlemanly upbringing and psychopathic calculation until it was polished and refined as a diamond.
My mouth went dry watching that, and for once, I didn’t blame myself for the reaction.
Watching a man struggling to govern himself against the force of his attraction to you was a heady thing.
“Riddick,” he called out even as his eyes remained latched on mine. “Get out.”
“Yes, sir.”
I didn’t watch his bodyguard/man servant leave, but the banging of the door as it shut resounded like a starting gun through the chamber.
“You want to learn how to defend yourself against wicked men? Against me? Then get up.”
He turned on his heel and stalked toward the center of the mats again, only this time he placed his rapier in a rack on the way and tossed his helmet to the side. It was only when he turned to face me that I realized I’d unconsciously followed him across the gym.
His dirty smile said “good girl.”
My traitorous body shivered.
“You seemed able enough to defend yourself when a man was attacking me with a gun,” he noted as he pulled off his light fencing armour, revealing his sweat slicked torso.
I watched a bead of moisture travel between his hard pecks and get trapped in the boxed hedgerows of his abs. My fingers literally itched to trace its path under the waistband of his trousers.
“My brother taught be dirty tricks so I could walk home from the train at night in Milan and feel relatively safe. I don’t know how to subdue a real threat.”
“No,” he practically purred. “You don’t.”
“I find it hard to believe that you’d want to teach me,” I admitted as he came at me on brisk, threatening strides. When he stopped before me, it was sudden as if he was a horse desperate to canter but reined in by his rider. I could feel the potential energy in his stillness like a promised threat of violence.
God, but I knew how much he wanted to hurt me.
Almost as much as I wanted it.
“There are times in this life I cannot be there to protect you. It’s my duty to teach you how to help yourself, and I will teach you anything you need to know,” he told me calmly even though I could see the pulse going in his throat and the strain of his erection against his white trousers. “Because I am the only man of influence in your life.”
“You cannot be everything to me.”
“Can’t I?” he asked with a raised brow, looking every inch the haughty lord even half dressed as he was.
“I have a father, a brother, and friends. You are not the only man in my life of consequence.”
“I am. Your father is dead to you, just as he should be. I did that. Your brother is benefiting from a placement in Finborough Theatre at London. Who do you think pulled those strings? You never had any friends outside your family; don’t pretend otherwise. You were too pretty for the jealous village girls and too ripe for the boys to ignore as an object of lust.” He stepped closer and looked down into my face from his awesom
e height. “I am your Master, Cosima. Not just of your flesh, but of everything you hold dear.”
I wanted to cry for his kindness. I’d hated my father’s selfish destruction. I loved my brother enough to thank God or him for any favours toward Sebastian.
But I always wanted to rip out his throat because even as he so obviously manipulated me, it was working.
“It’s funny how people fight against the things they cannot change,” Alexander noted cruelly as he watched my internal struggle. “Why don’t you focus that lovely anger on defending yourself? At first, I want you to move on instinct, and then I will teach you some moves.”
He attacked before the last word was gone from the air.
My breath whooshed out of my body as he slammed me to the ground and pinned me there with his weight. I wriggled just enough to pull my leg up between his, then I curled my toes hard into balls.
He huffed with pain, letting me go just enough that I could push off his shoulders and remove my torso out from under his. Using them as leverage, I dragged one leg out and kicked him hard in the face.
His nose crunched slightly, and a bead of blood rolled out of his nostril.
I howled like a beast in triumph.
Alexander took advantage of my gloating to flip me on to my stomach and crawl on top of me, pinning my legs and arms to the floor so solidly, I felt nailed to the ground.
“Never let passion rule,” he advised against my damp neck. “It is cool minds that prevail.”
He let me up even though I liked the hot press of him against me, and to my surprise, he began to teach me. I learned how to subdue my attacker if he grabbed me from behind, if he took me to the ground on my belly, and if he held a gun to my temple. We practiced for well over an hour until both of us were slicked with each other’s sweat and our breaths worked through our lungs like billows.
“Come at me,” I dared him finally, crouched low with my hands loose at my sides ready to fight him.
“Winner gets to fuck the other,” Alexander parried.
He would win.
We both knew he would, and I doubted there would ever be a time—however often I practiced or proficient I became—that he wouldn’t beat me in a wrestling match.
This bet wasn’t about the impossibility of my victory. It was forcing me to acknowledge that I didn’t want to win.
I wanted him to.
“Deal,” I said, and then I pounced.
I swept one of his legs out from under him, then I went for his throat with a vicious punch. It was a cocky maneuver, which was why I decided to do it because I assumed Alexander would be looking for easier movements.
He was ready for anything.
I winced as he caught my fist and twisted, taking me to the floor with the pain, both of us on our knees, facing each other.
We blinked, suspended in the moment when a prey knew it was in the sights of its predator. And then he attacked.
I was pinned with my wrists to the ground and his heavy body straddling my belly in less than a heartbeat.
He’d taught me how to break such a hold, though, so I thrust my hips and jerked my arms down toward them, jerking him forward so sharply he nearly fell on his face.
Only, he was too quick and strong.
He caught me again by the ankle as I tried to crawl away, and then he dragged me kicking and yelling under his body. With a vicious yank, he broke the closure of my dress so that the colourful fabric spooled beneath us like crushed flowers. I gasped as he cupped my sex, then ripped the fabric there too, the expensive lingerie shredding to bits in his fingers.
His cock was suddenly in his fist, swollen and an angrier red than I’d ever seen it.
He thrusted inside me, parting my molten folds like a spear arrowing to the very depths of me.
“To the victor, the spoils,” he growled into my ear as he pinned my wrists down in one hand and used the other to choke me lightly.
He set a punishing pace, angling his hips so that his thick head dragged against that knot of nerves on my front wall. The light stubble on his groin rasped against my aching clit, nudging the piercing back and forth so that my entire sex filled with static electricity.
I held him tight to my body even though he hurt me, because he hurt me.
I loved the way his teeth bit into the tender flesh of my neck and breasts, how violet bruises and ruddy poppies bloomed beneath my skin at his touch. The ache of him in my sex as he planted himself deep and finally came with a rough shout like a warrior claiming triumph over the death of a fallen foe.
I was fallen, sunk beneath the depths of his darkness, and so entrenched in the underworld, I knew there would never be any going back.
Five years might pass, the contract between us might dissolve into dust with time, but I would always be, elementally and crucially, Master Alexander’s woman.
In the next two weeks, I was fucked so thoroughly, I couldn’t walk without the echo of his cock between my legs. My body was sore to the bone, skin burst with bruises, and muscles burned from the constant stretch and pull of my limbs worked into wicked positions. I learned the difference between the wide spread heat of a flogging, the mounting burn of a paddling, and the excruciating, venomous bite of a whip. In fact, he used me so completely each day that there wasn’t a single moment I was free from the reminder of sex. I wore it on my body and housed it in my mind. A moan of want or protest seemed lodged in my throat like a lozenge that wouldn’t pass.
Every morning, I woke up wet and stayed that way as I bathed Alexander and dressed him for work. He used me in the shower, always, soothing me with his cock and almost cooing to me as he fucked me, promising to bring me relief with his cum and his special brand of agony.
He used me all around the house, everywhere but those rare locked doors and his own bedroom. He liked to fuck me in the greenhouse most. I think it made him feel like he was cornering, caging, and conquering a wild animal. I made sure to mark him with scratches and bite marks to add to the allusion.
And every night, he used me in my room, pulling out his black bag of devious toys and using them on me the way Dr. Frankenstein might have experimented on his monster. I became one—a monster, that is. One that lived on debauched displays of submission and constantly yearned for domination.
I spent my days learning to cook or hanging out in the kitchen with Douglas, who proved to be the joy of every day with his affable charm and easy manner. Sometimes, Mrs. White made us tea and regaled me with stories about a young Alexander that I convinced myself I didn’t think were charming.
Still, cooking wasn’t my passion, nor was working out in the gorgeous gymnasium as I’d taken to doing with the rest of my spare time.
It was Noel who kept me company in those moments when boredom threatened to overwhelm me, as if he knew just when I was susceptible to breaking my promise to Alexander. I knew it was forbidden to spend time with his father, though I had absolutely no idea why. To me, Noel was on the wrong side of middle age, clearly retired, but still fit enough to desire some mental sparring and interesting company.
At first, I worried the servants would tattle to my Master, but after a few days, I realized that even though Alexander clearly helmed the ship, his father owned it.
Besides, I enjoyed having a secret from the man who fancied himself as the most omnipotent and important person in my life.
We spent most afternoons on the chess table before the fire, as the grey world of England grew even darker and wetter with the coming winter. I learned how to move the pieces as if they were an extension of my mind and how to parry Noel’s clever attacks, nearly always aggressive, with subtle defensive moves of my own. Mostly, I learned how to fight with my pawns—when to sacrifice them for the greater good and when to level one up to a more impressive piece.
One day, one of those white pawns went missing, and Noel was forced to bring out a spare. I didn’t tell him I’d pocketed it, but I think he knew and didn’t care.
He enjoyed my comp
any, but I was a pawn as much as the one I’d stolen, and we both knew that.
I woke up on the first day of my third month in Pearl Hall without Alexander. He had ben in London for the night, though he Skyped to watch me use an enormous black dildo he’d given me on my tiny pussy. I was still wet that morning, and as he bade me, I didn’t shower it away. Instead, I dutifully dressed in the outfit that was always laid out for me in the morning, some kind of expensive dress that allowed for easy movement but hugged my curves, and set out on my daily exploration of the home.
Only, that morning Noel was waiting for me in front of two double doors I knew very well were barred to me.
“Hello, my dear Ruthie,” he greeted as he always did. “Today, I have a surprise for you.”
Those doors were different from the other doors in the house, double wide and carved from a heavy ancient wood that was cracked and worn smooth in some places. They hadn’t been replaced or painted in the clean, light colours of the rest of the residence.
I knew before Noel grasped both rough metal handles and pushed open the weighted doors that inside would be a library.
Whenever I walked past, I could smell the hint of vellum and cloth seeping beneath the thin wedge below the door. I wanted inside so badly, sometimes on my daily tour of the three-story mansion, I would stand outside and press my fingers to the pockmarks and whorls in the wood while I imagined what treasures lay inside.
I never could have guessed they would be so terrifically awe inspiring as this.
The enormous room was longer than it was wide and filled to the rafters with exquisitely carved wooden shelves painted white and trimmed in gold leaf. The ceiling was painted as many others in the house, but these images depicted Atlas with the entire, beautifully detailed world on his grotesquely muscled shoulders.
The parquet floor was glossed to a high shine where it showed beneath massive, faded Persian rugs, and at the very far end of the large room stood a marble hearth so enormous it could fit my entire Italian family comfortably.
I wanted to live out my days amid the books and die curled up in the deep-seated leather chairs in front of the hearth.
Enthralled Page 14
