by Stasia Black
She swung her legs over the side of the bed. “Well in that case, your stomach is hungry. Feed me.”
He moved to the bedpost and crouched next to the chain. His body blocked her view, so she didn’t see how the mechanism worked.
Next time. He had to slip up at some point.
He returned with the chain in hand and gave it a thoughtful tug. “I’ll feed you. But you’ll still be punished for touching what belongs to me.”
“How are you going to punish me this time? Tie me up? Humiliate me? Spank me? Oh wait, you’ve already done all that.”
“You think this is the worst that could happen?” he wound the chain around his wrist, tugging her upwards.
She came to her feet, quivering at his closeness. She wanted to rage at him, to beat his chest and scream and rip out his heart like he’d ripped out hers. The rest of her wanted him to touch her, strong and sure and gentle, satisfying the hunger that beat inside her.
He drew her up on tiptoes. She gave him her best glare, but she was caught and at his mercy, a fish on a line.
He opened his mouth to say something and her stomach growled loud enough to echo through the room.
Marcus closed his mouth, amusement glimmering in his silver eyes. “Hungry?”
“Already told you I was.” She could fight him better with a full belly.
Dinner was much the same as breakfast. Her on the cushion at his feet. Him feeding her filet mignon bite by delicious bite. Sometimes he didn’t use the fork. He made her suck the juices off his fingers.
And she did it, becoming wetter and wetter each time, especially when his thumb lingered in her mouth, caressing her bottom lip and dragging down her throat to her chest where he plucked at her nipples.
She moaned helplessly, so riled up she was sure that he could make her come with only a few swipes of his fingers. Or better yet, his tongue.
When dinner was finished, he didn’t lift her up on the table like before. And when he took her back to the room, he merely reattached her chain to the bed.
And then.
He.
Left.
“Wait,” Cora said, “where you going?
He turned at the threshold and looked back at her. “Miss me already? Do you want me to stay?” There was a hungry wolf in his eyes as he asked it.
“No,” Cora said automatically. “I hate you.”
“Well, your wish is my command,” he said, completely solicitous. The next second, though, the wolf was back, all predator. “But if I so much as see your hand brush that pussy that belongs to me without my say-so, believe me, you will not like the consequences. You’ll wish for the days when you were merely tied to the bed.” The ice in his voice sent a shiver down Cora’s spine.
She lifted her chin and glared at him. “Get out if you’re going to go. I can’t stand to look at you another second.”
His mouth lifted in a half smile. “Beware what you wish for, little girl.”
And then he was gone.
Fourteen
Cora rested on the heavy cushion, leaning against her husband’s leg. Above her head, on the desk, the keyboard crackled as Marcus typed.
This wasn’t what she thought her honeymoon would be.
Walking around naked, posing for her husband, letting him lead her with a collar and chain like a pet? Curling up on a cushion at his feet and dozing the day away. At night she slept with a chain leashing her to the bed. She didn’t dare complain in case he decided to tie her up completely again.
She didn’t even know what day it was. Maybe five days since the wedding? Six?
Several times a day, sometimes after a meal, sometimes out of the blue, he’d press her to the floor or lift her onto his office or dining room table or the floor. And then he’d toy with her and lick her and tease and torture her…all the way until she was riiiiiiiiiiiiight on the edge of coming.
And then he’d stop and go back to whatever he’d been doing as if nothing at all was the matter. Always with the threat of tying her to the bed again if she dared touch herself to finish off what he’d started.
She was so damn stir-crazy and horny and on edge, sometimes she wondered if it might be worth it. Just once. If only she could come just once.
She didn’t know how he’d done it. Sex wasn’t anything that had even been on her radar until Marcus.
But ever since she’d felt his hands on her body and experienced the kind of pleasure he could wring out of her…it was like those drugs they said you only had to try once or twice to become addicted.
Well, she felt addicted to sex now…and she was still a virgin! What would it be like if they finally…?
She swallowed and glanced up at Marcus. Even worse, she had a horrible suspicion that her addiction was Marcus-specific.
Above her head his fingers flew on the keyboard. He wanted her next to him, kneeling on the cushion while he worked. Curled up at his feet like she really was a pet.
The second day he chained her to his desk, she got vocal. “How long are you going to keep this up for? You can’t just chain me like a dog wherever you go. I’m a person, damn you.”
No response.
“Hey, I’m talking to you.” She’d shoved his legs underneath the table.
He responded then all right. He gagged her and cuffed her hands behind her back and that was how she spent all of day two until bedtime. Other than the three times he’d driven her to the brink of orgasm and pulled back at the last possible second, leaving her so wanting she was glad for the gag because in that moment she would have begged and pleaded and promised him anything if only he’d please, please finished what he’d started.
Thankfully she’d gotten herself under control by the time he released the gag before bed, and all she wanted to do was scream in his face. Scream and kick and punch and scream some more. But she bit her damn lip because after a day going out of her mind with boredom and the devastating bouts of pleasure stopped just short of orgasm, she was beginning to get the picture.
This was about power.
And him letting her know that she didn’t have any.
Day three was little better. She spoke up a few times. “Can I at least have a book to read? Paper to draw on?” She wasn’t an artist by any means but even doodling would feel like extreme intellectual stimulation at this point.
She’d already examined every inch of his penthouse office by this point, counted every one of the 113 books on his bookshelf—most of them dry looking business and accounting books with a small section of Stephen King novels—and spent hours looking for faces and shapes in the artfully spackled drywall.
Unsurprisingly, there had been, shocker, no response.
The daytime chain he allowed her was slightly longer than the nighttime one. She could sit up at his feet while he worked at his desk. Another thing she was grateful for and furious at her own gratitude.
One thing was clear, Marcus Ubeli was a master manipulator. He had been from the beginning.
Today she sat at his feet, her mind stewing.
She was angry, bored, frustrated, and so, so horny.
She sighed and ducked her head, examining the fraying edges of her manicure. She thought she was so fancy, going to the spa, getting ready for her wedding. If she could send herself a note, she would’ve told herself to ditch everything and run.
Not that the old Cora would believe her. She’d believed in fairy tales, in handsome businessman meeting a beautiful, young woman and falling in love. Sweeping the girl off her feet. A wedding of her dreams and life of wedded bliss.
She should write the authors of those fairy tales and tell them they were full of shit.
She wiggled to get into a different folded position. Her legs kept falling asleep. Marcus didn’t speak, but rested a hand on her collar in silent warning to be still.
“This sucks,” she blurted.
The keyboard went silent. Oops. Marcus was scarier when he was still, a shark sensing blood in the water. She’d poked the bear. Oh
well, too late now.
“I’m bored.”
“You expect to be entertained?” Grown men would go mad with fear if Marcus spoke to them like that. She stared at the carpet and said nothing. Because he’d spoken to her. Finally, after days of silence, he’d finally spoken again. She thought she’d overexaggerated the low sinful timbre of his voice in her head but, no, every syllable was a rasp that went straight to her sex.
A click and Marcus pushed the closed laptop away. Then she was up, tugged and lifted onto the desk, facing those scary grey eyes. Marcus ran his hands over her arms, studying her bare breasts.
He didn’t look angry or annoyed. More, thoughtful. He stroked her hair back from the collar, sifting a corn silk lock between his fingers. Heat bloomed in her, rising to her cheeks, making her dizzy. A few simple touches and her body primed itself for him.
From the smirk etched around his mouth, Marcus knew it.
“Time for your punishment,” he told her, and pushed her legs apart.
“Marcus—”
He propped a finger at her lips. “Quiet, angel.”
Her eyes widened. He hadn’t called her angel in a while. Well he hadn’t called her anything considering he hadn’t been speaking to her, but angel hit her in her solar plexus. Which was so, so, stupid.
But then he was touching her and the world went hazy. He took his time, palming her knee and positioning her thighs wider, treating them to tiny strokes that seared her core. He inspected her often like this, and she submitted. She was always wet, and when he stopped, she always undeniably wanted more.
She shook her head, unable to reconcile the ugliness of her situation with the beautiful things he made her feel.
“Poor neglected pussy,” he mocked, swiping his thumb over her folds gently. She’d object to the tone, but didn’t want him to stop. Maybe, since he was talking to her again, it meant he’d finally stop torturing her. But she didn’t dare ask out loud. No, her begging was all silent.
Don’t stop. Keep touching. Right there—
“Close?” His long eyelashes flicked up to her face. Her hips danced and his left hand steadied her. He leaned in, pinning her left leg under his elbow as he bent his head close—so close— He was— Oh—
His tongue swirled over her slick skin, finding the needy points, soothing them, increasing the ache. Her hips bucked and he chuckled, hot breath puffing over her sensitive flesh.
“Marcus,” she wanted to grab his silky hair and tug him close but didn’t dare. “Please—”
A few more licks and she was so close. So close—
Marcus scooted back in his chair.
No!
And lifted her back to the cushion at his feet.
NO!
He meant to leave her unsatisfied again.
She glared at his shiny black shoes underneath the desk. Her jaw locked. He pulled the laptop to the middle of the desk and started typing again, like nothing at all had just happened.
Cora’s fists clenched. He could toss her away so easily. He made her mad with want but he was Mr. Unaffected.
Marcus saw her family as strong. These uncles Cora had never known about.
But Marcus saw her as weak, merely a pawn to play against them.
It didn’t matter that she didn’t even know her uncles. Or her father. Her father who had killed an innocent girl.
That was the blood running through her veins. A murderous father and mother so overprotective, it bordered on abusive.
Cora scoffed. Who was she kidding? It had gone over the border on more than one occasion. All the time, in fact. She hadn’t even known how abnormal it was until she got out into the world and learned how other people lived.
And now here Cora was, falling back into her same old patterns. Head down, yes ma’am, yes ma’am, whatever you say, Mom. Except replacing her mother with Marcus. Better to follow the rules than endure the punishment.
Cora shook her head and looked down at herself.
The chains might be new but the slavery wasn’t.
She thought she could change. She’d sworn she was changing. Had changed.
But here she was again with her head bowed down, waiting for someone else to decide her fate.
And then she got a crazy idea.
An absolutely fucking absurd idea.
She looked towards Marcus’s legs underneath the tall desk and felt like giggling hysterically. Well, he certainly wouldn’t be able to ignore her existence if she…
Images flashed in her head of Marcus walking around the bedroom each night after he’d showered. He liked putting his body on display for her. She thought back to the past few days and the hungry way he’d lapped at her sex. He hadn’t been indifferent then. It wasn’t just to ‘punish’ her. Even now, she could see his cock straining against his dress pants.
Cora’s insides tingled thinking about it all.
Thinking, that was the problem. Or rather, overthinking.
So she decided to stop. Thinking. Overthinking. All of it.
It was time to take action.
She crawled underneath the table.
Between Marcus’s legs.
She’d been married for over a week and hadn’t even gotten to touch him. To touch it. So she reached for his belt buckle.
He jolted in his chair when she made contact and began to undo the buckle. But that was all. He didn’t say a word or move to stop her.
Was this a game of chicken? Who would flinch first?
It wouldn’t be her. Not because she had nothing to lose. She had plenty to lose still. She wouldn’t flinch, though, because she was actually curious to see this through.
Curious and afraid, but that was nothing new.
So when she finished with the belt, she quickly moved to unbutton and unzip his pants.
The audible hiss he expelled above her? Now that was gratifying.
Here was power. Was it a fucked up way of getting some back? No doubt. Wasn’t stopping her.
She reached into his pants and slid her hand between the slit in his boxers.
In a sudden motion, his strong hand came down and clenched around her wrist.
She took a page from his book and ignored him, saying not one word.
He was thick and round and firm in her grasp. Soft over steel. It was dim underneath the desk but she could still make out the basic shape of him.
And her eyes went wide.
It wasn’t the first time she’d seen it. But seeing and touching were two different things. And the way it hardened and grew in her grasp—
Her gasp escaped before she could muffle it.
As quickly as his hand had taken hold of her wrist, he released her. Interesting. He was going to allow her to continue her explorations.
Was it because he was male and it was true what they said, that no man would turn down sex? But he’d had her at his mercy for a while now and other than that first night, she hadn’t even seen him take himself in hand.
Because sex was about power to him. Did he still think he had the power in the situation just because she was the one on her knees?
Even the thought infuriated her.
She would show him. She was not a pawn in somebody else’s game. She was a motherfucking player.
So, pushing all other thoughts out of her mind, she went up on her knees and took the bulbous tip of his sex into her mouth.
“Gods,” he choked.
Cora smiled and licked all around the tip. It was curiously salty and a little bit bitter. She grasped the bottom of his shaft with both her hands—he was large enough it took both—and took more of him into her mouth.
He leaned back in his chair and widened his legs further. She saw his stomach flatten and heave as she started to work him, in and out, in and out, just the head.
She’d never done it before, but she’d read. She’d read a lot. First in her romance books and then, as her wedding day neared, everything else she could get her hands on, well, apart from the Internet which still scar
ed her. But plenty of women’s magazines had lengthy articles on the art of giving your man the perfect BJ and Cora employed every tactic she’d ever read about.
Spelling out the alphabet on the very tip of his…his cock, right where she felt the tiniest slit. Bobbing up and down with her lips over her teeth, making sure to pay special attention to the ridge of his crown while still rolling the flesh of his shaft up and down. And every so often, taking him deep, as deep as she could manage without choking.
When she decided to employ yet another tip, reaching down and tugging on his balls, he shoved his chair back and pulled himself out of her mouth.
Cora fell forward onto her hands, looking up for the first time into his face since she’d begun. She wasn’t sure what she expected to find there but it was better than she could’ve hoped for.
He did not look cold. He did not look distant.
There were two spots of color high up on his cheekbones, accentuating the sharp cut of them even more. His eyes were wide and his nostrils flared with every heaved breath. His heavy cock jutted out from the front of his unzipped pants and Cora couldn’t help but stare. She’d just had that in her mouth?
What the hell had she been thinking?
She swiped at her mouth with her forearm and above her, Marcus let out a low growl like an animal might.
Definitely not disinterested. Or indifferent.
Oh shit.
Marcus reached for her and she scrambled back but he shoved the table out of the way. Shoved. The. Table.
The next thing she knew, he was bent over and unlocking the chain attached to her collar. He gathered her up in his arms and he was carrying her.
Okaaaaaaaay, so this was unexpected.
“Marcus,” she whispered.
He didn’t respond. What he did do was carry her to his bedroom.
He laid her out in the center of his bed and he followed after.
For the first time in days, he looked her in the eyes. It was stupid, but her breath caught. His gorgeous, intense, demanding eyes. He still didn’t say anything, but he held her gaze as he slid his hand down her stomach.
He caught her chin and her eyes searched his. She had no idea what he was thinking. What was he thinking?
