Page 42 of Salt in the Wound
MaybeIwanted to matter to someone. Even if it was only through the lens of sex. I wanted to be something more than a tool, something more than a means to an end.
Or maybe you just want more of what Mark gave you at Lyonesse.
His flogger raining hellfire on my skin. His hand on my throat while the other searched between my legs. I could tell myself it was for my own purposes, for my long game of winning him over to me, but the truth was evident in the stiff ache of my nipples, the swollen pulse at the apex of my sex.
I wanted him beyond the wisdom of a seduction—a humiliating thing, especially given that he’d made no effort whatsoever to seduce me. In fact, he’d been enormously careful not to take advantage of the unusual nature of our meetings. It spoke to his twisted sense of morality, maybe, but it stung my pride too. I knew I wasn’t flirtatious or sultry—I knew that I carried myself like a curled fist. That didn’t mean I didn’t want to be desired as I myself desired him.
And anyway, he wasn’t supposed to have any morality, twisted or not. He was supposed to be a devil.
Why wouldn’t he bemydevil, then?
I lifted my chin. I couldn’t help my pride, but I could help my honesty.
“Do you want to deflower me, Mark?”
His jaw worked to the side as he looked down at his glass again. Then he set it down on the small shelf inside the globe.
Sensing that I was getting to him, I stepped closer. Closer again. “Is that a hard limit for you? Virgin brides?”
“Isolde.” He said my name like a warning.
“There’s no difference to me between it happening now or on our wedding night.”
“Stop,” he said sharply, but I didn’t stop. This close to him, I could see that his pupils were dilated, that there was the faintest flush to his cheeks.
From the scotch? Or something else?
I remembered how it had felt to hear his breathing change the first time I’d crawled to him; how his erection felt pressed against me. Even if it was only convenient or casual desire, hediddesire me.
I asked for you.
I wanted you.
And despite the fourteen years between us, despite all his power and money and violence, I pushed.
“So let’s do it. There’s nothing to be negotiated, nothing to be discussed. I am willing, and unless you aren’t—”
“That is not the problem,” he said tightly.
“Then what is?” I stepped closer again, close enough that I could see the pulse in his throat, my reflection in his onyx eyes. “Why won’t you tell me? I’m being honest with you—”
And just like that, he moved. I was faster than I’d been two years ago, and so I almost evaded him, but he was still quicker, stronger. He had his hand around my jaw, tipping my face up to his, and his other hand wrapped tightly around my wrist. To control the hand that held the knife. I’d forgotten I was holding it.
“I promise that you do not want my honesty in return. Out of respect for the difference in our ages and the circumstances of our connection, I have kept a curtain between us,” he said. His voice held so much malice and anger in it that it was terrifying to hear, and his fingers were so tight on my jaw that they almost hurt. A thrill raced down my spine. “You don’t want to be on the other side of that curtain.”
“I think I do,” I whispered.
“You do not,” he said. “Because on the other side of the curtain is being mine. Belonging tome, and I do not mean the version of myself that I’ve allowed you to see. I do not mean the careful, thoughtful man that you believe that I am. I’ve fostered that belief—fed it as much as I could—because I do regret that your future had to be sacrificed for my gain, and it will make the next handful of years go easier for us both. But you do not want to test me on this, darling. Stay on the other side where it’s safe.”
“Or what?” The words came out tight, almost whispered, with his fingers holding my jaw like they were.
“Or you will learn why people whisper my name,” he said, the words as rough as his fingers on my skin. “Why I’ve never collared a submissive. What it looks like when I decide to have someone as my own.”
He lowered his mouth to my ear and murmured, “There would be no politeness, no mercy. Your only recourse would be your safe word. I’ve waited years to have someone belong to me, and I would make you feel every day, every hour, that I’ve abstained.”
He pulled back, his eyes boring into mine. There was only a thin ring of blue around the black. “Do you understand? You do not want this. Let’s go back to being polite accomplices in an arranged marriage, actors playing our parts, and we will find some other way around your father’s suspicions. You’ll thank me later.”
“No.” I tried to step forward into him, but couldn’t, not with the hands on my jaw and wrist. “I won’t. I want it. Don’t you want it? Don’t you want me?”
