Page 68 of Bad Attitude
He twists my hair, hard enough that I wince at the pull at my scalp. “Lick,” he says again, the word heavy with his lust and dominance, his possession. “Do what I tell you, or I’ll only assume you want to be punished.”
Is that the third time he’s threatened me with a punishment? And I don’t even know what it means. A small part of me is curious, almost wanting to rebel just to find out. But I also fear that he’ll get angry with me.
Do I want that?
I don’t have the time to think it through. He pushes my face between his legs, and my mouth is against his balls. They’re soft and delicate, and in some ways, this is trust. My tongue slips out, tasting his skin, the tang of his perspiration and even a hint of his cum. I lick again, more firmly, and he gives a sigh.
“That’s my girl.”
Am I? Is that what this makes me? Is that what Iwant?
Declan when he’s dominant is… less caring, somehow. Harsher. More selfish.
No, I’m not sure that’s true… he still played with me, brought me to an orgasm on his fingers.
I don’t know, maybe this is normal. Maybe this is what people do in the bedroom, and it’s what I should expect.
I lick him again and again, nuzzling my face into him, part of me strangely enjoying being here, between his legs, in this ultimate act of intimacy. It’s not just sensual, it’s submission, and we both know it. He calls me his hellcat, but there are no claws now. Not when he controls me in his bed. Or in mine, for that matter.
Have we really only slept together twice? And already, here I am, licking his balls, half in fear of punishment and half in willing submission?
At last, he draws me up, still using my hair as a convenient handle. Only when I’m lying beside him does he release me, and instead his hand falls to palm my breast. His other arm pulls me against him, and he gives a rumble of contentment that echoes through his chest.
My cheek is against his skin, the skull grinning at me from the center of his chest, leaves and flames and fine knotwork spreading out in every direction. I trace one line of it with a fingertip, thinking of the Marine tattoo on his arm, the history he has.Hold Faston his knuckles, where others might useHate Love. It’s more him.
A quiet moment. Nice. Peaceful.
My mind is anything but at peace.
“Was that… good?” I ask, tentatively.
He gives a low chuckle. “I would happily tear off the heads of any man who’s touched you in the past,” he says, like he’s talking about squashing a cockroach. “But in some perverse way, I’m grateful to them for showing you what wrong looks like. Now, we get to exploreright, together, for the first time.”
A nice sentiment, save that I’m certain this isn’thisfirst time at all.
He means me. Treating me like I’m what, a virgin? No…his.
“What am I to you?” I ask, not sure I want the answer.
He doesn’t hesitate. “My little hellcat.”
My. Mine. His.
I try again. “How do you see me?”
He puts a finger under my chin and tilts my face up to his. “What do you mean?”
I don’t know what I’m trying to say. “Do I… matter to you?”
“Matter?” he echoes, then his mouth curls slowly into that rare playful smile. “Yes, Raven, youmatter.” He leans in and brushes his lips across mine. “Do you doubt it?”
That’s not the right word. I know he cares… somehow, at some level. It’s not love, and neither of us is pretending it is. It might be, one day, but not now. No, this is something simpler, yet complex in its own way. This isn’t just sex, or intimacy, or dominance, it’s…possession. That’s the word I keep coming back to.
Like I’m hisproperty.
Is that how he sees me? Or is that merely what I am to him, in action if not words?
I know I should object. At some level, I do. Fiercely.
