Page 84 of Shattered Queens: Veronica
I wrap my arms around his neck and crash my lips into him. I missed this. The heat of his body envelops me. No one else exists but us.
He pulls back. “Do you trust me?” he asks with so much sincerity in his voice.
“Yes.”
He interlocks his hand with mine, and I follow as he leads me a couple of yards farther into the jungle, where we reach a large tree. “Now, be a good girl and undress yourself.”
“Out here?” I stutter. "What if we’re seen?”
“No one will see you. If they do, they’re dead. This is private property, and people know not to come near this land. Now, clothes off.”
I do as I'm told. My clothes lie on the ground. He doesn't move to touch me yet; he simply watches.
"Good girl," he murmurs, the praise vibrating through me. He steps closer, until I feel the heat from his body. It’s the only thing keeping the chill of the night at bay. He reaches out, not to pull me into him, but to place a single hand against the bark of the tree, pinning me within the cage of his shadow. “Now turn around and put your hands on the tree.Do not—and I mean it—do not take your hands off it. No matter what. Do you understand?”
I nod.
“Use your words, baby.”
“Yes.”
“Such a fucking good girl when you want to be.” He walks away. I hear a sound that I can’t quite make out. He comes back. “Bend over and show me that magnificent ass of yours.” He caresses the inside of my thigh. “You’re so fucking drenched for me.” I look at the ground beside me and see his discarded clothes next to mine.
The jungle’s humidity clings to us like a second skin, thick with the scent of rain and damp earth. I can feel the heat of his cock pressing against my entrance, teasing the ache. My breath comes in shallow pants. Then.
Snap.
A sharp, stinging fire explodes across my skin. My gasp is cut short as the shock of it ripples through me. My mind stutters.Did he just hit me?
I look over my shoulder. He stands there, magnificent and terrifying and naked, looking less like a man and more like the predator. He’s holding a small, flexible tree stick, the bark dark and wet. His eyes are pinned on mine.
"Sometimes a queen needs to be reminded who her master is.”
He taps the stick against the back of my thigh, a silent, chilling promise of the next strike. "Hands back on the tree. You don't look at me unless I tell you. Do you understand?”
I nod quickly.
“I need you to say the words, baby.”
“Yes. Sir.”
I hear a groan. “Good girl.”
Then I feel the stick make contact with my skin again. It stings. He soothes the burn with his hands. He does it again. The physical pain manifests itself into something primal. It’s a relief from my thoughts, my shame. “I hate you,” I tell him.
“Why?”
I don’t answer. The stick makes contact with my skin again.
“Tell me.”
I can feel my hands digging into the bark of the tree. I hear motion in the direction of the river. I turn, but I don’t see anyone.
“I can’t,” I whimper as tears escape my eyes.
Another sting.
He moves his hands between my thighs and thrusts two fingers inside me. A moan escapes me, and I keep my hands on the tree as I’m told.
