Page 57 of Ruthless King (Mount Trilogy 1)
The darkness fades from his expression, and his black gaze flashes with heat. “Ask me.”
He doesn’t have to elaborate because I know exactly what he wants. Any other morning, I’d tell him to go fuck himself again, but I don’t have that luxury today.
“I need help.” I utter the words with the same enthusiasm as I would if I were confessing to murder. Well, anyone’s murder but his.
“Help with what, Keira?”
Oh, this motherfucker.
“I hate you.”
“It’s hard to forget when you constantly tell me. And to be honest, I’m getting sick of hearing it. Now, fucking ask me for exactly what you need.”
I jerk my head toward the sink. “Help me put that thing in.”
“Help you slide that butt plug in your tight little ass so I can stretch it out and then fuck it because it’ll make you come harder than you ever knew was possible?”
I grit my teeth, and for the first time in my life, I’m the slightest bit curious if what he’s saying is true. Magnolia swore I was missing out, hence the anal trainer kit.
He’s fucking with my head again. That’s all.
I shove my curiosity down before I bite out my reply. “Yes.”
His smug smile of satisfaction appears as if on cue and he walks to the sink. “I can’t say you didn’t at least try.”
He leans down to open the bottom drawer where I’d found the lube and produces some kind of spray and a neatly folded towel, and drops them both beside the sink.
“Clean it. Bring the plug and the lube into the sitting room.”
I can’t meet my own eyes in the mirror as I wash the plug, and then use the disinfectant spray and wipe it clean. I’m not sure if that’s because I can’t face my shame or because I’m afraid I’ll see a glimmer of excitement.
There’s no doubt that Mount’s orders affect me like some kind of black magic. My hard nipples, visible against the fabric of the dress, and the wetness coating my thong are proof of that.
Still, I carry the plug and the lube through the bedroom and into the living room like I’m stepping up to the scaffold to face the noose. Mount is seated in the same chair he was before, but this time, he’s moved it farther away from the table.
I cross the plush carpet, my palms beginning to sweat as I stop two feet in front of him and hold out the items. He takes them from me and I s
tart to turn around, already predicting that he’ll command me to bend over.
“Stop.”
His order stills my movement, and slowly, I look over my shoulder at him. “What?”
“Let me see your hand.”
I’m shocked that he gives my injury a second thought. “It’s fine. I’m fine.”
I flash it at him, intending to tuck it back beside me so we can get this over with, but he grabs my wrist. He surveys the injury for a moment before looking up at me.
“You’ll be fine. Should barely feel it by tomorrow.”
“I know. I—” Before I can finish telling him I didn’t need his assessment, he cuts me off with another order that throws me completely off-balance.
“Over my lap.”
I jerk my head back and stare at him like he’s insane. “You have to be joking.”
His eyes narrow, and my comment sounds ludicrous even to me. Mount doesn’t joke.
