Debt Inheritance, Page 4

  The whip was firm—plaited black leather and two supple ends made for shocking with noise rather than pain. Wings was so obedient, he didn’t need it most of the time. It was fitting to use the equipment on something else that needed breaking in.

  I stroked her lower back, ignoring her whimper. “You’re green and unbroken, Ms. Weaver. Don’t think I won’t tame you before this game is through.”

  I struck.

  The sound of the two leather ends snapping together ricocheted through the woods.

  She cried out, rolling her hips.

  “Question, Ms. Weaver. I’ll keep striking until you ask.”

  To prove my point, I hit her again. “That’s for your smart mouth undermining my control in front of my father and brothers.”

  Her skin pinked as I struck again. “That’s for riding my hand like I’d given you everything you ever dreamed of, then looking at me as if I was a piece of shit.”

  “How long? How long will you keep me alive?” she screamed, staying my hand.

  I paused. In all honesty, I didn’t know. Her mother had been my father’s charge for over two years. She’d known her place enough to permit a brief visit to her old family to sever ties once and for all.

  I doubted Nila would ever be so well trained, but I didn’t want to rush what we had. After all, once we reached the final debt, it would be over.

  And that…didn’t sit well in my gut.

  “It depends,” I murmured, stroking her burning skin.

  I waited to see if she’d ask another question, but she remained silent. Pliant and listening. Her quietness soothed my nerves, and I allowed myself to give her a little of what she needed.

  You’re doing that far too often.

  I shot the voice in my head.

  “Years, Ms. Weaver. We have years ahead of us.”

  Her head sagged, lolling forward. Quietly, another question came. “And the debts? How bad are they? What do I need to prepare for?”

  “Ah, ah, ah, I said you could have three questions in total. That was three in one breath. Pick one or forfeit anymore.”

  Nila sighed, a small hiccup jolted her frame. “How bad are they?”

  I struck her. Short and fast. The noise was worse that the bite. I knew. I’d been on the receiving end myself.

  “They start easy. Simple really.”

  She sucked in a breath, already knowing what I would add.

  “Then they get worse.”

  I struck her again, loving the bloom of red and the way every muscle in her sinewy body twitched. Throwing the whip to the ground, I murmured, “One more. Don’t be shy.”

  Her breath was ragged. “Will—will you ever be nice to me?”

  The question hung between us, so at odds to the scene of her on her hands and knees and me positioned behind her. It wrapped around us with sadness, digging the newly placed dagger deeper into my heart.

  “I am nice. Once you get to know me.”

  Her small laugh surprised both of us. “You’re a lot of things, but nice is not one of them.”

  Anger boiled in my stomach. “You pissed me off before I had the opportunity to be nice. Didn’t I say you deserved to be rewarded after this afternoon? I have many things to lavish you with, Ms. Weaver. You only have to give in. Grant me the power. Give up and stop fighting me.” I stroked her spine, gritting my teeth against the ripple of pre-cum shooting up my cock. Goddammit, she was too delicious. Too strong. Too much.

  She’s a Weaver.

  I shook my head, dispelling everything until only silence remained.

  “You must know I can’t do that. I’ve given up power to men all my life. I stupidly let my father control me, believing he knew what was best for me. And you know what that got me? A one-way ticket to hell to play with a devil I never knew existed.” She looked over her shoulder, making eye contact. “Why should I give you that courtesy? Why should I let you rule the remaining shortness of my sad, little life?”

  For once, I was speechless.

  Nila murmured, “You can’t reply, because you know this is wrong. On some level, you know the only right thing to do is to let me go and forget about this madness, but you won’t. Just like I won’t give you the power you seek. Just like I will never stop fighting you.”

  She suddenly shot forward, breaking my hold on her hips.

  My heart raced at the thought of her running again, but she turned to face me, kneeling upright so we were eye-to-eye. The muscles in her stomach shadowed in the rapidly gathering darkness, her white skin glowing with interspersed cuts and bruises.

  “You said I owe you. I agree. You gave me something in that dining room. As much as you think you were only helping save my mental state, you showed me more than you probably wanted. I see you, Jethro Hawk. I see what you’re trying to hide, so don’t delude yourself into thinking I buy your hypocritical bullshit.”

  Crawling forward, her tiny hands landed on my belt, releasing the button and zipper in one short second. It was my turn to blink in shock.

  She’s a seamstress, idiot.

  She dealt with buttons and zippers every day—they were her forte. Dealing with what lived behind them however was entirely another.

  I hated, positively hated, that she’d stolen my power again. She’d drugged me with her witch potion, making me think only with my dick.

  Fisting her hair, I growled, “You’re on thin ground, Ms. Weaver.”

  Her temper exploded like a firework. She snarled, “Wrong. I’m on Hawk ground, and I’m still standing. You want me to pay you back? Fine. Tell me what to do, then feed me and take me back to your vile home. I’m ready for this day to end.”

  My mind went numb as her hand disappeared into my jeans, cupping me boldly.

  “Or better yet, take what I damn well give you.”

  I HAD NO words for what I was doing.

  Seriously, no words.

  Part of me hated myself for being drawn to Jethro even now—especially after he’d hunted me down and punished me like some animal. But the other part—the bigger part—loved the woman I was becoming. I didn’t have anyone to rely on. I had no one saying what was right or wrong. The rules of everyday life had no place in this new existence, and if Jethro thought I would play by his rules, he was a fucking idiot.

  His erection leapt in my hands, hot and scalding—the only part of him warm.

  His golden eyes were blank of all feeling, and for one blessed moment, he stared at me with lust. Only lust.

  Then anger saturated him, his fingers latching around my invading wrist. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

  I tugged the waistband of his boxer-briefs with my free hand, twisting my other from his grip, and sliding my fingers into the dark heat of his underwear. He locked his jaw as I traced the length of his cock.

  “I’m paying you back. This is what you had in mind, right? An orgasm for an orgasm?”

  He growled low in his chest, his eyes narrowing with hate and need.

  Don’t lie to me, you bastard.

  He opened his mouth, but no words came out. I squeezed him hard—hard enough to cause shooting pains in my palm.

  He jerked in my hold. “Jesus.”

  That one word switched the rage splashing my insides into lust-blazing gasoline. The hardness of him sent electricity humming in my fingertips. The anger brimming below the surface turned my insides into hot liquid.

  This.

  This power.

  This body-consuming connection.

  It was pure.

  Simple.

  Intoxicating.

  The whipping he’d given me hadn’t made me wet. I’d never associated pain with pleasure. Sure, I’d read the books and heard rumours about how exciting a BDSM relationship could be with someone you trusted implicitly, but that was the key difference.

  I didn’t trust Jethro.

  At all.

  This was a battle.

  Every time we touched, licked, and eventually fucked, it would be w
ar.

  And only one victor would come out alive.

  I have every intention of winning.

  Sex to me didn’t come with past perceptions or notions. Sex wasn’t wrapped up with love or sweetness in my brain. In a way, I had my father to thank for keeping me secluded and untouched. I’d uncovered an aptitude for delivering pleasure—an affinity for the basest of need.

  I trembled, glowing so damn bright inside, I felt as if I’d swallowed the stars.

  Jethro wanted me.

  He couldn’t deny it. He didn’t want to deny it.

  And I wasn’t above using my body to make him feel. Make the cold-hearted, untouchable bastard come apart beneath my touch.

  Holding a man by his most precious body part and making him bow to my commands.

  That was true power.

  This was true power.

  Testing my theory, I jerked my hand up and down, thinking of every text Kite had sent me. Every dirty innuendo he’d replied.

  I’m stroking my cock.

  I’m jerking hard.

  Stroking. Jerking. Made sense. In a way the motion would be the crude action of fucking. Jethro would be forced to make love to my palm all while my fingers squeezed him to death.

  With determination strong in my heart, I stroked.

  Jethro wobbled on his knees, his eyes snapping closed. “Fuuuck,” he groaned as I squeezed hard, stroked even harder. There was no build up. No tease.

  This is war.

  Two sides. Two players. He’d made me come; now it was my turn to learn everything about him, so I could make him unravel.

  Pushing his shoulder, I barely hid my victory smile as Jethro toppled backward. His eyes flared wide. “What the—”

  I didn’t speak. Instead, I clambered closer, never stopping the mind-crippling stroke of his cock. Up and down. Twist and around.

  His sharp gaze turned hazy, his lips parting as his breath grew heavy.

  His hips thrust, just once. Surprise battling for supremacy over his need. I didn’t let him overthink it or realize I was winning. I crawled on top of him, spreading my legs, straddling his large, powerful bulk.

  My heart strummed; my blood grew thick and cloying as every stroke I gave caused my inner muscles to clench. Giving him pleasure—taking his pleasure—was the headiest aphrodisiac.

  I was a goddess. An accomplished geisha.

  I lost track of lust versus vengeance. I didn’t care about last names or futures. All I wanted, all I focused on, was the sweetly plaited emotion where the rush between my legs took control.

  My touch turned frantic, jerking rather than stroking.

  His icy hands clamped around my hips, grinding himself hard against my grip. Our eyes locked, our breathing synced, we became two animals in the forest.

  More.

  I wanted more.

  Yanking at his boxer-briefs, I tried to push them down. Jethro raised his hips, taking my weight with him as he gave me room to wrench his jeans and boxer-briefs to mid-thigh.

  The moment his cock sprung free, thudding against his muscular stomach, he lashed out, fisting my hair and dragging my mouth to his.

  My tongue tingled to taste him—to indulge in a kiss. But he held me firm, millimetres away from his lips. “You’re playing a dangerous game,” he groaned as my fingers encircled the large girth of my enemy.

  I didn’t reply, my mouth watering for his so temptingly close.

  Dropping my hand to the base of him, I cupped his balls in my palm.

  His back bowed as I rolled the heavy, delicate flesh. “Christ!”

  My tummy twisted, my heart thundered, and my nakedness couldn’t hide how much his need turned me on.

  His fingers went slack in my hair and I sprawled over him, unashamedly rubbing my throbbing core on his thigh. “You called me a disappointment. You said my hands were good for nothing but holding up my towel.” I squashed my breasts against his chest, snapping at his lips with the threat of a kiss. “Do you still believe that?”

  I jerked my wrist, stroking the velvety flesh of his erection.

  His eyes rolled back, his entire body vibrating.

  “I’m proving you wrong.” I sat up, my gaze latching onto his hot cock. Smiling sweetly, I murmured, “Isn’t this what you wanted?”

  His eyes stole mine. “There’s nothing about this that I want.”

  I laughed—it sounded a little demented. “Who’s the liar now, Mr. Hawk?”

  His hand snaked up to cup my throat, the other captured my hip. His face darkened. “You want the truth? I’ll give you the fucking truth.” His muscles contracted as he braced himself against my touch. “I want you begging me. I want you so damn hot—you’ll let me do anything to you.”

  His raspy voice tore away my past, throwing me headfirst into sex.

  I squeezed harder, riding his cock with my fingers, driving blood to blaze in the tip.

  He’d gotten what he wanted. By letting me touch him, he’d made me seduce myself. I’d never craved to be filled before. But now…every inch of me felt empty and greedy and needful.

  I’m fucking your mouth. I want to blow down your throat.

  The text from Kite suddenly popped into my head as if his ghost watched over me, giving me instructions on how to destroy the man glowering into my eyes with a mix of rage and lust.

  Fear wrapped around my heart as I looked at the angry erection in my hand. I doubted my jaw would accommodate it, but I’d try. I would try my hardest and give it my all to make him come.

  Not to please him. But to ruin him. To prove I could control him as easily as he could control me.

  I moaned as a delicious throb worked its way from my womb. I was hungry for another orgasm. Instead of sucking him, I toyed with the idea of impaling myself on his huge size, wanting so much to chase my own pleasure.

  My eyes couldn’t look away from Jethro’s parted lips. I would’ve given anything to kiss him. To be devoured the way my body craved.

  You can’t.

  I shook my head, dispelling the connection. A kiss was too intimate. A kiss would destroy me.

  Squirrel nuzzled closer, wondering what the hell we were doing, sniffing at the violent war taking place in the dark forest on a plaid blanket.

  Jethro snarled, shoving him away.

  In the same movement, he spread his legs, clenched his hands by his sides, and wordlessly gave himself to me.

  My heart leapt, blazing with sunshine and happiness, before plummeting back into the tar pits my life had become.

  “Suck me. Fucking suck me,” he growled, thrusting his cock harder into my hand. The command sent a ripple through my core.

  I didn’t hesitate.

  Bowing over his body, I straddled his knees and in one swift move, slid his silky, salty steel into my mouth.

  He bucked, his entire body going rigid. “Fuck…me.” His lips clamped shut as his eyes rolled back.

  I moaned, adoring the power I wielded.

  My nipples tightened. I stopped looking at him. Closing my eyes, I pictured another time, another place. I pictured my lonely existence in some repetitive hotel suite sewing tulle and silk. I pictured my life as it was—a slave to my craft with no peaks or valleys of living.

  Then I pictured myself naked and spread over the man who meant to kill me, while my head bobbed furiously over his cock. I relished in how dirty and wrong and primal it was.

  I preferred it.

  Every inch of me screamed for a release. Every atom thirsted for blood and violence. My teeth ached to sever Jethro's body—horrible images of killing him in the worst pain imaginable consumed my mind. The other part of me wanted to give him the most pleasurable, erotic blowjob he’d ever experienced, with the hope I would smash his walls, liquefy his ice, and melt him into the man I knew was inside.

  His hands fisted my hair, grunting low in his chest. He drove into me, forcing himself deeper. “Take it.”

  I gagged; spit ran from my lips. I struggled to maintain the furious rhy
thm he set, but he didn’t stop using me.

  And more importantly, I didn’t falter.

  I forced him high. I forced him fast.

  I stroked and licked and sucked and swirled until everything bellowed with pain. My jaw, my neck, my shoulder, my wrist.

  All in the name of winning.

  Jethro’s stomach tensed, his balls tightened, and the musky smell of him shot up my nostrils, drenching my soul in his flavour.

  His hands dug harder into my hair, fucking me just as surely as I fucked him. Our weapons were different, but we were duelling hard and fast.

  Jethro groaned long and low as I cupped his balls and squeezed.

  I’m winning.

  I’m coming. I came down your throat. Kite’s message burned my brain; I threw in every last reserve I had. My eyes swam, my brain swirled, and the world tipped upside down.

  But still I sucked, and in some far off dimension, where sanity no longer existed, I tasted the first splash of cum on my tongue.

  Jethro cried out, his body bowstring tight as his hips drove his erection past my gag reflex and emptied himself inside me.

  I had no choice but to swallow. My stomach rolled as his salty release disappeared down my throat. I felt sick. I felt empowered.

  He shivered as the last wave of his orgasm finished, a soft groan coming from his parted lips.

  Despite the abhorrent dislike I felt toward him, something luminous dazzled in my heart as I sat up. I smiled, victory burning brilliant and sweet.

  Jethro’s light brown eyes met mine, wide with shock, pupils black with sated pleasure. He breathed hard and fast.

  We didn’t say a word.

  We didn’t have to.

  We both knew who’d won.

  And he was fucking pissed about it.

  FUCK.

  Fuck her. Fuck me. Fuck everything.

  For the first time in my life, I felt a stirring inside my frozen-over heart.

  Not gratefulness or humaneness or tenderness.

  No.

  I felt…undone.

  I should’ve known then that it was the beginning of the end.

  I should’ve guessed how badly she would ruin me.

  But all I could manage was dumbstruck desire.

  I stared into the eyes of a worthy opponent.