Authors: Stacia Stone
The Dollhouse (28 page)
“This, I’m going to have fun with.”
I squeeze one nipple hard between my fingers and whatever she was going to say next is swallowed in a loud gasp. She instinctively tries to pull away at the pain, but I my arm tightens around her, stilling the movement.
Bending down so my mouth just barely touches her ear, I whisper. “I don’t come cheap. If you want my protection, then I something of equal value in return.”
I see the question forming on her lips, but I decide to answer it before she can ask.
“Complete control…over you.”
The reaction to my words surges through her body in a reaction so strong I can feel it. A sort of energy passes between us and that’s when I’m sure. Most women want the man to be a man, to be stronger and harsher. But then there are some women who want more than that, who want to be taken and owned and consumed.
Mara is one of the latter, even if she doesn’t know it yet.
My teeth scrape against the tender skin of her neck, just before I bite down hard. She makes desperate sounds underneath me, but doesn’t try to pull away. The hand in her hair slides down her neck, over the curve of her waist and down to play at the waistband of her jeans.
“What do you think I’ll find down here?”
She tries to shove me away, but I just grip her a little tighter with my free arm and squeeze. Not too hard, just enough to let her know that she can fight if she wants too, but it won’t do any good.
I know she wants this and I only need another minute to prove it.
My hand slides under her panties as her breathing turns into frantic pants. The soft curls covering her mound catch on my fingers. A fine tremble courses over her body.
When I find her center it’s even more soaked and molten hot than I ever imagined. The momentary surge of joy that streaks through me is like clouds parting on a dark sky to reveal a blazing sun.
“Tell me you don’t want this,” I murmur as I kiss a wet trail down her throat. “Decision time, Mara — is it a yes or a no?”
“You’re sick.” She tries to drive her elbow into me, but I easily evade the glancing blow. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”
That fucking mouth.
If it’s the last thing I ever do, I will fix that fucking mouth. “Okay, you don’t like easy. We can try hard.”
I have her facedown over the back of the couch before she can react. She tries to fight. I just force her down until her face presses into the leather and her hips thrust up in the air, the jeans pulled halfway down her ass.
“Now, we’re gonna talk about what happens to broads who come into my fucking house and refuse to remember their place.”
My hand moves over her amazing ass, admiring her curves as I pull the jeans further down her thighs, taking her panties with them. Soft, unblemished skin greets me and I take a moment to admire a perfect canvas for the fucking masterpiece I’m about to create.
“You keep talking to me like I’m some fucking jerk-off, Mara.” My hand strokes gently over the skin, drawing out the moment. “I’m not some asshole you can talk to however the fuck you want.”
“I’m sorry, okay. Jesus.” She squirms underneath me, but her voice hasn’t lost that insolent tone. Like she still thinks this is all just a fucking joke.
“Not sorry enough to remember to fucking call me
sir
.”
My hand comes down hard on her ass, cutting off whatever she was going to say. She lets out a high-pitched scream that turns into a shriek when I spank her again.
I go to town, my hand making a sharp slapping sound with each strike. I’m careful to never hit the same spot twice and I don’t stop until the entirety of her backside is flaming red.
When I finally pull back to look at her face. Wide and wild eyes meet mine. They’ve gone soft and liquid, but no tears have fallen to her cheeks. Not even physical pain is enough to break through the wall that she’s built up. I will break through one day, if I have to make it my personal mission in life.
“Last chance,” I say, soothing the irritated skin with the back of my hand. “Is it a yes or is it a no? I’m not going to ask again.”
She glares at me. And if looks could kill, I’d drop dead this very minute. Unfortunately for her, the tools that she has at her disposable are more subtle than that.
Wetness glistens on her thighs. If anything, she’s even wetter now than she was before. If I had even a shred of doubt about what kind of a woman she is, it’s gone now.
“Yes,” she says slowly, like she’s pulling out her own teeth. “Sir.”
I take a step back as she stands and yanks her clothes back into place.
“I’m going out for a bit,” I say. “Don’t leave the apartment and keep the door locked.”
Mara stares at me like she’s never seen me before, hurt and betrayal shining in her eyes.
Fuck it. I never agreed to be the hero in her little story.
* * *
A
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/22/16, exclusively on Amazon. Introductory price of $2.99 for a limited time only.
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S
tacia Stone is
a former office worker who spent more time fantasizing than doing her actual job. She started writing her fantasies down and the rest is history.
She writes dark romance with boundary-pushing bad boys of every flavor. Sometimes it’s good to be little bad.
