Page 27 of Purchased

“And where would you go? What would you do?” He makes the mistake of taking me seriously. I whine internally, wishing he could see me for what I am, wishing I didn’t have to say everything out loud.

“None of your business.”

There’s a brief moment in which silence fills the air between us. I know I am pushing him. I want to. I want to find his breaking point. I want to prove to myself, and him, that he is just like the other cruel, stupid, impatient men I have always known.

“You are starting to become rude, little one, and my desire to discipline you is coming back ever more strongly,” he says, his eyes narrowed. “Do you wish to sit down when you meet the pack this evening? Or would you prefer to stand by my side, unable to tolerate so much as a skirt pressing against your skin?”

* * *

Armand

Her eyes light up at the threat of punishment.

She likes it—or she at least finds it familiar.

I find myself smiling. Finally, a way in. Her defiance isn’t the obstacle. It’s the answer.

“Come here, whelp,” I say, taking her by the wrist and turning her over my thighs.

She settles over my lap far more agreeably than she has done almost anything else. This is the only thing she does not fight, the only kind of interaction she seems comfortable with.

I smooth my hand over her cheeks, rubbing gently but firmly. I do not think sweet words and kindness will go far with her. I think her trust, her desire, her happiness is all locked up in rough treatment and animal passion.

“I just got finished telling you that you are mine,” I say. “I informed you that you would be required to obey me. Now I’m going to prove it.”

The bedside drawer contains all manner of treats and toys, but I will not be playing with my mate.

I pick up a wooden hairbrush from my collection, broad-backed and good for one thing more than any other.

The sound she makes as I bring it down on her ass is satisfying as all hell. There is an animal yelp and a rather alluring squirming motion that makes her grind against my thigh.

“You are a brat,” I tell her. “And I know that underneath that sass you are just trying to protect yourself, but you don’t need to hide anything from me. I’m not going to let you disrespect me, and I’m not going to let you keep missing out on the life you deserve because you think you have to fight me.”

I bring the brush down again and again on her bare ass. It leaves pleasing red ovals on her cheeks, but what is even more pleasing is the wet spot she is leaving against my thigh.

Whatever her secrets, she cannot hide her desire for me. It’s the one true thing I know for sure—that she wants me as much as I want her.

“You’re a spoiled rich boy who thinks he can buy everything!” she shoots back. Calling me a boy earns her a good flurry of smacks right to the seat of her ass. Her cheeks flush bright red for me, her thighs kicking furiously.

“I am no boy, little girl,” I say, teasing her a little even in the midst of punishment. Shouldn’t do that really, against protocol, but I am not entirely above gamesmanship. If she wants to tussle, tussle we shall.

“Ow! Fuck!” She curses at me as the brush dances over her cheeks. “I hate you!”

That declaration of hate is more one of affection than I have ever heard before. I wonder if everything will be backward with my mate, if seduction will be repulsive to her, if roughness will be interpreted as kindness.

I test the theory, leaning down, fastening my teeth on her left cheek, the reddened flesh delicate and delicious against my tongue as I lick the skin caught there.

I hear her gasp, feel her stiffen, and I smell a sudden flush of arousal as she gets that much more turned on by the bite.

My instincts were correct. She does not merely like it rough. Sheneedsit rough. She wants to be handled like the wild animal she is, tamed with pets, but made to understand there is no room whatsoever for her own claws and fangs to emerge. Fairness does not matter. Dominance does.

I release her cheek, leaving an impression of my teeth lightly pressed into her flesh.

She lets out a little whimper, but not of pain or fear. It is a sound of desire.

I can hold back no longer. I need to be inside her more than I have needed anything in life.

I slide her off my lap and onto the bed, pulling off all the clothing between us as if it were nothing more than tissue paper. Some of it gives way, some of it rips, none of it matters.

---