Page 20 of Her Royal Master
“Past life, maybe,” Darius suggested, surprising me with such an open-minded assessment.
He believed in past lives?
“It doesn’t matter what caused it.You’re going to learn to wear my collar.You’re going to love wearing my collar—do you know why?”He was talking just to distract me from my discomfort.He’d tied the cord in the back and now clipped off the ends, leaving a neat knot.
“Why?”I croaked.
He spun me around and cradled the side of my neck, looking down at me, his chocolate brown eyes dark with intensity.It seemed he would leave his hands as well as his cord on my throat, demanding I get used to it.“Because I take care of my subs.This collar means you’re under my protection.I’ll make sure your needs are met.I won’t let anyone else touch you.”His expression blackened.“You’re sure no one ever choked you, baby?Because if they did, I will make them sorry they were born.”
My lips parted, surprised to hear violence from the gentlemanly royal.Violence offered in my defense.Had anyone ever offered to protect me?Only my mom and only until I pushed her assistance away, desperate to stand on my own two feet.Certainly no man.Not my father.Not Derek or any earlier boyfriends.
“No one choked me,” I whispered.
He ran his thumb over my pulse, lightly stroking.
It almost felt… nice.Sensual, even.
To distract my careening heart from getting attached, I reminded myself that this man was in the lifestyle.He’d saidsubs, plural.I take care of my subs.Not me.I just fell in the lump of submissives he’d trained and made his own.I wasn’t even sure what that meant, but it made me want to jump off the ship and swim home.
With effort, I re-erected the armor he’d pulled off me.I was here for a story.Nothing more.I needed to get more information out of my subject so I had something to write about.
I drew a deep breath.“So, how long have you been into BDSM?”
~.~
Darius
My brows slammed down, and I released Chelsea.
Damn.That hurt so much more than I expected.How long have I been into BDSM?I could practically see the practiced journalist pull a pencil out of her hair and moisten the tip with her tongue, ready to take down notes.
I stalked around the small room to get some distance from her.She wanted to ask me questions?Fine.I had some for her, too.I pulled my rattan cane from my toy box and whapped it into my palm.
Chelsea’s eyes widened.
“Okay, little journalist.Youhave questions, andIhave questions, so we’re going to play a little game.”I grabbed her elbow and swung her to face the bed, pushing her torso down over the mattress.“For each answer you give me, I will allow a question from you.If you choose to pass or if you lie, you get three strokes of the cane.”I tapped the cane against her pretty bare ass for effect.
“What if you choose to pass on a question?”Defiance rang out in her voice.
I considered, nudging her legs wider with the cane.“I will subtract two strokes from your total.”
“That’s not fair!”Her outrage made me chuckle.
I bent over her and lifted her head with her hair.“Our relationship isn’t built on fair, princess.What made you think it was?”
She made a huffy sound into the covers when I released her head.
I repositioned myself behind her.“I could simply cane you now because I wanted to.”I brought my hand up between her legs, spanking her pussy.“Because your ass would look gorgeous with my stripes across it.”Another spank.Her wet folds told me her indignation hadn’t diminished desire.“Or because I’m pissed you want to use our time together for your fucking story.”
Her back shuddered when she sucked in a shaky breath.
“I’ll give you a taste of the cane before we begin.So you know what you’re in for if you displease me.”
The muscles of her back and shoulders bunched up in expectation.
I stood to the side of her and let the cane swish through the air, striking her right in the middle of her buttocks.
She screamed, rising up on her tiptoes, making a beautiful sight.“You’re mean!”she shouted when she’d regained her breath.
