Page 81 of Tall, Royal Hater
He made a slow crawl over me, and his towel strained—one tug and it was going to come undone.
“Wait for what?” I hissed as his face appeared above mine. “Your pathetic peanut? No thanks.”
He shook his head, tutting me softly, and that humiliated, getting-told-off discomfort returned to my chest, making me want to lash out. “And I had planned to make it so good for you too…if only you had behaved.”
I squared my chin. “I’m not a fucking child that you can tell me to behave.”
“No, you’re just a brat,” he said almost softly, and it threw me off a little. “Desperate to be punished and held down and fucked into tomorrow. That’s why you came here and touched yourselfon my bed. You wanted to show me how bad you can be, so I would do something about it.”
I felt and heard his towel unravel and drop onto my thighs, but I couldn’t look away from his unyielding stare. “You wanted me to bruise your arse and leave your cunt sore from being stretched and tortured, didn’t you? So, you didn’t wait or behave like I told you to.” His mouth almost touched mine as he sank closer. “Now you’re going to receive your punishment, and you’re not going to like it, Mariyah. But it’s what you wanted. And it’s what you deserve. So, you’re going to take it.All of it.”
I didn’t know what I was supposed to feel. My emotions were almost tumbling as fast as my heartbeat, swapping from anger and outrage, to desire and confusion, to agitation and hatred.
No guy had ever spoken to me like that. Yes, two or three had tried to, and we’d done the whole“Daddy”thing and been a little rough, but only one guy had managed to make it work enough to feel really good. The other two had been rushing or had only cared about their own pleasure.
Shehryar didn’t sound or look like he was going to rush or fumble about, not when his words hit the truth harder than I’d ever fucking admit.He meant every single word.
My throbbing cunt agreed. She wanted everything he said. But my mind was having trouble accepting being that submissive, and it was rallying a battalion of anger to fight my body’s desire.
“Fuck you,” I snarled, but it came out more breathy than venomous.
He leaned on one hand and pinched my chin between his other finger and thumb. “Every time you give me attitude, I’ll simply elongate your punishment.”
He was serious.He was actually fucking serious.
It wasn’t fear that set me into motion, but more like caution, an“Abort mission! Abort the fucking mission!”screech in my head.
I threw myself onto my belly and scrambled forward to get out from under him and off the bed.
“Oh, no you don’t,” he hissed through a chuckle, his arm banding around my waist.
I shrieked as he dragged me down to him and gasped when he flipped me onto my back. We were a blur of slapping and grappling hands as I wrestled for escape and he for dominance. I knew I was fighting a losing battle, but I wasn’t exactly pissed about it. The drug in my blood felt more like thrill.
One wrong move on my part allowed him to drag me towards the two pillows like I weighed nothing. I clawed at his wrists, but he fisted my T-shirt anyway and pulled in opposite directions.
A coarse ripping sound cut through the panting, grunting noises in the room.
I went still, my mouth hanging open as I looked down at what he’d done.
He’d fucking ripped my T-shirt in two from the neckline right down the hem, baring my naked body to him. My thick thighs patterned with stretch marks, my bare pussy, the full curve of my hips, the softness of my belly up to my pert breasts. Every fucking inch of me.
I was angry. I liked that T-shirt. But some secret part of me found what he’d done unbelievably sexy too.
His long, low groan drew my attention back up, but before I got the chance to cuss him out, he clamped his fingers across my face, squeezing my cheeks together and forcing my teeth apart.
I hadn’t seen him pick up my black underwear, but it was in his hand.
He shoved it into my mouth, far enough that I couldn’t spit it out.
My fury and arousal trebled. He smirked proudly. I fought harder. But he was quicker.
By some magic, he yanked my torn T-shirt up my back, drawing my hands above my head and away from my mouth. The fabric came off my shoulders and climbed my arms. When he reached my wrists, he crossed the torn halves. I grunted and struggled, but he swiftly tied them around one of the rungs in the headboard, restricting my movement.
“There we go,” he said through heavy breaths as he sat back, straddling my waist.
Gagged and bound, I was fucking livid, but I couldn’t deny how aroused I was too. It made for an uncomfortable mix. I didn’t want to accept wanting what the huge, irritating dickhead had warned me about, but for the first time, I allowed myself to look down and see what I was dealing with.
A breathless sound drowned in the fabric stuck in my mouth.
