Page 38 of Call It What You Want
“You will now be given the opportunity to show your willingness to submit to the order,” he says. “You may halt the ceremony at any point, but in doing so, you will be escorted off the premises and forbidden to enter forevermore…”
Okay, by some miracle, I managed to catch most of that. But…why is he telling me this? Why would I want to stop their ceremony?
“Sure, whatever,” I say, mostly because everyone is staring at me. At this point, I’d say anything just to move this thing along.
The chanting picks up again as Jackson pushes my robe the rest of the way off my shoulders. Cold air washes over me, and I shiver, goosebumps prickling my skin.
Under normal circumstances, I’d be mortified standing here, half-naked, in front of a roomful of strangers. But there’s something about the steady rhythm of the chanting, combined with the heat of Jackson’s body pressed against mine, that lulls me into a delicious trance. It’s like slipping beneath the surface of a dream I don’t want to wake from.
Seriously, what was in that drink?
Someone hands Jackson an item, and he drags it across my collarbone. “This feather represents…” I tilt my head back, enjoying the tickle against my skin.
He’s still talking, and God only knows what he’s saying, but, honestly, who cares? When he’s done with the feather, his helper hands him another item.
“This paddle…”
He takes a step back, angles me, then smacks the flat paddle against my outer thigh, blunt and firm. It should sting, but whatever I drank from that chalice dulls the edge. It doesn’t hurt. Not really. It tingles and spreads heat under my skin. Three quick strikes, and I’m floating, more aware of the sound than the pain.
Then comes the whip. It’s thinner, more precise, with leather strips braided tightly into one long tail. When it snaps against my skin, it’s sharper, more electric. Not enough to draw blood, but enough to fire up every nerve. The tail licks across my thigh, then bites, and the warmth that follows feels almost… dizzying. Like pleasure, but with a razor’s edge.
But I have the feeling he’s going easy on me, like this is supposed to hurt a whole lot more.
When it’s over, Jackson hands the whip off and sweeps me up into his arms. I yelp, not expecting it. The circle moves with us as he carries me over to a table and places me on the wooden surface.
He steps back and reaches into his robe to unfasten his belt. “Remove your panties,” he says sharply.
Whoa,what? That sobers me instantly, like a bucket of ice water straight to the face. I’m sitting up, hands gripping the sides of the table with white knuckles. My eyes dart to the sea of gold masks surrounding us.
“What is this?” I ask. “What’s happening?”
“Lie back.”
Obviously, I don’t do that. But in the end, I don’t need to. I’m flanked by two people who each take one shoulder and push medown, so I’m flat on the table, face up. I don’t fight them because I can’t. I’m paralyzed by the shock of what’s happening.
How did this whole thing go so far off the rails so quickly?
“Open your legs,” he commands.
The wood is hard against my back, and I shift to try to relieve it, but I’m still being held down, so I can’t move much. That’s when the panic sets in.
My sluggish mind scrambles for a way out of this. Didn’t he say I could call the ceremony off? Or did I just make that up in my head? I’m so woozy, I can’t remember.
“You—” I swallow back the bile that’s rising in the back of my throat. “You said I could stop the ceremony?—”
Before I can even finish that sentence, he moves to my side and grabs my jaw—his grip so hard, tears gather in my eyes. He leans down so we’re face to face, and when he speaks, his voice drenched in so much darkness, it makes me shudder. “Open your fucking legs,” he repeats.
The chanting fades to background noise as Jackson’s gaze cuts through me like a blade, leaving me bleeding and breathless and completely fucking unraveled. I should look away, or call this off, but I’m trapped by the raw, animalistic hunger I see in his eyes.
That’s when the connection between my mind and body is completely severed. Heat sweeps through my veins, and my thighs fall open. And what’s even more humiliating…my hips lift off the hardwood in a clear invitation.
What the fuck is wrong with me? Is this what demonic possession feels like? I feel like I’ve gone insane. Like, legitimatelyinsane.
My reluctant obedience is rewarded with a slow smile that spreads across his beautiful face. “Good girl.”
With a hand on my knee, he spreads me wider and steps into the empty space between my thighs. I wish I could say I’mhorrified by what’s happening, but, shamefully, something deep inside feels like it’s flickering back to life after three years in the dark.
He yanks the crotch of my panties aside with one hand, and his gaze drops to my swollen pussy. An arc of electricity zaps between us. Even in the dimness, I can see the set of his jaw, the way his nostrils flare, and it fans that fire inside me.
