Chapter 23

23

Elsa

"Good," he growls. He slides his hand into his pocket and pulls out a tiny device. He holds it up so I can see clearly when he presses the button. The thing between my thighs instantly vibrates. A tremor runs up my spine.

"What are you doing?" A groan wells up.

He continues to hold his finger down on the remote and the vibrations intensify. Tendrils of sensation spiral out from where the vibrator throbs inside of me. The warmth intensifies low in my belly, a jolt of heat slingshots up my skin, around my breasts and back toward my clit. I throw my head back and whine, "Please, please, Seb. Please let me come this time."

The oscillations grow in strength, becoming faster, more frequent. Every cell in my body seems to come alive with awareness; every pore on my skin seems to pop. My scalp tingles. My thighs tremble. A shuddering sweeps up from my feet, up my thighs, coils in my belly, and that's when the vibrations cease.

"Noooo!" I flutter my eyes open in time to see him drop the remote control in his pocket. Not again. The jerk-hole, once more, stopped just as I was going to come. Anger flushes my chest. I open my mouth to protest, and that's when he drops to his knees and pushes his face in between my legs. His tongue swirls over my opening. What the hell—? I gasp, try to wriggle away, but he grips my hip and holds me in place. He fits his mouth to my slit and grasps hold of the vibrator, then turns his head and spits. Something clatters to the ground! Holy hell, he pulled it out. He. Pulled. Out. The vibrator. From my cunt. With his mouth. Why is that so hot? Why is that so filthy and forbidden and so very erotic? I'm conscious I'm gaping, even as pleasure pulses out from where he touched his lips to my melting flesh.

He glances up at me from under those dark eyelashes and his eyes gleam.

"You're a monster," I gasp.

"I aim to please." Without taking his gaze off of my face, he rises to his feet, then presses the barrel of his gun to my sopping wet entrance.

I freeze. Goosebumps pop on my skin. My entire body goes rigid, and heat bursts to life in my lower belly. A pulse flares in my cunt as he eases the barrel of the gun inside of me.

Oh, my god. A moan bleeds from my lips as my channel stretches to accommodate the object. It should be scary. I should be petrified, and I would be lying if I said I'm not. But if there's one thing I know, it's that Seb won't hurt me. He's making his point in an extreme fashion, or so the still-thinking part of my brain insists. He's trying to show me who is the Dominant in this relationship—it's him. Something I could have told him for free. All I want is for him to work hard to make me submit. Turns out, making him angry means I pay the price, too.

He holds my gaze as he begins to fuck me with his gun. Each time he sinks it into me, I feel his fingers, grasped around the handle, rubbing against my clit. In-out-in. My breasts seem to swell and my thigh muscles tremble, but I refuse to look away. I refuse to let him see how much he's surprised me; how he's almost succeeded in making me submit. This show of dominance… It's feral and menacing… and wild. And sexy. I shouldn't be turned on by his actions, but I am. What he's doing is so wrong, and yet... There's something indefinably forbidden, something debauched and undeniably titillating. A heaviness settles low in my belly and goosebumps crackle across my skin as he leans into me. Heat spools off of his body and slams into my chest. The force of his dominance pins me down and I gasp.

"Who do your moans belong to, Princess?" he growls.

"You."

He lowers his chin to his chest and his golden eyes seem to slice through more of my defenses.

"You, what?" he growls.

"You... Master," I whisper.

A flush stains his cheeks. A sheen of sweat coats his hairline. He's as turned on as me. As anticipatory of what is to come. As greedy to enjoy my inevitable plummet into submission, as I am to worship his authority over me.

He wraps his arm under my thigh and squeezes, and a jolt of sensation digs its claws into my belly.

"Who does your every breath belong to?" he snaps.

"You... Master.

He bends and locks his lips around a swollen nipple. He sucks on it, then releases it with a pop, before peering up at me. "Who do your breasts belong to?"

"You," I whimper.

"And your cunt? Who does your pussy belong to?"

"You."

"Damn right." A look of fierce satisfaction crosses his features. "You belong to me, Princess. You are mine, and if any man dares look at you again, I'll kill him, do you understand?"

I nod, and color flushes his face. He slides the gun inside of me again, and the friction is too much. A trembling grips me, my back bows, sensations scream up my legs and my thighs, and coalesce in my belly. The climax threatens to overpower me and that's when he pulls his gun back. My orgasm pauses, flutters up my spine, then evaporates.

"No, no, no," I snarl, "you can't do this."

"I can."

"Why won't you let me come?"

"It's called edging, baby."

"I know what it's called."

"Do you, now?" He brings the barrel of the gun to my mouth. "Lick it, Princess."

I curl my tongue around the tip of the gun. The sweet taste of my cum, layered with the metallic taste of the gun, sinks into my taste buds. For some reason, that turns me on even more. He drags the gun down my throat, leaving a trail of my cum and saliva in its wake. This blending of bodily fluids feels filthy, dirty, and hot. Clearly, being with him is bringing out my inner slut. He wipes the gun on my blouse, then slides it into the back of his pants.

He steps back, looks me up and down. " Cazzo , you look so fucking hot. If we didn't have to be at City Hall, I'd fuck you right now."

"Why don't you, asshole?"

"Cause we have a date, you and I, darling."

"Date? I didn't agree to any date…" I blink. "Hold on a second, what do you mean by City Hall?"

"Exactly that, sweetheart."

"Don't trust it when you pepper your sentences with endearments," I grumble.

"Maybe you'll trust me, now that I almost made you come?"

"Maybe not," I retort.

"Maybe you will, once you get full custody of your daughter?"

I hold his gaze for a second, then another. "Maybe," I finally whisper.

"I'll hold you to it." He reaches around and lowers the St. Andrews Cross until my feet touch the floor. Then he sinks down to his knees, unties one ankle, making sure I have my balance before he unties my other ankle. I begin to shuffle my feet together, but he stops me.

"Easy, let your blood circulation restore itself." He rubs at my ankles, and the warmth of his hands on my skin sends pinpricks of pleasure racing up my legs. When he's sure that I've reacclimated, he rises to his feet. Then he reaches up and unties my hands. He brings my wrists together in front of me and rubs them between his large, warm fingers. The calluses on his thumbs scrape over my skin and goosebumps pop out. My belly trembles, then flip-flops, and as if he's aware of the effect, he releases me. Then shrugs off his jacket and drapes it over my shoulders.

"I have a jacket," I protest.

"You'll wear mine," he commands in a tone that's so fierce that my insides clench. I thrust my arms into the sleeves, and he proceeds to fasten the buttons.

That masculine, spicy scent of his envelops me. The residual heat of his body trapped in the jacket lining loops about my shoulders, tying me to him further.

Finally, he folds up the sleeves before he steps back and surveys me. "You'll do."

"For what?" I scowl.

"You'll see."

He clasps my wrist and turns just as there is a banging on the door. "Open up! You, in there," a man hollers.

"Why the hell is the door locked?" asks another male voice.

The banging intensifies. We reach the door, and Seb flings it open. A man with his hand raised to knock on the door pauses mid-motion.

"Move," Seb growls.

The man pales. He stumbles back and crashes into his friend, who loses his footing. The two slam into the wall as Seb brushes past them.

"Hey, where are you taking me?" I huff as he hauls me in his wake.

"I've told you already."

"City Hall?" I stumble and try to keep up with his much larger strides. "Why are we going to City Hall?"

"One guess."

My heart begins to thud in my chest and my eyes widen. It can't be, can it? "You wouldn't." I gulp.

"Try me," he replies.

He yanks me down the stairs, into a corridor that bypasses the main dance floor, then up a short flight of steps, where he shoulders open the door. The night air hits me as we step out. I shiver. He wraps his arm around me and pulls me into him. His bulk cuts off the breeze and the heat of his body surrounds me. I'm tempted to think he's trying to keep me warm, but I'm pretty sure he's only making sure I don't escape him.

Glancing back at the main door to the nightclub, I notice a queue stretching around the building.

"Won't City Hall be shut at this time of the night?"

"I asked them to keep it open."

"Of course you did." I toss my hair over my shoulder. "What if I don't want to come with you?"

"Too bad." He raises a shoulder.

"I believe I will record my objections on the matter." I set my jaw.

"Noted, and overruled."

"You are not a judge, or a lawyer, for that matter." I scowl.

He glances up and down the street. And goddamn, in profile, he resembles Keanu even more. "Are you waiting for the bus from Speed ?" I venture.

"What?" He shoots me a sideways glance.

"The bus from Speed ? When Sandra Bullock drives the bus with Keanu Reeves next to her and the bus has no brakes and?—"

The screech of brakes being applied reaches us as a car careens to a stop in front of us. Not just any car; his SUV. The door to the driver's seat opens, and a man in a valet uniform jumps out. Seb slaps a note into his outstretched palm then pushes me into the seat.

"Hey," I protest.

He slides into the car after me, and I scooch over to the passenger's seat. "Could have, at least, allowed me to come around to my side of the car," I grumble.

He slams the door shut and eases the car onto the road.

"So, we're really doing this? We're going to City Hall at—" I peer at the clock on the dashboard. "Eleven p.m. at night."

He glowers at the road ahead, and I take it as his assent.

"Are you going to tell me why? Or should I continue making wild guesses, which I promise you is going to drive you mad. If you thought I was insufferable earlier, you haven't seen me when I'm stressed. Also, as if this were not already obvious, I'm not going to stop talking until you tell me why you're dragging me to City Hall so late at night. I?—"

"We're getting married."