It’s unfucking real.
I half expect celestial trumpets to blare. I feel like my skin is melting and we’re merging into each other. Strange shit. But my dick has never felt better.
“Who am I? Is it so difficult to give me such a tiny thing? A little respect. That’s all I’m looking for, honey. I can give you so much in return.”
Christ, she sounds just like me, right down to her inflection on the word “honey.” I always get them to call me whatever I want. I’m always in control. Isn’t much I like more than a beautiful woman tied to my bed while I make her come till she passes out. So what’s my problem? Like she says, it’s a small thing. What can one word hurt? It isn’t like letting a woman have the power for a change can bring about the end of my world as I know it, for fuck’s sake.
I open my mouth and suck her tongue deep, grinding in, sliding out. I feel my dick inside her, and I also feel what she’s feeling: me filling her, giving her all she wants except for this one tiny little thing that is so important to her for some reason. Maybe some man treated her like shit and now she needs to be called mistress to get back some of her own. Maybe I’m part of the healing. Maybe it’ll make her come as violently as I know I’m going to. I like women. I want them to feel good. It’s practically been my mission in life.
“Who am I?”
I try to shape the word twice and still fail. I’d honestly like to give her what she wants but submission just isn’t the stuff I’m made of.
She clamps down on me and … aw, shit, she squeezes! She has muscles that could milk a herd of Holsteins dry. I buck and nearly get off but then she’s soft again and I get the feeling she could do this all night if she wants. And this crazy babe might just want to.
“Mistress,” I manage to growl. “Now make me come or get the fuck off me ’cause I’m jacking off.”
“Tell me you want me more than life itself,” she croons, all soft and sultry.
“Sure, honey.” I’ve gone this far. If Ryodan ever finds out I called some babe mistress, I’ll never hear the end of it.
“Would you die for me?” she asks breathlessly.
I’m beginning to see no matter how hot this woman is, despite her plentiful talents, she has serious-ass issues. Looking for some big strong man to play hero for her. Who the hell isn’t? Every woman downstairs. I excel at the role. And I need to come. Simple enough exchange.
I grab her ass, grind up and drive deep. “Protect you. Rescue you. Guard your frigging honor if you have any left by the time I’m done with you, woman. Now squeeze.”
“But would you die for me?”
I don’t tell her I might kill her if I don’t come soon. I might turn. She’s kept me on the brink too long. I’m getting edgier than is safe with a woman. “Sure, honey. Whatever.” She doesn’t know I can’t. She doesn’t even know my name.
She pulls back and smiles down at me with rows of needle-sharp shark teeth.
Blond hair darkens to blood-black.
Red lips fade to white. Then ice-blue.
Flames leap up around us. Takes me a second to process—also blue.
Aw, fuck.
I stare up, a little slow to get it.
I’m too close to coming to think real fast. Hell, her tits are too far in my face for me to think real fast.
Unseelie. The bitch is Unseelie. I can’t believe I didn’t pick up on it. I’m not easy to fool. Well, sans blond hair and curves enough to happily smother a man.
She’s dark Fae. Twisted buggers, one and all, some more than others.
And she wanted me to call her Princess …
Unseelie. Princess.
I narrow my eyes, staring up at her.
Nah.
The dark king never got around to making them. They’re a myth. They don’t exist. Damn good thing, too. The Unseelie Princes are problem enough.
Oh, honey, she purrs in my mind, we certainly do. Trapped in a library for a small eternity. One of yours let us out. Good thing, too. Men have too much power on this world. We will fix that.
“Get the fuck off me.”
You called me mistress. You said you would die for me. I own you.
I laugh. “Yeah, right. Try pursuing that thought.” I shove her off me but my hands go the wrong way, fly up over my head, and abruptly I’m slammed flat on my back, with both wrists manacled to one end of the desk.
Links snake around my throat.
My waist. My ankles.
Fuck me.
I’m chained.
I lunge up, testing the links, snarling. Magic doesn’t work on me. Neither does glamour. Yet both seem to be. What the hell is going on?