What if I did and he rejected me again?
When Rett reached the door, he opened it. Without turning back, he said, “On your hands and knees.”
My breath caught as my eyes opened wide.
Leaving the door open, he disappeared into the darkness.
Rett
Iwasn’t confident of Emma’s next move as I left her suite. I was confident in almost every other facet of my life, my past decisions, my future choices, and my lasting reign over New Orleans. My fuse could be short or it could be painstakingly long. I dubbed knights in my army and declared generals, granting them the power to do my bidding. I’d taken lives without blinking an eye, seized property and wealth. I’d also had my share of women.
My tastes were too much for some and not enough for others. Whether I was easing my hard cock into a tight pussy or fucking ruby-red lips, both worked for me. What I didn’t do, hadn’t done, was take the time to learn more than the physical pleasure I could receive. I’d never been a selfish lover—the termlovernot meant to insinuate emotion—since there was no reason I couldn’t bring pleasure as I found release. In a nutshell, fucking relieved pent-up energy.
It was beyond the physical that I’d never wanted.
Staying true to course had been my intention with Emma.
Fate had destined our union, and I’d fucking tempted fate too many times to not give in on this one. All it took was one look at her soft curves, haunting blue eyes, and luscious golden crown of hair, and I knew I’d keep her. From the moment our eyes met, she was mine. The night at the restaurant I moved fast, anxious to learn if she was as delicious on the inside as she was to the eyes.
Maybe there was another goal, to scare her away.
If I were a man who experienced fear, it would have been me who left that night trembling. Emma’s receptiveness and exhilaration combined with a hefty dose of apprehension had me intoxicated.
I told myself that night was the last time I’d touch her like that until she proved herself.
That next morning, I went against my own decree. Emma had been asleep so long. I’d gotten hard watching her pert parted lips and the noises she’d made in her sleep.
One more time.
It was the agreement I’d made with myself.
One more time to hear her cries of pleasure, to taste her sweet essence, and to feel the softness of her skin. I was a man of my word.
Since that morning, I’d spent more time jacking off than I cared to admit, even to myself.
But until tonight, telling Emma to follow, I’d kept my word.
The day she’d dared to leave, my obsession to bring her pleasure morphed into one to bring her true pain, to punish her, and to make her pay for the consequences of her actions. I’d considered a bullet. It wasn’t a thought I was proud to admit, but it had come to me. And then there she was, tied to that chair in that god-awful den, and in her fear and confusion, she’d called for me. With her eyes blindfolded and blood splattered over her skin, she called my name.
Emma North had her mother’s power of enticement. She also had her father’s spirit and determination. What I wondered as I lit the fire in my fireplace was if she had what it took to be my wife. She would be. That was set.
That role would either be her death or bring her life.
The orange flames coated my suite, leaving the corners in shadows of the unknown. My private area covered multiple rooms. Years ago, it had been my father’s, before him, my grandfather’s, and further back up the paternal line of Ramses men. From stories I’d heard, they’d all bedded mistresses while their wives slept a short hallway and room away.
That wasn’t my style.
In the eight years since I took control of New Orleans, no woman had entered this suite for my sexual pleasure. Taking a deep breath, I turned toward the small hallway connecting our suites. My chest tightened as the floor squeaked. The barely audible noise was like fucking music. I stepped back into the shadows with the knowledge that Emma had followed.
Still upright and emerging from the dark hallway, Emma’s eyes opened wide as she took in the grandeur my grandfather had commissioned. She couldn’t see me and didn’t know she was being watched.
Indecision showed on her beautiful face as she took one small step and then another. Still standing, she scanned the room, searching its depths. Like a sheep to the slaughter, she moved forward, her head high and her eyes filled with curiosity.
Had she expected a Saint Andrew’s cross or a wall lined with crops and whips?
That wasn’t what I sought from her, or from anyone.
The submission I craved took more strength than accepting the bite of an implement.