Chelsea

Darius brought me to climax three more times before carrying me to the shower and fucking me against the wall. I’d never felt so sexualized, so desirable in my life. By the time we emerged from the shower, my body was wrung out and sore, my brain mush.

I stood in the middle of Darius’ room, clutching a towel around me. “Am I allowed to wear clothes?”

He gave a decisive shake of his head, but he opened his closet. From the floor, he picked up a shiny leather dress shoe and yanked out the lace, a thin black cord. “Only this.”

I tensed, fearing I already knew where he wanted me to wear it.

And I was right.

“Lift up your hair,” he commanded, his deep, accented voice making my knees go weak.

Still, I resisted.

His expression turned stern. “You will wear a symbol of my ownership. If you don’t like this one, I’ll get the collar you wore yesterday.”

I held out my wrist. “Can’t I wear it here?”

He shook his head. “A collar goes around your neck. It’s a symbol of submission that I require you wear. You belong to me now.”

I nibbled my lip, ignoring the spike of pleasure in my chest. Why should hearing I belonged to him excite me? He’d already made it abundantly clear. And he didn’t mean permanently. It was for the duration of the voyage. But I must’ve wanted to belong to him, because I did as he asked, lifting my hair and turning around for him to tie the black cord around my neck.

I hated it. My throat spasmed the moment the cord touched it, my tongue seeming to swell until it was too big for my mouth, cutting off my windpipe. I dug my fingers under it to pull back and earned myself a swift slap to the ass.

“Hands on the top of your head. Now, little girl.”

Little girl. The term was condescending and demeaning and… hot to me. Which made no sense. If Derek had ever called me little girl, I would’ve smacked the side of his head and given him a lecture on women’s rights. What made it so unbelievably thrilling from the mouth of the Devil Duke?

I liked being at his mercy.

No, I freaking loved it.

What in the hell was wrong with me? I was a career-oriented woman with control issues. Could it be all this time the secret button to arousal for me was dominance?

All the time with Derek I’d held the reins in the bedroom. I’d said when I wanted sex and refused when I didn’t. And our lovemaking had been lukewarm at best. With Darius, control had been stripped from me from the very start. It had terrified me, but had also ignited a level of lust, of passion, I hadn’t known existed. Without the layer of control—the armor of control—I became nothing but a willing body, eager to receive.

I hadn’t moved, and Darius growled, stalking away and taking the cord with him.

A sigh of relief puffed from my lips, but it was too soon. When Darius returned, he carried a roll of black tape. Twisting my arms behind my back, he wrapped the tape around my wrists, securing them at my lower back. I fought for a moment, not because having my wrists taped frightened me, but because I wouldn’t have them free if he choked me.

Fuck. He was going to choke me with that cord.

As if he recognized I needed soothing, Darius pulled my hair back from my neck and pressed his lips to my shoulder. “Easy, American. You can trust me. I know you’re scared.” He reached around the front of me, holding the cord out in front of my face. “It’s just a shoelace. This thing would break before it could choke a girl. And strangulation isn’t my game. Not today, anyway. With you, probably not ever, although I like a challenge.”

Waves of cold flooded my body. Was he talking about auto-asphyxiation? Or whatever that sex kink was where people died from choking during sex? All rational thought fled my brain as sheer terror enveloped my body, swallowing me whole, drowning me in darkness and cold.

“Shh, you’re okay, baby.” Warm arms held me tight, Darius’ voice murmured in my ear. “You’re shaking, sweetheart. Take my strength. I have you. I won’t let anything bad happen to you. I promise.”

I fought to slow my heart rate and regain control. “I’m sorry,” I squeaked, embarrassed at how easily I turned into a quivering ball of fear.

“No breath play. I’ll accept that hard limit from you.” He stroked up and down my arms. “But if I kept you, angel—if you were mine forever—someday I’d cure you of this phobia. You’d beg me to have my hand around that lovely throat.”

If you were mine forever.

The words sent a pang of longing through my chest. Three days were all I had with this man. This complex, dominant, wonderful man. I hadn’t allowed any shadow of hope for more to enter my mind. Until he spoke those words.

Damn him. I wanted to be his forever.

And that was utterly impossible.

Laughable.

Ridiculous.

I was disposable to him. Even if he kept me a while longer, it wouldn’t last. These things never do. He wasn’t going to marry an American journalist from a lower middle class single parent home. Please.

So yeah. I needed to erase any and all images that sprang in my head of what it would be like to be kept by Darius Halsburg.

“I’m going to put this on you now. You’ll feel it, but it won’t squeeze. Just like a necklace.”

“I don’t wear necklaces,” I squeaked. Or turtlenecks. Or shirts with small collars.

“What happened to you, baby? Did someone hurt you?” His voice sharpened at the end, like he couldn’t quite maintain the calming tone he’d adopted. “Give me a name.”

“No,” I barely managed to speak as I controlled my reaction to the cord which he’d laid gently over my skin. “Nothing happened. I’ve always been like this.”

“Past life, maybe,” Darius suggested, surprising me with such an open-minded assessment.

He believed in past lives?

“It doesn’t matter what caused it. You’re going to learn to wear my collar. You’re going to love wearing my collar—do you know why?” He was talking just to distract me from my discomfort. He’d tied the cord in the back and now clipped off the ends, leaving a neat knot.

“Why?” I croaked.

He spun me around and cradled the side of my neck, looking down at me, his chocolate brown eyes dark with intensity. It seemed he would leave his hands as well as his cord on my throat, demanding I get used to it. “Because I take care of my subs. This collar means you’re under my protection. I’ll make sure your needs are met. I won’t let anyone else touch you.” His expression blackened. “You’re sure no one ever choked you, baby? Because if they did, I will make them sorry they were born.”

My lips parted, surprised to hear violence from the gentlemanly royal. Violence offered in my defense. Had anyone ever offered to protect me? Only my mom and only until I pushed her assistance away, desperate to stand on my own two feet. Certainly no man. Not my father. Not Derek or any earlier boyfriends.

“No one choked me,” I whispered.

He ran his thumb over my pulse, lightly stroking.

It almost felt… nice. Sensual, even.

To distract my careening heart from getting attached, I reminded myself that this man was in the lifestyle. He’d said subs, plural. I take care of my subs. Not me. I just fell in the lump of submissives he’d trained and made his own. I wasn’t even sure what that meant, but it made me want to jump off the ship and swim home.

With effort, I re-erected the armor he’d pulled off me. I was here for a story. Nothing more. I needed to get more information out of my subject so I had something to write about.

I drew a deep breath. “So, how long have you been into BDSM?”

Darius

My brows slammed down, and I released Chelsea.

Damn. That hurt so much more than I expected. How long have I been into BDSM? I could practically see the practiced journalist pull a pencil out of her hair and moisten the tip with her tongue, ready to take down notes.

I stalked around the small room to get some distance from her. She wanted to ask me questions? Fine. I had some for her, too. I pulled my rattan cane from my toy box and whapped it into my palm.

Chelsea’s eyes widened.

“Okay, little journalist. You have questions, and I have questions, so we’re going to play a little game.” I grabbed her elbow and swung her to face the bed, pushing her torso down over the mattress. “For each answer you give me, I will allow a question from you. If you choose to pass or if you lie, you get three strokes of the cane.” I tapped the cane against her pretty bare ass for effect.

“What if you choose to pass on a question?” Defiance rang out in her voice.

I considered, nudging her legs wider with the cane. “I will subtract two strokes from your total.”

“That’s not fair!” Her outrage made me chuckle.

I bent over her and lifted her head with her hair. “Our relationship isn’t built on fair, princess. What made you think it was?”

She made a huffy sound into the covers when I released her head.

I repositioned myself behind her. “I could simply cane you now because I wanted to.” I brought my hand up between her legs, spanking her pussy. “Because your ass would look gorgeous with my stripes across it.” Another spank. Her wet folds told me her indignation hadn’t diminished desire. “Or because I’m pissed you want to use our time together for your fucking story.”

Her back shuddered when she sucked in a shaky breath.

“I’ll give you a taste of the cane before we begin. So you know what you’re in for if you displease me.”

The muscles of her back and shoulders bunched up in expectation.

I stood to the side of her and let the cane swish through the air, striking her right in the middle of her buttocks.

She screamed, rising up on her tiptoes, making a beautiful sight. “You’re mean!” she shouted when she’d regained her breath.

I traced the red weal I’d left with my fingertip. “That’s what they say,” I said lightly, the shadow of every paparazzi story written about my wicked ways crowding around me. It had been my self-ordained job from the beginning to draw the media attention away from the rest of the royal family. Away from my father’s suicide, which had been labeled as a hunting accident, away from the Queen’s lovers, and now away from Kaspar’s exploits.

I’d created a persona that gave the world something to gossip about. Sordid stories about the cruel and wild young duke. Some of them were even true. I’d let my reputation snowball into something huge and vivid. And they loved to hate me. Hated to love me. Everyone still wanted me. My notoriety made me even more popular. They called me a drunk, a womanizer, a violent, misguided trouble-maker. Women still threw themselves at my feet, wanting to be used and abused by me.

Chelsea was different. She’d known the gossip but still had seen me. At least I thought she had. She was a smart girl; it shouldn’t have shaken me when she recognized the truth about Madison, but it had.

I liked being with her. In my room, it had just been her and me. I didn’t have to put on a show. She’d let me strip her layers.

Funny that it surprised me when she wanted to do the same to me.

“I will begin. Who do you work for?”

Her body tensed, bottom squeezed together as if already deflecting the whipping I’d give her for not answering. “Pass,” she said stiffly.

“Three strokes.” I walked to my toy box and pulled out lube and a butt plug.

“Is it my turn?” she asked, breaking the charged silence between us.

“Yes.”

“Was Madison your BDSM partner?”

Pain stabbed me at the mention of the girl who’d committed the ultimate betrayal. “Yes.” I pulled her cheeks apart and dribbled lube on her anus.

She tightened against me. “What are you doing?” Her voice quavered.

I knew I’d lost some trust at this point, but was willing to be a dick for the time being. “I’m going to plug your ass, princess. It will help remind you that you belong to me, whether you tell me your secrets or not. I own you for the duration of this trip.” I pressed the rounded tip of the plug against her anus and circled it with pressure until her sphincter muscles relaxed and allowed entry.

“Ow… no.” She whined and moaned when I pressed the plug steadily inward, the widest part of it stretching her beyond her comfort level. “Ung.”

“There. It’s in.” Because she looked so beautiful with her arms bound behind her back, her legs spread wide, plug shining between her cheeks, I rewarded her with a light tap over her clit.

A shiver ran through her.

“Have you ever been betrayed by a lover, Chelsea?”

She hesitated. “Not like you. But in a way.”

I didn’t realize how much I desired every piece of knowledge I could get about Chelsea—her life, her past, her wants and desires. “Tell me,” I murmured, stroking her dewy slit again.

“I came to Ibiza… mmm”—she gave a soft moan of pleasure when I twiddled her clit—“to save a relationship. Turned out it wasn’t worth saving.”

My fingers curled into fists, teeth bared at hearing about some other relationship, even though it sounded like it was over. “What happened?” My voice sounded tight to my own ears.

“Turned out I was far less interesting to him than ecstasy and late night parties.”

“I’m sorry.” I wasn’t. Did it make me a terrible person? “You know it wasn’t about you, right?”

When she hesitated, I stopped fondling her folds.

“Right?”

“I think it was my fault.”

“How so?”

“I made a choice… not to follow him originally. I think I waited too long. I keep wondering if—”

“No.” I made my voice cold and hard, though the way my stomach roiled made me feel anything but sure. “It wasn’t about you.” I patted her pussy in a series of quick little spanks. “Do you wish you were still with him?” I held my breath, disturbed by the insistent thudding of my heart in my throat.

“No.”

Thank fuck.

“I miss the fantasy of a boyfriend. Never the reality.”

I stroked her ass, twisted the plug. “What’s your fantasy, Chelsea?”

“I thought we were taking turns with questions.”

Clever girl.

“All right. Your turn. Ask a question, baby.”

I thought she’d have a pile of questions ready to tumble out, but she was silent for a long moment. “Why didn’t you come out with the truth? About Madison?”

The million-dollar question. The one that sucker punched me in the throat.

Chelsea

Darius removed his touch and paced away, leaving me unmoored on the bed.

I’d tried to pick a question he would answer, but when he went silent, I realized I’d chosen poorly.

But, to my surprise, he spoke. “The queen didn’t want my fetish made public. She knows Kaspar’s followed in my wicked ways, and she thinks he’d be a laughing stock.”

I digested that. The Queen of Halsburg would rather people believed Darius had abused his girlfriend than have it known he had a kink? It seemed misguided, at best.

“I wasn’t willing to take Madison down, either. Samson wanted to play dirty and go after her with every gun blazing, but I… couldn’t.”

“Did you love her?”

“Your question is over,” he said softly, returning to my side.

I didn’t move, waiting for his interrogation.

“I was fond of her, but it wasn’t love.” He stood directly over me, but didn’t touch. “I still have sympathy for her. She was a single mom and she probably believed herself in love with me—I don’t know. I broke things off, and she took her revenge. What she did was wrong, but we’d shared something. I don’t take a woman’s submission lightly.” Now, finally, his palm returned to my skin, stroking down my back and over the curve of my buttocks. “It may not seem that way to you, but I don’t.”

I lifted my bottom into his hand.

“I don’t take your surrender for granted, American beauty. It’s a gift of trust. You give a piece of yourself to me every time you yield. Just like you give a piece of yourself to me with every truth you tell.”

Guilt over my refusal to share my personal details twisted in my gut.

He let his words hang between us, doing their sickening work.

He was comparing me to her, I knew it. I was another woman who was going to use his fame and fortune for her personal gain. I didn’t plan to destroy his name, but he didn’t know that.

“I’m not like her.” I forced the words out.

When Darius didn’t comment, I knew he didn’t agree.

Anger flared. Not at him, but at her. At Madison James, who had done him a terrible turn. I was going to vindicate him. I would find that woman and reveal the real story, show him for the gentleman he was. He’d been protecting that bitch all this time, not wanting to damage her.

Well, I had no such compunction.

“How many sexual partners have you had?” His next query took me by surprise.

Seriously? He didn’t need to know that. I was glad my face was pressed into the covers, because I felt a blush streaking my neck and heating my cheeks. I wanted to lie. Didn’t want him to know how terribly inexperienced I was.

But he probably already knew. That was why he asked.

“Only one.”

His hand stilled on the undercurve of my buttocks. “Just the asshole you came to Ibiza for?”

“Don’t laugh.”

“Never, baby. It makes sense why you’re grieving that relationship.”

“I am not grieving it.”

He gave my ass a light slap. “Good. Because I was thinking about finding the asshole and giving him a one-way plane ticket to Turkey.”

I giggled, pleasure curling in my chest at his jealousy. “Turkey?”

“Yeah. Plenty of drugs there, too.”

I laughed some more, my entire being warming from the inside out. The words ‘I love you’ floated up in my brain, shocking me.

I loved this man? Impossible. I hardly knew him.

The feeling swimming in my chest, that light, floaty warmth, that appreciative joy, sure felt like love.

Damn. I needed to get a grip. Because somehow I knew that having my heart broken by the duke would be ten times worse than what I’d imagined I’d suffered as a result of my breakup with Derek. That had been nothing. An inevitable separation that had been more about me readjusting my brain around what had always been than anything else.

The emotions swimming around in me now were real. Real trust. Real desires, real longing. Real attachment.

“Your turn,” he said lightly.

“Do you keep BDSM relationships in a separate category from romantic ones?’

He stroked between my legs, and my breath turned ragged. “This is my romance, baby.”

“I mean—” I struggled for words, hoping my question didn’t reveal too much of my heart. “Would you… would you have this in your marriage? Or keep it for the call girls?”

His hand came down in a quick flurry of spanks, although I had no idea what I’d said wrong.

“Why?” I blurted. “Why are you mad?”

He stopped spanking and soothed the sting from my skin. “I’m not mad at you,” he muttered. “You just summed up the queen’s dictate for Kaspar. Use call girls for kink. Marry a virgin princess. I… don’t like you thinking that of me.” He pinched my butt cheek between two fingers. “You’re not a call girl to me.”

I choked on a sour laugh. “I’m not a call girl, period.”

His laugh was just as harsh. “Jesus, I know that. I’m saying… I’d keep a girl like you. Maybe forever.”

My heart thundered in my chest, bouncing around like a ping pong ball. He said a girl like you, not you. He wasn’t saying he wanted to keep me forever. Even so, some part of me had already jumped on a horse and was galloping to a finish line with him as my life mate.

And the rest of me was dead scared. Terrified. Because this was the kind of man I would throw away everything for. The way my mom had given up herself for my dad.

And I didn’t think I’d ever recover from being left by a man like him.

So no. No way. I couldn’t even consider playing house with this man, not even in my deepest fantasies.

“Where do you live in the States?” His tone had gone hard, as if he knew I might not answer.

My brain raced, trying to figure out how dangerous it was to give him that information. But L.A. was a big city. Lots of news organizations there.

“Los Angeles.”

He picked up the cane. “Three strokes.”

“Don’t I get another question?”

“No.” He sounded irritated, like he’d lost patience with the game or me. “Take this like a good girl, and I’ll let you come when we’re through.”

Always the flipping of my belly when he turned stern, the flood of heat between my legs, not that I wasn’t already wet for him. “Yes, sir.”

He brought the cane down across my ass. I gasped, surging forward, crying out into the covers. A second line landed neatly beneath.

I let out a low moan.

A third line of fire erupted below the second. Tears smarted my eyes, and my body shook with adrenaline as it struggled to cope with the pain, but relief had already swept through me. It was over.

I’d survived. And now he would reward me.

Being Darius’ submissive was so easy. I didn’t have to know what to say or do, I only had to follow orders and receive either pain or pleasure—whichever he deemed appropriate.

Now that I’d let go of control—realized I couldn’t say how things went in this bedroom—it was blessedly simple. But it was also easy knowing there was an end point. Tomorrow I’d walk off and never see this man again.

Why in the hell did that hurt so badly?

Darius removed the bondage tape around my wrists. “On your back, baby. Knees wide. I’m going to eat that sweet little pussy until you scream.”