“Not begging.Demanding.”
“Always making demands,ma reine.” His finger dips into my pussy, delving deep, and I garble a curse. “How does taking a break from your throne sound?”
“Better than Mozart,mon roi.”
“That’s my girl.”
Brontë plants gloriously languorous kisses on my neck. Slowly, he curls a second finger into me, adding a third to stretch me taut.
“Brontë,” I groan, clawing his shirt as he winds me tighter and tighter. “I need you inside me.”
“Pathetic attempt,Petit Diable.You can beg better than that.”
His tongue and teeth rake a ravenous path of fire down to my heart. He lingers there for a long moment, kissing the flesh encasing that vital organ with undivided attention. It feels like he’s kissing my soul.
“Try again. Make it pretty.”
“I willnotb—” I gasp as he snaps his teeth around a nipple, pinching and twisting. “S’il te plaît.I’ll do anything you want.”
“Anything?”
“If you make me repeat myself just to hear it again, Iwillmurder you.”
“Such a tease.”
He suddenly grabs my ankles and drags me to the edge of the bed. Before my brain can catch up with my body, he snatches my throat with blood-slick fingers and pulls me up.
“Sit like the goddamn queen you are.”
I obey, straightening my spine and crossing my legs. I lift my chin and set my features into stone.
“Bonne fille.” Brontë chuckles, slips a cigar from his pocket, and tucks it behind my ear like a flower. He skims a bloody fingertip down my chest, trailing a line of scarlet to my navel and drawing a downward arrow under my belly button. “I don’t need to explain this, do I?”
I shiver in anticipation but manage to steel my façade. “No.”
A devious smile spreads his lips, and it feels like I’m staring into the devil’s eyes as he croons, “If you wish for a safe word, you’d better tell me now.”
Fuck,what is this man going to do to me?
Nothing that will hurt me.
I know it. He knows I know it.
He just wants to hear me say it.
“No safe words.” A smirk twists my lips. “Scythe.”
AMBROSIA
Poppy
Brontë settles into a leather wingback by the blazing hearth and studies me the same way a starving panther studies a plump lamb.
My brow pinches. “What are you—”
“I didn’t give you permission to speak.”
“I don’t need your permission, fuck you very much.”