Cherise Sinclair - My Liege of Dark Haven

“You’re mine to play with, Abigail,” he said, pushing a finger inside her and making her jerk. “Mine to display, and I enjoy showing off your beautiful breasts.” He pinched her nipple, and she inhaled as the heat kept rising. “I like sharing how lovely you are when you come.”

“You’d share me?” She tried to move.

She was yanked back as his hands formed restraints harder than steel. “If anyone ever touches you, I’ll break every one of his fingers. Is that clear?”

“Yes, my liege.” She swallowed past a dry throat and forced out her own demand. “And if any woman puts her hands on you, I’ll cane you both.”

“Absolutely.” His cheek rubbed hers as he murmured, “I’m yours as much as you are mine, Abby.”

“Okay.” All her muscles went limp, and she relaxed against him, knowing he would hold her safe.

“There, that’s right. That’s what I wanted.” His body was a wall of strength behind her. Something cool brushed against her neck before he held it up in front of her face.

She touched it with light fingertips. Much like the thick, golden choker that Rona wore, this was a single band of shining silver.

“We’re not in a Master and slave relationship.” His voice was husky and as tender as she’d ever heard it. “But I’ve seen the way you look at Rona’s collar. So, little fluff, this shows you belong to me. No matter what we work out as to how far my control over you extends, that will never change.”

Her bones were melting right into the floor. Could a person have too much joy?

“Do you accept my collar, Abby?”

“Yes, oh yes. Yes, please.”

The muted pleasure of the crowd added to her own. She tilted her chin up and heard him mutter, “Do you know how much I love you?” The cold smoothness of metal surrounded her throat.

Yes, maybe she did.

In his study, Xavier looked up at the sound of the front door. As his spirits lifted, he grinned and rose. The house felt as if it came alive when she returned home. He spotted her as she sped through the living room, obviously looking for him. Her face was so lit with happiness that his question seemed almost irrelevant. “How did it go, Professor?”

“I got the job.” She danced across the room and twirled in a way that sent lascivious thoughts rising. Put her in silks and—

“Starting this spring, I’m back in the tenure track.”

No wonder she was dancing. “Congratulations.” He lifted her in the air, smiling up. “You’ll be an excellent asset to them.”

He rather thought the small college had realized what a treasure they were acquiring. He knew—he’d made a point of visiting her university and reading her glowing evaluations and commendations. This was one professor who possessed not only solid teaching skills, but a sincerity that drew in the students and a brilliance that illuminated the most boring subject. “I’m proud of you, Professor Bern.”

Her small hands framed his face as she leaned down to kiss him. He’d been surprised at the difference the engagement—and collaring—had made in her behavior toward him. Much of her reserve had been due to insecurity. He would do his best to ensure she’d never again doubt how much he loved her.

He lowered her until her feet touched the floor, then tugged her hair back so he could deepen the kiss and enjoy the way her body melted against him.

Arousal hummed in his blood when he finally lifted his head and surveyed what he intended for his afternoon treat. Her eyes shone with love, her face was flushed, her lips were wet and reddened. Yes, he’d definitely start with those lips around his cock.

She shook her head as if to clear it. “So what do we need to do to get ready? When are the caterers coming? Are—”

“It’s barely past noon. The caterers will arrive around six to set up. The cleaning service was in this morning, as was the yard service.” As was the moving service he’d hired for one special room.

He gave her a long look that made her flush even more. “Being female, you’ll probably need an hour to bathe and dress. That leaves four hours during which I’ll require your exclusive attention.”

Her eyes widened, and she took a step back. “Xavier, I don’t really—”

“Yes. Really.” Bending, he set his shoulder against her stomach and straightened. As he wrapped an arm over her kicking legs, her little fists pounded his back, but he felt her laughing uncontrollably.

“Beast. We’re having a party. We can’t have sex now. Are you insane?” She yanked on his loose hair.

Insanely happy.

He slapped her ass hard enough to make her squeak and started up the stairs, pleased his ankle didn’t even twinge. In contrast his cock was trying to throb through his pants. “Abby, be silent or I’ll gag you. And I’ll enjoy it.” In fact, that wasn’t a bad notion.

She gave him one last thump on his back and then stayed quiet as he headed down the hall to one of the guest bedrooms. He opened the door and set her on her feet.

AS HER BLOOD returned to where it belonged, Abby had a second of dizziness and a longer one of disorientation. She was in Xavier’s house, but this was her bedroom. She turned in a circle, taking in the heavy, cinnamon-colored draperies, the king-size four-poster with the intricate Moroccan carvings, her Oriental carpets.

The contemporary room had been transformed into an Arabian Nights fantasy—hers. “What have you done?”

The corner of his mouth lifted, and she realized that with his dark coloring, long black hair, and black eyes, he looked far too much like someone out of her fantasy.

His expression changed. Cold face, hot gaze. “English women—they never know when to be silent. But I didn’t steal you from your caravan to listen to you chatter.”

Her eyes widened as she realized he wasn’t in jeans, but worn leather pants. His white shirt made him look even darker, and…was that a sheathed knife buckled to his belt? She retreated a step, her heart beginning to hammer.

“Ah, she’s quiet now.” He circled her slowly, making her feel like a quail chick face-to-face with a bobcat. He brushed his hand through her hair. “I have a fondness for women touched by moonlight,” he murmured. “With hair soft as the silks that I will have you wearing.”

“Xavier—”

He gripped her hair and yanked her head back. “Is this how you address your Master?” he asked, his voice harsh. “Shall I put red stripes up and down your fair skin?”

Shocked, she shook her head frantically. Her mouth had gone dry, her breathing catching over and over.

“Better.” He cupped her chin, his thumb and finger pressing against her jaw mercilessly. His gaze was just as merciless. “If you do everything I say, I will be pleased with you.” His voice dropped, and so did the pit of her stomach when he whispered, “Do not risk my displeasure, English.”

This is Xavier. This is my fiancé. The reassurances weren’t working, not when he jerked her suit jacket off and threw it in the corner. He looked at her shirt and growled, “Remove that.”

Her fingers fumbled at the buttons, finally getting it open. One yank and it joined the coat. He circled again, and the cool feel of the air made goose bumps rise on her arms.

He stopped in front of her and frowned at her bra. “Disgusting device to keep a man from touching as he pleases.” When he unsheathed his knife, the blade far too long and sharp, a squeak escaped her, and she staggered back.

“Stand still,” he hissed. He fisted her hair, bringing her to a sudden stop. Cold metal touched her stomach, and she whimpered. The smooth blade slid under the front of her bra. A tug and it had sliced through the fabric. Very, very sharp.

“Xa—”

He shook his head slowly, holding her gaze with his.

I don’t like knives. No no no. The cool metal was warming…against her skin…as it slid down the inner side of one breast.

“Don’t annoy me, English, or I’ll discover if your blood is as red as your skin is white.” The flat of the knife caressed one breast, then the other, turned and scraped over the top as if shaving. Sharp as a razor. “Do you wish to remove your skirt…or shall I?” he asked softly.

“Me,” she whispered, barely able to breath until the blade lifted and he stepped back.

She unzipped the dignified straight skirt, shoving it to the ground, following with the panty hose before he could ask. He watched silently, a slight curve to his hard lips.

The light filtering through the heavy drapes shadowed his face and lent an ominous, reddish cast to the room. He studied her for a second before his hand closed over her throat in a light grip, holding but not—quite—cutting off her air. As the blade rested on her cheek, he leaned forward, his face only an inch from hers. His black eyes stared into her wide ones. “Tell me you’re going to please your Master, English.”

Afraid to even move, she said through stiff lips, “Yes. Master.”

He stepped away, leaving her shivering. “I thought so. Put your forehead on the carpet, your ass in the air. Show me what I risked my life to kidnap.”

A flush ran through her in a long stream of heat. Swallowing hard, she knelt, put her face to the soft Oriental rug, and lifted her hips.

He didn’t speak, his gaze like a weight running over her skin. She heard the thump of his boots. Music started slowly, Loreena McKennitt’s lushly romantic An Ancient Muse album. Candlelight sent flickering shadows over the floor.

She heard him opening his leathers. “Up, English. Let’s see if your mouth is as soft as it looks.”

She pushed back onto her knees.