Knight Nostalgia: A Knights of the Board Room Anthology(9)

As her soft flesh received his punishment, he could see her arousal marking her thighs, as clear as his handprints on her ass.

“I heard you curse me again when I started this, my lady,” he said, with a mildness he didn’t feel. “Still being far too discourteous. I think in addition to punishment, you need a deterrent against future bad behavior.”

Crudity was a defense. A way to push him away from her, or pretend what was happening inside her wasn’t. And he’d never abide that.

Holding her down with one hand, he reached between them and freed the heavy belt. She went still again. Doubling over the strap, he trailed it along her flesh. Gooseflesh followed the movement.

“No,” she whispered. But he knew what lay behind that no, and it wasn’t a desire for him to stop.

“I told you I’ll do what I want. Until you know who your Master is.”

When he brought the belt down on her ass, he knew the impact sent an arrow of pain slicing through her arousal. Yet her strangled cry held longing, need…and a desire for more.

He gave her ten strikes, turning her already reddened buttocks crimson. Her struggles were balanced by the clawing hold of her fingers, her mound pressed hard against his legs, telling him she was absorbing the desire throbbing there. It was a temptation he couldn’t resist.

Setting aside the belt, he gripped her ass hard, making her stiffen and hiss from the discomfort. He slipped two fingers inside her cunt.

“You’re slippery as that oil now. You’ve made me hard, slave queen, with your squirming. Behave, or you’ll be fucked even sooner than you dread it happening.”

“No worse than I dread being in your presence now,” she managed. A whimper caught in her throat as he pushed those fingers in deeper. Her voice was shaky, a reaction to the force of the punishment, but still impressively derisive. “You may be able to do whatever you want to my body. But that’s all you’re getting.”

“Think you can hide from me, somewhere deep inside? Inside that fortress you’ve built for yourself, far stronger than the walls your father built?”

Hearing the words said out loud gave Matt pause. Despite his desire to keep this about the fantasy he wanted to give her, such a statement resurrected a shadow impossible to ignore. The one that lent too much truth to the image of a queen sitting on her horse next to her father, her expression fixed as her sire offered to hand her over to a brutal barbarian to save his own ass.

Savannah turned her head. Even with the falcon mask hiding her eyes, he could tell she’d sensed his mood shift.

These were emotions he’d dealt with, but which still had the ability to resurrect themselves with the right triggers. But Matt wouldn’t let himself be used by his own head. He’d use those emotions the right way. For her.

His fingers still penetrating her silken heat, he leaned over her, bringing his mouth to her neck, her shoulder.

“I won’t harm that fortress,” he murmured. “Not a single brick. I will build one all the way around it, so you can open the doors and windows, come out and still be safe. Until you know for certain you don’t need your walls anymore.”

Her lips parted. He thought she might have whispered his name, the way she said it when her heart spoke to his. Matthew.

She felt that overlap, too, between past, present, and this. But he wanted her to have the best of all of it, so he changed his tone, bringing her back into the fantasy. “I’ve heard you cry out from my belt, slave queen. Now I’ll hear you cry out in pleasure.”

“Never.” The cold scorn in her voice brought a smile back to his heart.

“You will deny me nothing.” He stroked his thumb over her clit as he began to move his two fingers in a slow, thrusting rhythm, slipping another finger in to add to the sensation. His other hand, spread out over her back, moved up between her shoulder blades and then to her nape, curving over it and holding her down at that point, a pressure that added to the reminder that she was overpowered. Dominated.

When other sensations started to rise within her, she started to struggle again, resist the arousal. He tightened his grip. As he kept fondling her, she found and clutched his booted foot, still pressed down on the tether to her wrist cuffs. He kept fucking her with his fingers, teasing her clit with feather-light brushes of his thumb. A moan escaped her.

“Your cunt is clenching around my fingers, my lady. It knows what it wants. What do you want? Tell me you want me to make you come. Call me Master.”

“I…would…rather…die.”

Despite the words, she was so aroused, she needed little else to bring her to the brink of orgasm. The desperate note to her defiance revealed it.

“I’ll settle for hearing you scream. Be sure and call me a bastard again as you go over, my lady. If you dare.”

She didn’t, though he expected it was because she didn’t have the time or focus left to test him. Her voice broke over cries that grew in volume, his thrusts and the rubbing pressure on her clit becoming even more aggressive.

As she teetered on that edge, he shifted his hand from her neck, sliding his touch beneath her hips to lift her off his lap, enough that he could dip his head and sink his teeth into the globe of her enticing buttock. He didn’t miss a single stroke with his fingers from the adjustment.

He tightened his jaw, increasing the clamp, and she broke. Her cries transformed into that scream he craved and demanded. Her pussy rippled over his fingers and gushed further cream as the climax gripped her. He held her firmly while she writhed and bucked, her hands all the way around his ankle and calf, a counterpoint to his grip around her hips and between her legs.