Owned by the Bad Boy(20)
“Bend over. Put your hands on the wall.”
I spread my legs and bend over, arms quaking on the tiled wall. His cock feels like rubber with the water and it pushes against me.
“Oh God!”
It sinks in hard and I moan. Luc grabs my hips and soon his moans mingle with mine. It feels so big—it’s so deep. He pushes through gently, and then his grip tightens.
The slapping noise of his hips ramming my ass fills the bathroom. My voice rises to a scream, bouncing all around us with the wet sex sounds.
“Fuck, Luc!”
He’s fucking me so hard that my arms buckle and I flatten my elbows on the wall, widening my stance so he can take me deeper. His hand reaches around, and he pinches my clit to tighten the seal. I’ve lost it. His throbbing cock rams my pussy and his finger hits the pressure point. I take deep gasps, falling under the wave as Luc lets out a long groan. His cum fills the sides of my pussy as he continues to thrust, sending shock waves through my body with every flex of his groin.
Then he grabs my hair and pulls me upright, turning me around.
“Ow!”
My back hits the glass again as he kisses me, burying his hand in my hair, the other just holding me close. Every kiss is softer than the last, the delicate sensation of his lips like fire on my skin.
Then he washes me, his hands covered in white foam as he lathers a bar of soap and spreads it over my curves. I feel delirious in this heat, my core still throbbing. How did this happen to me? How did I get here? It’s him. He’s like a fucking drug that knocks you out the moment you take it.
I don’t want him.
He keeps making me forget that.
After we wash ourselves and step out of the shower, he wraps a towel around his waist and gets something from the bedroom.
In the mirror I watch him stand behind me and throw something around my neck. I stiffen, expecting him to yank back and strangle me, but it’s only a black strand of leather with several metal loops attached to the front. It tightens around my neck as he fastens it.
“This is going to be your collar.”
I look into the mirror, at Luc’s face. His hair is still wet, slicked back from the shower, and there are drops of water over his chest that I’d like to lick off. His mouth is set into a firm line. There’s no hint of a joke on his face.
“My collar.”
“While you have it on, you will address me as Sir. Not Luc.”
Have you lost your fucking mind?
“Am I supposed to be your dog or something?”
He laughs at the outrage trembling my voice. I watch as his arms coil around my stomach and he holds me against his chest. Tender lips find my neck, and my body shivers.
“You’re mine,” he says simply.
“When we were together—”
“We’re still together.”
Jesus.
“You never made me wear a collar.”
“Just because I never made you wear one doesn’t mean I didn’t think about it all the time.”
“What the fuck does this mean?”
He kisses my neck, and a deep shudder runs through me, momentarily puncturing my anger.
“You got any fucking idea what it’s like going away for a year?”
“I—”
His finger hooks through one of the metal rings and he yanks my neck back. “You’re going to find out, because you belong to me now.”
My heart slams against my chest as he looks down at me, the fury twisting his face into something demonic. “What if I don’t want to be yours?”
“Then maybe I put you in a real cell and lock you up.”
Jesus.
“I need to feed Étienne.”
He releases the collar. “Go get dressed.”
I nod at him and leave the bathroom, watching him give his hair a few swipes with the comb. When I’m finally out of his view, I sink to my knees and clasp my hands over my mouth.
When we were dating, the sex was rough, but he never did shit like this. He never made me crawl on all fours except for that first time, but that was only to punish me for spying on his poker game.
Even then, I liked it.
But not this.
I tug at one of the metal rings, wondering what the hell is going to become of my life.
Fuck your life. Your son needs you.
That thought makes me rise to my feet and bitterly yank open the dresser that Luc shoved my clothes inside. I dress myself quickly, the stupid collar firm around my neck, and I head downstairs to the fridge. I take the full bottle, noticing that he washed and dried the old one at the sink. My feet scamper up the stairs back to the makeshift nursery, where Étienne fusses in his crib.
God, he’s all right.
The moment I lift him in my arms, a smile spreads over my face. I can’t be sad when I’m holding him. I feed the nipple of the bottle into his mouth, and his fussing stops immediately.