Chapter 23 Brat
Sienna
Friday.
Every day leading up to this had been a slow crawl of nerves, and by the time the sun actually went down, my heart felt heavy and jittery all at once.
I stood in front of the full-length mirror, taking a second to appreciate how I looked. I looked good—composed, even if I was a wreck on the inside.
When the clock finally hit 10:50 PM, I forced myself out of my room and toward the North Wing. By the time I reached his door, my stomach was doing backflips.
I felt like an idiot just standing there in the hallway, so I knocked, my hand trembling slightly as I waited for him to answer. I had no idea what the "protocol" was for something like this, and the silence was eating me alive.
The door swung open, and my breath hitched.
Sev was standing there, looking devastatingly sharp. He was wearing a formal suit, but he’d ditched the coat, leaving just the vest over a white shirt.
“Sit down,” he ordered. His voice had an edge to it—dangerous and low.
I obeyed, sinking into the sofa while he started folding his sleeves up to his elbows.
When I looked up, his eyes weren't that eerie, glowing gold; they were his natural gray, but so dark they looked like smoke.
“Have you decided on a safe word?” he asked, his focus entirely on me.
“I, uh…” My brain stalled. Trying to be logical while my pulse was racing was a lost cause. “Stop?”
He let out a dry, dark chuckle that made my skin prickle. “I’m afraid that when things get intense, you won’t be able to stop yourself from pleading,” he said, a ghost of a smirk playing on his lips. “In this room, ‘stop’ is a word people scream even when they want more.”
I felt a flush creep up my neck. He was right. In the heat of it, I’d probably be gasping stop or please without actually wanting him to quit.
“Then… ‘brat,’” I said.
He paused, giving me a look that basically asked if I was serious.
I didn't have a better idea. It’s hard to brainstorm when you’re staring at a bedside table covered in things meant to be used on you.
“Alright,” he said, finally moving toward the table to pick up a silk blindfold. “Come here.”
I took a shaky breath, stood up, and walked over to him until I was close enough to feel the heat coming off him.
“Strip.”
I bit my lip. The command was blunt, leaving no room for argument. I didn’t hesitate; I let the dress slip off my shoulders and watched it pool at my feet. I stayed in my underwear, my heart thudding against my ribs as I waited to see if he wanted those gone, too.
It didn’t come.
Instead, he stepped closer, putting the blindfold. The world vanished into a smothering black.
Instantly, every other sense screamed to life. The scent of him had intensified. The quiet rustle of his clothes became a map of his movement.
I heard his footsteps, soft on the rug, then the sharper clicks as he stepped onto the hardwood near the table. The clink of something being picked up.
Then, touch.
It wasn’t his hand. It was something smooth and cool. It traced a line from the back of my knee, up the sensitive skin of my outer thigh. A whimper caught in my throat.
The object continued its leisurely exploration, gliding over the curve of my hip, dipping into the waistband of my panties before skating up my side.
Thwack.
The sound was sharp, a dry crack in the quiet room. The pain was instant—a bright, hot sting across the fleshy part of my right hip. I jumped, a gasp tearing from my lips.
It wasn’t agony; it was a shock, a brand that sang through my nerves and pooled, hot and shameful, between my legs.
The object traveled again, this time tracing my collarbone, over my shoulder. Then he gave a firm pressure between my shoulder blades.
“Kneel.”
The command brooked no argument. My knees hit the rug. The blackness was absolute, my world reduced to sound, scent, and the lingering, throbbing heat on my skin.
A new presence entered my awareness. Something solid, warm, nudged against my parted lips. My heart leapt, a wild, hopeful throb. Him. But as it brushed my mouth, a faint, synthetic, rubbery scent registered.
Only a toy. Disappointment and relief warred within me.
“Open your mouth.”
I obeyed, and the head of it pushed past my lips. It was wide, already stretching me. He fed it to me slowly, an inch at a time, until the girth made my jaw ache.
“Lick it properly,” his voice came from above, “or else it won’t fit inside you later.”
The implication sent a violent shiver through me. I swallowed the lump in my throat and set to work. My tongue swirled around the broad head, tracing the ridges I could feel, taking it as deep as I could manage.
I worked it in and out, the wet sounds of my own breathing filling my ears. It was huge—the width alone threatened to lock my jaw.
“Enough.”
The toy was withdrawn with a slick pop. “Stand up.”
He took my elbow, his grip firm, and guided me. Five steps, a turn, then the back of my knees hit the edge of the mattress. A push, and I fell backwards onto the linens. Before I could orient myself, his hands were on my wrists, pinning them above my head. I felt the cold bite of leather cuffs, followed by the decisive click of a buckle. I was anchored to the bedposts.
Then, his hands moved to my legs. A padded strap looped around my right thigh, pulling it up and out. He secured it to something on the frame, then repeated the process on my left.
I was spread wide open, cuffed and bound in a shameless display, my lace-covered center utterly vulnerable to the air.
I felt his weight dip the mattress beside me. A hand, warm and large, palmed my mound through the damp lace of my panties. A choked moan escaped me.
His fingers found my clit, circling through the fabric, and a bolt of pure, electric pleasure shot through me. He worked me like that, until the lace was soaked and I was writhing, my hips bucking against his hand.
Then, a tearing sound. He ripped the panties from my body. The air touched my wet, exposed folds, making me flinch.
His finger returned, now slick and direct on my clit. I cried out, the sensation almost too much. He stroked and pinched, my moans becoming ragged pleas in the dark.
Without warning, the touch was gone, replaced by a pressure at my entrance. I had a second to tense before he pushed.
The toy—the one I’d just tasted—breached me in one swift, brutal motion.