Page 19 of Consume Me

“The baby is viable at this age and will likely do fine if we need to deliver. We’ll monitor the situation,” he continued. “My concern is the health of the fetus.”

I almost couldn’t bring myself to ask the one thing I needed to know. I’d been cut out of this equation. He’d made it clear that he was here for my son not for me. But regardless of what he said, I had to hope that he still felt some duty to me. “And the health of its mother?”

Rolland turned away and didn’t answer, but the look said enough. He’d save the baby, but me?

The nurse’s words earlier echoed through me: No one is going to hurt your baby.

No one would hurt either of us. I wouldn’t let them.

Chapter 8

ALEXANDER

Clara stretched across the bed, her slender arms tied over her head. She was a work of art that I would never tire of worshipping. I wanted my mouth on her, my skin against hers, my cock buried inside her. Crawling over, she arched off the bed, trying to make contact. It seemed she had similar thoughts. Catching her nipple between my lips, I tugged it between my teeth, earning a hiss of pleasure. Everyone sound she made was music—my own private symphony.

“Does my poppet like that?” I asked, my hand snaking down to discover the damp heat between her thighs. “You’ve gotten so wet.”

I plunged a finger lazily inside her, relishing how she contracted around it. She was always ready. It made it impossible to resist her, even when I was angry with her—and I was angry. I just couldn’t remember why.

Clara bucked against the rope, but it held her. I’d made certain to tie it to the bedpost so I could take my time torturing her.

“Yes, please,” she whimpered.

I loved the way she circled her hips against me, trying to make contact, trying to relieve the steady need building inside her. It was a need only I could satisfy and I took not only pleasure in that but relief. In my world, there was only her. She’d been made for me. I would never understand it. I had before, and I would never do so again. “You’re so greedy. You want my hands and my mouth”—I brushed a kiss over her pebbled nipple—“and my cock.”

“X,” she panted, craning her head, trying to raise her face to mine. “Please.”

There was a desperation in her plea that settled onto my shoulders. But was I enough for her? Had I given her everything she wanted? Could I ever deserve her?

“Patience,” I soothed her. “I’ll give you want you need—what you’ve been asking for.”

Running a hand over her flat belly, I paused. Something was wrong.

“What is it?” she asked.

“I don’t know. I can’t remember,” I admitted quietly.

“Then don’t stop,” she urged me.

I shook my head, trying to clear the unease and concentrated on the smoothness of her skin, the freckles dusting her shoulder. Covering her mouth with mine, I stole a kiss. But it wasn’t theft. Not anymore. She belonged to me. We’d given ourselves to each other.

She needed to trust me. After all this time, it was still so hard for her to do that. Maybe I needed to remind her exactly who her body belonged to—a lesson I was sure she would enjoy.

“Greedy little poppet. Greedy little cunt. I think I’ll teach you how to be patient.” Reaching overhead I found a second length of rope. I’d left it there, but I couldn’t remember why. Now I understood.

I slid it roughly under her torso, knowing it would scratch and burn and knowing Clara wanted that. She was delicate but strong and when I treated her roughly, she became herself fully. I looped the rope around her, dragging it across her breasts. “I think these need more attention.”

Clara bit her lip with each slide and tuck of the rope, gasping as I tightened it around each breast until they were plump and bound. Sitting back on my heels, I admired her. Her breasts were full and swollen from the tightness of the rope. Her fingers, while free, coiled around her restraints. Not only was she beautiful with her porcelain skin wrapped with red rope, she was where I wanted her: under my control.

“Now if I do this…” I flicked my tongue over the furl of her nipple and she yelped. “I love when you cry out like that.”

“You love to see me in pain,” she said without a hint of accusation. It’s what she thought. It’s what she believed. But she didn’t understand. It was more than that.

“No, I love to see you free,” I corrected her gently. “There is beauty in restraint. You look so beautiful now—so fuckable.”

“Yes, please.” She bit her lip and attempted to nod.

“I’m not sure.” I closed my mouth over her breast again and she groaned. I could feel her grow wetter between her legs. She loved to give herself to me, but there were other considerations. “What about the baby?”