You Are Mine Little Sister (by Syra Tucker) novel Chapter 117

"You know what this means," he said, holding the collar where I couldn't ignore it. "You remember the rules, don't you? A collared thing doesn't speak—it obeys.

"I—no," I shook my head, tears glassing my vision. "No."

The collar wasn't the only problem; my eyes caught on the whip waiting on the counter.

His eyes smiled, but his jaw didn't. "But you don't have a choice, Green. You're alone in my territory. No one is coming to save you."

"Void, please..." The last word shredded into a shriek when he tightened his grip. He didn't like the way I said his name. He made sure my scalp understood.

He let go just long enough to bring the collar to my throat. My hands shot up, catching the leather.

"I don't want this," I looked up through wet lashes. Mercy didn't live in his eyes.

Coming here, I knew I'd be punished. But I wasn't expecting the leash and whip. I knew how cruel Void could be, especially with a whip. This was going to be ugly for me.

His eyes darkened at the edges. "Try to stop me again. Just try it and see what happens."

My hands fell like they'd been cut from strings. Defeat slid to the pit of my stomach and sat there.

My insides pitched hard as he locked the collar around my neck, then hooked the leash to it. Fuck.

Amusement moved through his eyes as he eased back into his seat and wrapped the leash once around his fist. When he pulled, I went forward without a will of my own, my chest nearly bumping his knees.

"Entertaining." His words came salted with dark humour.

If the floor had offered a mouth, I'd have let it swallow me whole.

He reached for the whip on the countertop without taking his eyes off me. That stare stripped more efficiently than hands. It peeled my pride, then dignity.

My palms flattened on my thighs to keep them from shaking.

"Tell me, Rali," he gave the leash the smallest tug, enough to tilt my chin. "why did you return?"

Shame burned the back of my throat, bitter as black coffee, his question making me realize the depth of my foolishness. I shouldn't be here. He'd left me alone in New Portland.

But how do I explain that his absence hollowed me out, and the worst part was the anger that he didn't come.

Mum's worry grew the night she found me in tears when I should've been asleep. I didn't want to be any more of a burden to the poor woman, hence the reason I left.

He leaned in until his breath brushed my cheek. "What changed your mind?"

His thumb found my lower lip and stroked, slow and thoughtful. My eyes followed the motion then caught on the leash dangling from the same hand, filling me with the cold reminder of the danger in front of me.

"I'd give anything to know," he added, and the sincerity in his voice made the room smaller.

Words swelled and died in my mouth. A part of me wanted to tell him I was sorry for leaving the way I did. But the leash around my throat served as a lock on my lips.

When he leaned back into the stool and crossed one leg over the other, I knew it was about to get messy.

"Take them off." He tipped his chin and I didn't need anyone to tell me he was referring to my clothes.

The second hand on the wall clock suddenly became too loud. With fingers shaking more than I'd have wanted, I undid my buttons. In less than a minute, my shirt, jean pants and underwear were off. The whole time, the unmerciful man didn't take his eyes off me.

His gaze warmed into something darker as he dragged his thumb along his own lips, slow over the seam like he was tasting the view.

I squirmed on my knees, too bare under his gaze to pretend at dignity. He hadn't laid a finger on me, but I felt him anyway. Felt the slow sweep of his attention climb me like hands: from my folded knees to my thighs, over the slick ache of my pussy, up the line of my belly to my chest, and finally my face.

His eyes ate like famine, like I was a full-course meal that only came once in twelve months.

"Where are your tits?"

My brows knit. What was he talking about?

The delay cost me. Leather snapped across my thigh and white-hot pain bit and bloomed. A cry broke loose as I dropped back on my heels, my palms flying to soothe the sting.

Holy fuck.

Dragging air into my lungs, I looked up and met cold unhinged eyes.

He tilted his head like he was considering a problem to be solved. "I can't see."

Holding my breath, I slid two fingers down and parted myself, baring the slick ache to the air. Shame burned low in my belly. I couldn't believe this man was bringing me so low.

He made a low sound in his throat, the kind people make when they finally find what they came for.

Humiliation dragged my eyes down to the floor where my knees quaked.

He uncrossed one leg. "This is yours?"

I gasped when he brought his big toe to my sex. What the hell?

My eyes slowly went up to his again where victory danced in bold steps.

He pushed the toe further into me, pressing the place where I opened. My fingers dropped on instinct, wanting to give him access, even though deep down, I'd rather not.

He took his time, brushing the toe up and down my slickness in a torturous pattern I felt in my throat, my belly, my knees.

It was so intense I wasn't sure I could handle it.

Fuck.

I rocked back on my heels, greedy for any kind of support. My eyes slid shut and I let him ruin me with nothing but a toe.

He finished with a hard stroke from my entrance to my clit, and a small whimper broke free when he lifted away. Only then did I feel the damage: I didn't want the pressure gone. I wanted more. More heat, more him.

"Quite messy," he tsked like a disappointed teacher.

I followed his gaze and found him staring at his toe. His toe—which had a huge part of my shame on him.

What the hell, Rali? Did he just apply lubricant without my notice?

His eyes came back to mine. "What do you do when things are messy, Rali?"