for her to succumb.
I reach for my shirt and remove it then lean into her ear, kissing her neck, pushing my pulsing flesh against hers, inhaling her peaches and coconut scent.
I'm hard again. I shouldn't be from this. But I've never been able to resist the temptation of her skin on mine.
The devil is in me as well.
As much as I've tried to fight him, I've let him in. Restraining her against this wall, past the limit she's comfortable being stretched with spikes digging into her limbs is against everything I stand for. But showing any mercy before I break her will not be tolerated by the Global Leaders.
I shouldn't disrupt her hatred toward me. But I murmur in her ear while fisting her hair. "You must not object out loud again, ma belle. Every time you do, I will have to widen these bars. Don't do it. I don't want to hurt you any more than I have to."
She sniffles and her hot tears hit my cheek. "I hate who you've become," she adamantly whispers. "I will never submit to you or call you what you wish."
It's my strong ma belle. It gives me pride and rips my soul to hear her say it.
"You will beg me and desire everything I can give you," I say louder so the others hear.
She closes her eyes and shakes her head.
New music comes on. The tune isn't fast or slow. A woman with a lower octave voice sings about pain and tears, drowning fears. There's something sadistic and sensual about it.
The stage becomes crowded. I don't look at any of the acts taking place behind me. But ma belle sees everything. Their cries and grunts compete with the cracks of whips and hands hitting bare skin.
I wince inside at what is going to happen.
My lips and fingers travel all over her body. I avoid her mouth at all costs until she's sweating, whimpering, and trembling. I murmur in her ear, "Call me your Master."
She sticks her chin out. Her voice comes out, raspy. "No."
"Call me it, and I'll let you orgasm," I say, rubbing her clit.
"No."
"It's time," a man barks, pulling me out of my trance.
I don't want this to happen.
I step back. I have no option. It's on the list. It's how I have to break her.
I turn. I want to punch the U.K. Prime Minister's smug expression off his face. He holds a leather flogger, and my stomach twists more.
No one can touch her. But items give them access to her, and his name got pulled for "the privilege."
"You will submit and call me Master," I repeat to Emilia.
She glances between the Prime Minister and me. So much fear is in her eyes.
I promised her no one would touch her. I didn't explain it meant body parts only. Her expression tells me Bernadette didn't, either.
I had two choices. Allow him to do what I will, or let him unleash his wrath on her with the flogger. Trying to keep my word to her, I chose to give him the flogger.
I step forward and drag my finger down her cheek and over her trembling lips. My other hand teases her pussy. "When you submit fully, I will allow you to feel the pleasure you need."
Betrayal is all I see on her face. And I think I'm past the point of her forgiveness. I've not broken her yet, but I don't understand how she will ever forgive me for any of this.
I shouldn't kiss her, but I do. I press my lips to hers and part them with my tongue, greedily taking more from her, but she barely kisses me back.
Her defiance is only going to make things worse.
I murmur in her ear, "You will kiss me back, or this will hurt worse. I won't be able to protect you, ma belle." I kiss her jaw and then her lips again. This time, she opens her mouth, flicking her tongue around mine, reminding me of all we were before this night. I slide my arms around her, both our skin hot and buzzing against the other.
She moans in my mouth, and I momentarily forget where we are and what will happen.
The music changes. The singer is screaming and the beat is fast. I end the kiss, but instead of stepping back, I travel back to her ear. I murmur in French, "I love you, ma belle, but you must submit."
I step back, and more tears fall on her perfect cheeks.
But she won't.
The