What She Needs - Lacey Alexander [67]
Like before, everyone in the room went still and she could have sworn she heard her own heartbeat.
Clearly enraged, Brent took a step closer. “You dare defy me, slave?”
Lips trembling now, Jenna peered up at him, trying to figure out her next move.
Brent had always brought her pleasure and maybe this would be the same; maybe she should apologize and let this happen. Based on everything that had taken place in this room so far, she’d probably be screaming in ecstasy soon if she went along with his demands.
But he had pushed her so very far tonight. And as she met his gaze, her disobedience became about more than protesting sex with Zack. There was a part of her—a dark part, perhaps brought to life just tonight, since arriving in the dungeon—that wondered what would happen if she did defy him.
“Yes, I dare defy you,” she said recklessly, then added sarcastically, “master.”
He narrowed his gaze on her, his silence forcing her to recognize the obvious fact that hung between them—she was openly defying him, but she wasn’t saying the safeword. She wasn’t . . . ending this. Even she knew it was a challenge. To see what he’d do. Would he dish out real punishment? He wouldn’t really hurt her, would he? Serena had said no one would. Yet her heart pounded violently as that new, darker part of her waited to see what happened next.
Finally, Brent’s expression hardened even further and he sounded angrier than ever. “You refuse to be fucked? Fine then—that wet, hungry pussy will not be fucked.”
It wasn’t what he’d said so much as his tone that made Jenna’s blood run cold. He’d sounded so heartless—as if her insolence had crushed any bit of kindness he’d held for her tonight.
“But you will be punished. Ruthlessly,” he said with just as much ran-cor. “Zack—attach the clit chain to her.”
She sucked in her breath. Oh God—what the hell was a clit chain? How much would it hurt? Was it too late for the safeword? But when Zack left and returned quickly, she saw that what he carried didn’t appear as frightening as it sounded. Thank God.
Her legs remained parted—they’d been that way so long they’d simply stayed in the position without thought—and now no one touched her, but the other guys in Brent’s command knelt around her, watching as Zack closed a small clip over her swollen clitoris, from which hung a short, thin chain, black beads dangling from the end. It was like the nipple rings and chain: sexual jewelry.
The pinch of the clip was so light that it inflicted no pain . . . just a certain pressure. Which increased her need for release almost immediately. She felt her features scrunching slightly as she tried to get used to it. And she quickly figured out that—damn it—it was more than mere jewelry. It was a torture device. It was like a horrible itch that couldn’t be scratched—inflicting a constant, gnawing need.
“Decker, Jason—release the slave’s arms, but don’t let her have use of them. Zack, grab a strip of leather and tie them behind her back.”
Being a sex slave had already felt surreal, but it was now that the term took on a whole new meaning. Feeling completely at Brent’s mercy, she was so caught up in everything happening to her that she forgot the safeword existed altogether. It was as if challenging him had stripped away her last bits of courage and independence and now she was lost to the situation she’d created, left to suffer the consequences.
“Now tie her to the kneeling rail,” Brent said.
Chapter 8
When Jason and Decker pulled her to her heels, she almost thought she’d faint. She could barely walk, fearing whatever apparatus they’d chosen to call by a religious name, having no idea what would happen next. A minute ago, she’d wanted to know. But now she wasn’t so sure—she couldn’t think straight, couldn’t reason.
A slight bit of relief echoed through her when they approached a simple piece of furniture, the main surfaces padded in black leather. She was put on her knees on a small steplike platform approximately a foot off the floor and her torso bent forward over a larger