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The Tied (Possessive Gods #3)
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If she will not be my guest, she will be my prisoner.
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With a satisfied sigh, I fasten the final binding on my reluctant guest.
She expected me to be easier to evade. She imagined that she would get away with doing as she pleased. That is not how things work in my realm. Especially not when I am entrusted with keeping this beautiful young woman, who bears pure divinity inside her, safe.
“You brought this on yourself,” I remind her in response to her muffled complaints. The tie covering her mouth is for both our sakes. It stops her from wasting energy in needless complaints and it saves me from having to hear them.
Is she comfortable? Possibly not. But this has become an absolute necessity. For her own good. For her safety. For all the reasons in the world besides the one I can barely admit to myself: for my pleasure.
Lucy, Princess of the Light, is mine.
I thought this day would never come. I fought against it with all my being. Not because I didn’t want her, but because I wanted her far too much. My desires are not innocent, they are not sweet. They swell and they roar inside me and they demand to be unleashed on this helpless, bound, young woman.
Long have I tried to put her out of my mind. To respect her innocence and her royal status. I have tried a thousand times or more to distract myself from what feels like an all-consuming desire for this woman whose sweet scent becomes a taste on the water when she spreads her thighs.
Her rebellion excites me. Her eyes flash and her fiery temper unleashes and it is my purpose to contain her. Protect her. I can do that but one way, with the slithering binds of wound weed, soft and yet strong. They are stronger certainly, than her ire.
I think she loathes being forced to be silent. Lucy always wants the first word, the middle word, and the last word. Sure enough, in a matter of what seems like seconds, she bites through the weeds binding her mouth.
That was not supposed to happen. Either the enchainments are weakening, or she is growing stronger. This princess has power, we have all known that from the beginning.
I watch with no small amount of amusement as she spits the weeds aside and flashes her teeth at me in a surprising snarl. She might have bitten out of the gag, but the rest of my bindings are still in place around her delicious body and they will keep her in place even if I have to endure the sass which emerges from her mouth.
“You can’t keep me here, Triton,” she hisses.
“Ah, but I can,” I reply. “And indeed, I will.”
“No. You can’t. I’m going to break every single one of your enchantments and enchainments. I’m going to eat through an entire ocean’s worth of seaweed rope if I have to.”
But she can’t reach all of it with her mouth, and unless she grows blades on her skin — an unlikely event, the bindings will still do their work.
She struggles and the sweet taste of her desire is borne to me on the rippling currents produced by her motions. That is another little secret she has tried to hide and failed. She likes to be bound. She is not a willing captive, but she enjoys it in spite of herself.
Every time her legs flail, I find myself awash in her need. It is a scent and a taste which makes it difficult to manage my composure. I promised to guard this beautiful young demigoddess. I vowed to keep her safe. I never strictly promised not to bury my cock inside her, but tearing the innocence from my captive innocent is something I am trying to stop myself from doing.
“Let me go, Triton!”
“I am not going to let you go. This is for your own safety. I will protect you from everything, even yourself.”
She is beautiful when she is angry. She is utterly radiant. Creatures of light such as her have particular appeal to me, a beast of the dark. I am king of the ocean. I am guardian of my waters, and all who dwell within them – which now includes her.
I follow the scent down between her thighs, bending my knee to bring my mouth to that chalice at the apex of her legs.
“What are you…. oh… oh my… oh gods…”
Her voice softens into a moan. I prefer it when she sounds this way. Not so strident. Not so angry.
My tongue bathes her sex, finding the soft folds and charting each of them with little flicks which make her buck and quiver.
She would spread her legs if she could. She would arch her back and give herself to me, I know she would. I would do more than taste her sex. I would claim it completely. I would drive myself inside her and I would stretch her around me — and she would let me. I can taste her willingness. There is an inevitability in her taste, a promise of love eternal, and happily ever after. But nothing is guaranteed. In this world, as in every world, such happiness is hard won — and I have only just begun to earn it.