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managed to utter a quiet, “Yes”.
    She curled her hands into fists against the iron shackles and braced herself for that first brutal, invading thrust. He didn’t disappoint, plunging into her with a hard, long stroke that had her sucking in a startled breath and her inner walls clenching around his shaft. He was big and thick, stretching her, filling her, and with another jerk of his hips he seated himself even deeper still.
    “Oh, fuck, yeah,” he groaned in her ear as he withdrew from her body in a slow, tortuous drag of his rigid flesh against her sensitive inner tissues, before slamming home again with such force she was certain she’d have bruises across her hip area where she was bent over the table.
    His free hand slid down between her legs, his index and middle finger gliding along the moist folds of her sex. He trapped her clit between those two digits, manipulating and pinching that bundle of nerves with just enough finesse to keep her teetering on the edge of an orgasm, yet not allowing her to free-fall over the edge. Her stomach tightened and rolled as the ache between her legs intensified, then ebbed when his fingers stopped plucking and stroking her flesh.
    Her thighs shook, and she moaned in frustration, and she could have sworn she heard the rogue chuckle softly, wickedly, against her neck.
    He flexed his hips, his thrusts slowing into a steady, rhythmic grind against her ass. His cock shuttled into her pussy and withdrew at a leisurely pace, her body feeling every heated inch of him as he slid all the way in, then gradually eased back out. Again and again and again . . .
    Needy little noises welled up in her throat, and she tried to push back against him, to urge him harder, faster, deeper—she desperately needed the friction, inside and out—but she was anchored tight to the table and could barely squirm.
    He nipped at her shoulder, then soothed the sting of pain with a soft lap of his tongue. “I think I’ve made you suffer long enough, wench.”
    She nearly sobbed in relief at his words, but quickly realized when he removed his fingers from her clit, released her hair, and straightened behind her, that the end of her suffering did not mean he’d changed his mind about letting her climax. Oh, no, this was all about him finally seeking out his own release, and taking his own pleasure just as he’d claimed.
    His broad hands gripped her hips, and he literally nailed her to the bench with the next rough thrust, as did the rapid succession of thrusts that followed. He groaned, his control vanishing as he slammed so far inside of her that she’d be lucky if she could still walk once he was done with her.
    His body finally tensed and a hoarse cry of release echoed in the chamber as he emptied himself inside of her, then collapsed against her back once he was done.
    Through it all, he never let her come.

CHAPTER FIVE

    D ean slid into the large copper tub behind the gorgeous, sexy woman he’d bought as his slave, the steaming water rising up to the edge as he added his muscular weight to the old-fashioned, claw-foot bathtub that had been built with plenty of comfort for two.
    With a soft, blissful sigh, Jillian reclined against his chest and rested her head on his shoulder, her palms sliding along his legs that were straddling her from behind. She’d gathered her long hair into a loose, messy top-knot to keep it from getting wet. The heat of the water, scented with a lemon almond bath oil, gave her complexion a rosy glow—or maybe that sheen was a result of her being well and truly fucked, even if he hadn’t allowed her to reach her own orgasm. Yet.
    He would, in due time, he mused as he caressed his hands along her arms, her skin soft and slick from the water and fragrant oil. Their first scenario as pirate and wench had been all about punishing her for trying to escape, then her refusing to admit she wanted him. Her body had been undeniably wet and aroused, taking his cock with ease, but