He’d been driving her nuts all day. He could do that. Royce Sanders knew how to make her crazy and Camille loved him for it. The Marshals had been confused by how quickly everything had transpired. She was pretty sure they knew wo was responsible for Dokofsky’s death, but the justice system didn’t operate on what the authorities knew but only on what they could prove—and they couldn’t prove anything. There had been some minor turf wars amongst the bratva over the dead mob boss’ territory, but in the end, Beckett had prevailed, and things had settled down.

Royce had joined her in the shower and been maddingly stubborn about doing anything other than teasing her. He was a master at keeping her on edge. Well, he was her Master in any event.

Camille was trying to pull together some sort of breakfast as they both had places to be, although no one would know that based on Royce’s lackadaisical attitude about getting a move on so they could both be where they needed to be on time.

“Royce, hurry up!” she called.

When he left their bedroom and entered the large open space that comprised the majority of their penthouse, he took her breath away. He was devastatingly handsome and there were times she still couldn’t believe he was hers or even that he wanted her to be his.

“Turn around, put your hands on the counter and feet shoulder width apart,” he commanded as he stalked towards her clad in his trousers and white button-down shirt.

“We don’t have time…”

“Not your decision to make princess. And the decision you just made to doubt how gorgeous you are was the wrong one.”

How did he know? How did he always know?

Knowing that anything other than absolute capitulation would be another wrong choice, Camille turned around, bracing her hands against the smooth soapstone. Fisting her hair, Royce held her in place while he rucked up her skirt.

“Good girl. At least you don’t have on panties.”

“Last time I checked, my Master didn’t allow me to wear them.”

His hand landed a hard smack on her right ass cheek. Damn that stung. Why was it she tended to get sassy with him at the wrong time.

“Want to tell me what you were thinking princess?” he rumbled as he rubbed his hard cock against her now exposed backside.

“Not particularly.”

A step back and another hard smack—this time against her left ass cheek.

“Do you really think sarcastic sass is your best move?”

“No, Sir,” she said, the last coming out as more of a moan than anything.

Royce had run his finger down from the small of her back, along her the cleft in her ass and down into her pussy where he played with the silky wetness he found there. He stroked her soft core before brining his fingers back to her clit to tease and tug at it. He pinched it before smacking her sex with his hand—not as harshly as he’d slapped her ass, but enough to make her lift up onto her toes.

“What have I told you about doubting how beautiful you are or how much I love you?”

“I never doubt that you love…”

Her answer was cut off with a second swat between her legs.

“What’s the proper answer to that question, princess?”

Taking a deep breath, she exhaled slowly. “That I’m not to do it and when I do you will correct my erroneous thinking.”

“That’s better,” he crooned. “You and I will have a date with the spanking horse this evening, but as you pointed out, I have a meeting I need to get to.”

The very threat, and knowing he would follow through, made Camille go weak in the knees. Royce was all dominant, protective, alpha male and she was thriving in his loving care. When he wrapped his hands around her hips and thrust his cock deep, it was all she could do to keep her legs from buckling.  As with the slap to her sex, the strength behind his strong surge into her made her rock up onto her toes. Only this time, his firm grip immediately pulled her back into his body, so he was impaled even more deeply.

“Royce,” she gasped as her body began to tremble.

“You are mine princess. Never forget that,” he said as he began to fuck her at a fast and furious pace, pounding into her with a ruthless precision.

This was no slow, leisurely pursuit of pleasure, but rather a relentless reminder of how sexy he found her and perversely how much he cared. Camille bowed her back, pushing back against him and crying out as her climax rolled over, making her grasp the edge of the countertop. Royce didn’t just fuck her as he drove in and out, but rather possessed her—all of her: body, mind, heart and soul.

Over and over, he thrust in and drew back only to thrust in again. It seemed to go on forever and she reveled in the sounds of flesh against flesh, moan against groan, breath against breath. Their bodies soared to unscalable heights in perfect rhythm and synchronicity.

Camille could feel the moment he lost his iron control and began to hammer her pussy, ensuring his cock slid across her G-spot with each stroke, making her grateful for the enhanced soundproofing of their loft as she screamed in unrestrained rapture. She ground herself against him as he flexed his fingers, tightening his grip.

Royce made a final, brutal deep thrust, holding her hard against him as he spent himself before allowing himself to press her down on the countertop, resting for a moment, his breath in her ear before nuzzling her neck.

“I love you,” he said as he stood and swept her up in his arms. “Now I’m a mess and you are so going to clean me up in the shower. You’d best enjoy sitting for the rest of the day, you won’t be doing so comfortably come tomorrow.”