Greymoor Academy: I Accidentally Bonded With Four Lycan Royals! novel Chapter 138

Chapter 138: 138. Act Six

Maisie

"Neither—" I gasped when his nails dug into my flesh.

"Wrong answer." Quinlan’s voice was hard and almost scathing. And he dropped me.

I sucked in a hard breath as my knees and hands hit the floor. My eyes widened in horror when I heard the rip of fabric, and my shirt fell to shambles around me, my back bare.

Cold air rushed to caress my breasts. My nipples tightened painfully against my bra.

A second later, I heard the curl of leather, and pure terror flooded my veins like ice.

He was going to whip me.

I staggered to my feet, panting, bolting for the entrance like my life depended on it. But I slammed hard into the floor when a hand circled my ankle and tripped me.

I twisted wildly and jammed my heel into his hand with everything I had. He chuckled roughly and yanked me down so hard I thought for a second that he might have snapped my ankle. The thought vanished when his body pressed mine into the carpet, large hands bracing on either side of my head, caging me completely.

My bladder pulsed with raw fear. My heart thundered so hard my breaths seized.

It was the calm on his face. The madness in his eyes. The thing staring out at me from the depths of them. I’d gotten a glimpse of Jericho’s Lycan last night, and Soren’s a little while back. And I had somehow convinced myself they were the ones I had to look out for.

But it was different with Quinlan. Because it wasn’t Quinlan’s Lycan that was the problem.

It was Quinlan himself who was unhinged.

"What did we say about running?" he murmured, voice dangerously soft. "Do you, perhaps, like being chased like prey?"

"You were going to whip me!" I screamed at him, bucking and thrashing beneath him with every ounce of strength I had, trying desperately to throw him off.

Unfazed, Quinlan blinked slowly, considering. "You seemed indecisive. I was merely helping you narrow down your choices. It would seem you prefer my cock to being flogged."

"Fuck you."

"That’s the idea," he said, dragging his hands up my blood-soaked torso. His head dipped to lick the blood off my cleavage.

I twisted out of reach, knowing I couldn’t resist him if he got his hands and mouth on me, couldn’t let him know how much this was getting to me, couldn’t let them know I still wanted—

He cupped me between my legs. It was more a spank than anything, and I swallowed a cry as my insides clenched around nothing, my toes curling as unwanted pleasure hit me like a whip.

"If I touched you," he said. "How wet would I find you?"

I bit the inside of my cheek until I tasted blood, trying to keep my expression empty. "Dry as sandpaper."

His eyes bore into mine. And then, he methodically shoved my skirt up my stomach. My fists slammed into his chest and I kicked, scratched, and bucked like a wild animal. He caught my wrists with terrifying ease. His touch was gentle but firm as he pinned them to my stomach with one hand and explored the length of my thigh with the other.

Tears of humiliation and rage prickled my eyes when he found the soaked strip of my panties.

His chuckle skittered across my skin like a threat. "Liar, liar pants on fire."

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