“Break me, baby,” Aria whispered. She bit her bottom lip as Isa buried his face between her breasts, planting a kiss to her left one as he palmed it before moving to her right. His tattooed hands rubbed upward until his fingers were wrapped around her neck. The valley of her throat tensed, deepened as she held her breath. She expected him to tighten his hold. He liked to choke women, and to her surprise, he went behind her neck and untied the knot of the head scarf that was tied on her head. Her lids fluttered as he removed it and lowered his head to kiss one breast, then her areola, enticing it, until it was taut between his teeth. Then he bit her. She gasped as it throbbed. His teeth pulled just hard enough, and Aria’s thighs opened wider in his lap.

“Who am I, Ali?” he asked.

“You the king, baby,” she whispered. He wrapped the scarf around her wrists. Bondage. If he was the king, she was his captive, enslaved to this shit, and Aria didn’t want to be freed.

“Nah, Ali. A nigga ain’t never wanted to be king. I kill the kings. I chop niggas’ heads off, baby. Ya’ nigga a goon.”

“The Kingslayer,” Aria whispered. He snickered at her Game of Thrones reference.

“Queenslayer too,” he said, palming a handful of her behind so roughly that it hurt. “Lay down, Ali, and say a nigga name before I make you scream it.”

“The god, baby. Isa the god,” she moaned.

Aria stood, and Isa unbuttoned her jeans, rolling them over her ass and then down her legs as she stepped out of them. Her hands hung, uselessly bound in front of her. He leaned into her stomach, biting it, with more pressure, enough to leave teeth marks.

“Isa…”

Isa stood and wrapped a hand around her throat, stopping further protests, further everything, because Aria couldn’t breathe. “We ain’t talking, Ali. We ’bout to do something else,” he said.

He circled her body, slowly, biting her shoulder, the back of her neck, and then running his tongue down the dip of her toned back. Aria’s body was incredible. A true dancer, every part was defined. The only part of her that had weight to it was the ass that stopped her from being a ballerina, but she got it from her mama, so unfortunately, it was there to stay. Isa ran his tongue all the way down to the crack of her ass and then lifted one of her thighs.

He slapped her ass. The sting it caused felt like punishment. The chill of his saliva as he licked the injury before blowing on it made goose bumps prickle her skin.