Page 46 of Clubs

Jolting at the sudden touch or not, I couldn’t keep in my laugh. “This is pathetic.”

It wasn’t fury that flashed through his eyes that time. Hurt did. The slightest pull in his brows, the vaguest downturn of his lips. It vanished as quick as it’d come, and still, the moment I saw that look, I knew I shouldn’t have said that.

Not because I cared about the punishment that came next. Not because I hated him edging me for the next hour, or two, or four, if that’s how long he kept this going for—and he had before.

Because hurting him hadn’t been my intention.

Truthfully, I wasn’t sure why that sentence left my lips. Was it true? Yeah, it was. A word, one stupid word, carrying so much relevance was pathetic. But not in the way he was thinking. Of course, I was the one who made him feel that way, and I’d take responsibility for that, but I hadn’t said that because I thought he was pathetic. He was anything but.

The weight that word carried for me. That’s what was pathetic.

But it didn’t matter.

It was too late to take it back.

He was already unclipping the eyehooks on the cuffs and dropping the still buzzing vibrator to the bed.

“Decan—”

“Shut the fuck up.” No more fury in his voice. No more anger. Cold, blunt rage instead. “Keep your fucking mouth shut, Brooke.”

“But—”

He clasped a hand over my mouth. Eyes like fire burned into mine. “Shut. The. Fuck. Up.”

I gulped. Maybe that sounded dramatic, but it wasn’t because I was afraid. Not of him, at least. He wouldn’t hurt me, not in a physical way that’d cause any lasting damage.

I was afraid of what that meant. What my words meant. The damage I just did to him, to this relationship, that I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to undo.

After reaching into the side table again, he came back with a ball gag. We’d only used that once before. He said he didn’t like gagging me because I looked prettier without it. And because he usually liked my smart ass mouth. Supposed I pushed him over the edge this time because he shoved it between my lips and fastened it tight behind my head.

Everything whirred in an almost indistinguishable blur as he yanked me to my feet and brought me to the corner of the room. The corner where a hook hung from the ceiling. As soon as he brought me to my feet, I should’ve known that was where he was taking me. Aside from over his knee, it was the best place he had to beat my ass.

And as soon as he fastened my wrists to that hook, spread my legs apart, and bent me forward with that vibrator pressed against my clit, that was exactly what he did. A heavy handed smack echoed off my ass. Thrusting into me this time, he planted another, and then another, and another. Didn’t pull the vibrator away once though.

“You’re everything to me,” he said in my ear. There was just the slightest hint of emotion in his voice. I couldn’t tell if it was anger or pain. One way or the other, I deserved the next smack. I wasn’t so sure I deserved the pleasure of his cock thudding against my g-spot, nor the vibrator, however. “And maybe that is pathetic. Maybe I am.”

I tried to shake my head, but he pushed it in deeper, then slapped my ass again.

“Loving someone who doesn’t love you back, that is fucking pathetic.” Defeat? Was that defeat I heard in his voice?

That wasn’t what I—

“Jesus, shut the fuck up, Brooke.” Thrusting in again, he pushed the head of that vibrator deep into my clit. So much pressure, so much sensation, paired with so much pain. Physically, sure, but most of it was in my chest. Because I knew I was ruining this, and I didn’t know how to fix it. “But I don’t know how much longer I can do it for.”

Tears budded in my eyes, and I wanted to scream. I wanted to sob. But the pleasure, the undeniable pleasure of his dick, the vibrator on my clit, was too much. It was the most confusing sensation of my life, and maybe because he was right.

This was the only place I allowed myself to feel anything. The only place I let the walls come down. And I hated it. I didn’t know how to stop it.

But this wasn’t the kind of emotion I wanted to feel. It certainly wasn’t the type of pain I liked to mix with pleasure.

“I’m hanging”—thrust—“onto”—thrust—“you”—thrust—“by”—thrust— “a fucking”—thrust—“thread,”—thrust— “and I need you”—a slow, gentle grind, and a kiss on my neck, before another hard thrust— “to love me back.” One more soft, slow kiss on my neck. Still holding that vibrator on my clit, he curled an arm around my waist and hauled me into his chest.

Shutting my eyes, I tried desperately to keep the tears inside.

He pressed the button on the vibe. Again, its intensity picked up. He went back to thrusting, but slower, softer, than he had a moment ago. For a moment, with his arms around me, when he was giving me the pleasure instead of threatening me with it, I thought it was okay. That he wasn’t so angry. That we were okay.

And the climax came.

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