Page 49 of House of Lies

“Let go!” She batters her hands against mine, and scratches her nails down my arm, raising blood. “Help! Someone, please, help!”

“You’re only making this worse for yourself.”

“Fuck you!” She kicks at me, her teeth flashing white as she snarls.

“One more foul word out of that mouth, and you’re getting the belt again.”

I turn, angling her toward the round, two-seater table positioned against one of the large windows looking out on the Glenmont grounds. It gets the most glorious light in the morning, but right now it looks out on a dark and moodily lit lawn.

When I sit down, still holding Cassidy around the waist, she stares at me with owlish green eyes, and puffs at a hair hanging in her face.

Before she can resist, I pull her down on my lap, flat on her stomach, and wedge her legs between mine, her ass plumped out and ready for punishment.

Her gasp cuts off when I drag up her skirt. Are these the same leggings she arrived in? There’s a dark smudge on the side of the fabric, as if she brushed against something dusty while she was cleaning. She didn’t have a suitcase with her. Did they not tell her to bring spare clothes with her?

I rub a hand over her ass as I ponder, but I barely warm her flesh before she’s battering my legs with her fists.

“Don’t you fucking dare!” she yells, struggling furiously between my strong thighs.

She yanks down her skirt again.

“Ten,” I say in a calm voice.

She lets out a fierce pant. “Ten what?”

“Fifteen.”

No, Cassidy isn’t stupid. She pushes herself up from the grip she has on my pants, her back arching in a glorious curve as she carefully considers her options.

Luminous green eyes filled with rage glare at me. “I’m sorry,” she says and, to her credit, she almost sounds as if she means it. “Really. I am. I was rude.”

“I’m glad we can agree on something.” With our eyes still locked, I drag her leggings over her curvy ass.

There’s a desperate gleam in her eyes now. “No, please. Don’t do this. It still hurts from yesterday. Please, Mr. Remington, please. I won’t—” She cuts off as her leggings descend to mid-thigh. “I’ll be good.” The last is a tremulous whisper that sends a pump of blood into my cock. It hardens, poking up against the fabric of my slacks and digging into Cassidy’s belly, where she’s molded over my thigh.

The look of disbelief in her eyes is priceless.

I grab her chin, squeezing softly. “Twenty.”

She pulls her lip into her mouth, tiny dimples forming in her chin as she works at that tender flesh. I dig my thumb into the divot under her bottom lip, forcing her to let go.

“Please don’t,” she whispers.

“Twenty-five.”

Thumping her fists into my thighs, she wrenches her face out of my grip and drops her weight onto my knee with a sullen, “Ugh!”

I almost add another five to her sentence, but I recognize submission when I see it. Even reluctant, petulant submission.

She grabs onto the ankle of my pants, twisting her hands until it goes tight. “Fine,” she pushes out through clenched. “Do your worst, you fucking monster.”

I ignore her remark, too fixated on the swirls of yellow and purple bruises covering her ass to be bothered with her feeble attempts at getting a rise out of me.

Then again, the sight of her plump cheeks covered with belt marks… that gets a rise out of me. She shifts, as if the fact that my cock’s digging into her stomach is disturbing her.

She doesn’t know what it’s doing to me. What she’s doing to me.

My mind is on fire.

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