Page 9 of Love Thief

“I did not. I was nowhere near them. The only thing I killed is my own dining set, my own food, my own fucking drinks cabinet and window, so fuck off. If I want to smash my own house up, I will.” I’m screaming in his face now.

“Your house?” He steps back in amazement. “Your fucking house.”

“Of course it’s my house. Whose did you think it was? Do you think we would let anyone own a house next to Greystone Farm and Marshall’s? What a joke. Get the fuck off my tractor, and my land, before I whip the shit out of you.”

He grins at me like a beautiful devil. “Bring it on, baby,” he growls out as he grabs for the crop.

We’re in a confined space, the cab is not big, but we’re tussling with each other for the best grip. I decide to cut and run for it. He’s mad as hell, and I reckon he’s going to dish out some serious punishment. I rip my fingers off the crop and jump out of the cab. It’s a long way down for a short person.

“You’re fucking crazy. You’re going to kill yourself,” he yells from the cab.

I set off running for his truck, lights still blazing, hoping he’s left the keys in the ignition in his haste to get to me on the tractor. Nearly there, I fall in the dirt, and can hardly get my footing in the slippery soil as I stand back up.

He clips my legs out from underneath me, and, when I go down with a ummpphh, he lands on top of me. I’m face down in the dirt. I’ve only got a bikini top and cut-off shorts on, and I’m sandwiched between the hard ground and his hard-on. My boobs have escaped the meagre confines of my top, and he has the whip in his hand. Shit.

“Looking for these?” He dangles the truck keys and now also the tractor keys on his fingers, level with my eyes. “Oh baby, you’re for it. You’re going nowhere,” he snickers, and brings the crop down on my arse. “Tell me who did the car and I’ll let you go.” His voice is almost quiet, gentle, coaxing me, but he knows I won’t say. And to be honest, I can also hear the laugh in his voice.

“Fuck your Ferrari, piece of shit car, it was not me.”

“Five for that, Kitten,” and he hits me on the arse with it again. Jesus, it stings. He grabs my hair and looks at my face, dirty and flushed. “I can see your eyes, you love it. Are you wet, Evie? Do you want some more?”

I push up suddenly and dump him off, forcing him to roll into the dirt. I grab the crop off him as he moves and hit him on the back. He shouts as I bring it down again and again, with all my strength behind my swing.

“Of course it was me. Caved like a Coca Cola can,” I shout, laughing at him as I go to give him a shove with my foot to roll him in the dirt. I pull hard at his T-shirt, and it rips. I cackle like I’m some sort of lunatic and set off running again.

He catches up easily, grabbing me in a rugby style tackle, and I go down onto my knees. He’s up and holding onto me, towering over me. When I bring the crop up to wallop him between his legs, he grabs it and spins me round, holding my hair and neck.

“How many for that? At least another ten. Say sorry, and I’ll only do five.”

“Fuck you,” I scream at him. “You never say sorry, why should I? And I’m not sorry. It felt so good to crush it. If I would’ve known it was yours, I would’ve run it flat even more.” I’m mocking him now, feeling more than a bit unhinged.

“Say sorry, or you're getting ten with this.” He brings the crop gently down over my face and onto my breasts, tapping them with the whip. I can see in the truck headlights his pupils are blown wide open, no green left to see. He must see the same in me, as he kisses me.

And I bite him.

“Like that, is it, Kitten? Well, I’m happy to play, you know I am.”

He spins me round and pushes me down onto all fours, pulls at my shorts and rips them down my legs, and I feel the crop across my bare buttocks. Jesus that stings, but the sting inexplicably morphs into pleasure. And I love it.

The whistle of the wind through the whip before he swings his arm down notches my excitement higher, anticipation pumping the desire through my veins. I’m a bit shocked I love it so much. I’m screaming at him, but not to stop, not even recognizing the incoherent sounds coming out of my mouth.

“Say you’re sorry and I’ll stop.”

“You say sorry to me, you bastard,” I shout as he brings it down again and again. He rubs his hands over where he’s hit me, and moans, pushing his fingers into my drenched pussy as I cry out in ecstasy. I’m practically clamping my thighs together to trap his hand right where I want it.

“Fuck, woman, you’re so wet for me.” He licks his fingers and hits me again, biting my neck at the back.

Not again. He’s not marking me again.

I scramble to get up, pulling my shorts up as he grabs me around my waist. Holding my throat, he pulls me towards the tractor and pushes me to face it.

“Push your arse out.” His voice is pure gravel. “I’m gonna fuck you from behind.” He can hardly get the words out between his panting breaths. “Tell me yes, say yes baby, tell me fucking yes.” He’s hit desperation, his voice begging with everything he has.

He’s massaging my buttocks with one hand and has moved his hand from my throat down to my breasts, plucking at my nipples. “Please, Evie, please yes, baby, yes.”

He puts his face next to mine, pushing his cock into my backside. It’s huge, hard and throbbing. He growls into my hair. When I don’t answer, he continues to beg, to plead, and explain. “I’m sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry. I lose my mind, you make me lose my fucking mind. I don’t know which way is up. Christ, I can smell you, taste you. I want to fuck you here and in the dirt. I want to mark you, black and blue. I want everyone to know I’ve done it, that you belong to me, wife.”

His impassioned pleas move to total passion. There’s a violence in his ardour that calls to me. His darkness calls to mine, and as his breath skitters down my neck, I see the hair rising on his arms. My siren calling his body to me, his answering calling mine to order, as it’s done for years, as if the ocean of time apart never existed.

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