Page 72 of Taming Achilles

“I don’t think this is for me.”

“I didn’t say this would be easy, Pip,” he said. “I want to punish your impertinence and disobedience. And reward your obedience with praise, and pleasure.”

“What kind of punishments?” I blurted out. “I don’t want you to …”

“Not the kind of punishment you’re thinking of,” he raised a brow. “I want to punish you with pleasure, to teach you who you belong to, and who commands your body.”

“That doesn’t make sense,” I whispered.

“It will,” he smiled. “And you’ll enjoy it.”

He leaned forward to kiss my throat.

“I love treating you like my own little fuck toy,” he whispered, his breath sending goosebumps along my skin. “Like your body was manufactured for my pleasure. Because I need to know you belong to me. I need you to be mine.”

“I’m yours,” I responded, automatically.

He smiled. I felt it against my skin, even if I couldn’t see it.

“You’re learning.” He praised, and it went straight to my core, wetness pooling between my thighs.

I gasped, feeling his praise send a shiver all over my body. He moaned, his lips coming onto my skin again. “You liked that.”

He was stating the obvious.

“Give me a safe word,” he said into the sensitive skin between my breasts. “For your safety, and mine.”

There was a question burning in my chest. I wanted to ask, but I was scared to. I didn’t want to know. But I needed to.

“Have you done that with others?” I blurted out, and he froze. His lips on my throat, his cock pulsing in the space between us.

He didn’t move. I couldn’t breathe. Silence grew heavy around us before he finally answered.

“Truthfully?” His whisper wrecked me, cracking my soul in two. I felt a tear come down my cheek. “Yes.”

“How many?” I asked.

“I didn’t count.”

I shook my head, feeling my hair cascading over my shoulders, as I was blinded by pain, my tears blurring my vision.

“They’re people, Pip,” he said. “Not numbers.”

I nodded, knowing that this was the only sane answer.

Or maybe there were too many women to count. The voice in my head screamed. Or he cared about them all too much … You’re replaceable, Pippa.

“Give me a safe word.” His demand cleaved its way through my bitterness.

I felt the constriction of my heart, and I tried to breathe through the pain. I brought my hand down to my bare thighs, where my skirt hitched up, and dug my nails into my skin. But the pain wasn't enough. I needed more pain. More. I needed to draw blood. I dug deeper, until his hands came to mine, and he placed his forehead to my chest.

“Give me a safe word.”

“Simona!” I said, bitterly. My words were aimed to hurt.

“Don’t!” His hand shot up and his fingers clutched into my cheeks like talons as he brought my face in front of his. So close I could see the flutter of his individual eyelashes. “Do not bring anyone else between us. Now, let’s try that again. Give me a bloody safe word.”

“Gondola.” I don’t know where the word came from. The idea of safety and happiness. And peace. I had that once, when everything was perfect and I was his only woman. The only one he had ever touched. When I still could feel unbridled joy in his arms.

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