Page 19 of Love on the Run

I notice the tremble in my hand, I place the remains of the bread on the plate and placing my hand in my lap trying to squeeze the fear out.

I smell his cologne but there is also a sweeter more feminine scent wafting around him. Stiffening I sit up straighter. Why do I smell a woman’s perfume? It’s not vanilla rose. He had my favorite scent removed from my room, including my candles. Yet here he sits looking impeccable and gorgeous reeking of another woman.

My hand creeps up to my neck. He dares be so blatant.

“No greeting Flower?” He regards me with a cold, impassive gaze.

“No bow, Akchiro?” Throwing in the ‘ok’ sign in greeting just to make him mad. His jaw firms, yet he remains silent because an attendant shows up with his whiskey.

“Leave the bottle,” he tells the young man after he presents and pours the liquid in the cut crystal, his eyes never wavering from mine.

Watching his strong hand grasp the glass of deep amber, bringing it to his lips, I swallow right along with him when he takes a sip. The way his throat works makes me want to run my tongue along the column of his neck, biting and sucking my way back down. Still hating him the whole time, too. I hate myself for even thinking it. Ugh.

Looking at him now. I realize I can never be as angry as he is. He is livid. The very sight of me infuriates him. I imagine while Idream of our old life, his is quite the opposite. He probably longs to throw me be overboard.

He raises his hand and soon the table is filled with our food. Normally, when we have a chance to eat together or I’ve waited up for him, I’m regaling him about Asa’s antics all day. Now, we eat in silence. Not even giving one another the courtesy of a glance.

Pain lances through me hard and sharp. My nose stings. The melt-in-your-mouth beef might as well be a chunk of concrete. I take another sip of wine.

“May I ask how Asa is doing?” I keep my words soft and nonconfrontational.

“No.” The word is sharp, cold, final. He doesn’t even bother to look my way. Moments pass as I just sit there staring at him. A myriad of emotions rips through me. The main one being fury. He is such a mean motherfucker.

“Eat.” He demands waving the fork tins in my direction dismissively.

“Why? So I can get fattened up enough for you to breed me?” My raised voice draws his gaze, a quirked eye-brown, a bemused expression.

“Indeed. You are mine to do with as I will. Breed, debase, punish, and anything else I desire. You will submit.” He pointedly looks at me and snarls, “Taberu.”

“Fuck you,” I say through clenched teeth leaning forward throwing down my fork refusing him.

“You shall as soon as we are done here,” he says in a vicious tone.

I sit back like I’m chastened. Picking back up my fork, I take a bite of the beef. It’s delicious. I almost mourn the rest when I swipe all the dishes from the table and toss my red wine in his smug, fucking, face then throw the glass at him.

His reflexes are quick. He moves at the right moment, allowing the glass to fly past him, splintering on the deck just behind him.

He gets up and all but snatches me across the table. He hauls me over across his lap making me face the deck. “Bad girls get punished, Flower,”

he murmurs pulling my dress up. The coolness of the night breeze is jolt to the reality of my situation —my powerlessness. He tugs. My panties are ripped.

“Why’s your seat so wet, Flower?” he taunts. In my periphery I can see him stuff them in his pocket.

The first smack stings and is loud in the quiet of the night. It is a true punishment. Smack after smack he lays into my backside. I bite my lip until it bleeds. His hand is hard, firm, unforgiving.

My body is torn between pain and pleasure. Arousal blossoms between my legs along with a rage matching what we both are feeling. He is relentless. I squeeze my legs so tight. Over the years he’s taught me to like his discipline; to crave it. My pussy is throbbing from the pounding of his hand on my body, ricocheting through me like he’s fucking me. I need to come so bad. I feel so close. He knows my body so well. He knows he can spank me to orgasm and that’s why right when I’m a smack away he stops.

“Bad bitches don’t get to come.” He shoves me down to his feet.

My body shudders from the deprivation. I’m literally weeping. His leg is right there. Leaning over I bite his calve for no other reason than to relieve the pressure.

After a moment he pulls me back by my hair he’s wrapping it around his fist.

“We don’t bite, little slut.” Chiding, he wipes my tears with his thumb. Everything about him is cruel. Holding my gaze, he licks them. “So fucking sweet.”

“You will stay there and eat your dessert.” Lifting my tear-stained face, I watch him raise his hand. Mortification lashes me, realizing the spectacle I’ve caused. The waiter discretely comes to Akchiro’s opposite side this time, thank goodness.

He sits down the dessert I can’t see from here and pours Akchiro more whiskey. Once he leaves, Akchiro begins to eat the dessert which he’s doing out of spite. He doesn’t even like chocolate or sweets for that matter. Indulging in them on special occasions is the most he does. I guess he considers this one. The chocolate teases my senses, the aroma causing my barely full tummy to rumble. So much for not hurting myself to prove a point to him.

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