Page 70 of Sinfully His

“Fuck you,” she spat. The hatred in her eyes, how her body rubbed against me struggling to get out of the tub, just made my cock hard all over again.

“Watch your language or I will wash out that dirty mouth with my cum,” I taunted.

Her eyes lit up with something more than hatred as she fought me. Her nipples were tight, taut little peaks, her chest heaved with each rapid little pant.

“Fuck you. I’m not?—”

I cut off her words by pushing her head under the water and pressing my cock between her lips.

She could try to hate me all she wanted, but that didn’t stop her lips from wrapping around my dick and sucking. I heldher there for a few moments, enjoying the pull around my dick before bringing her back up to take a few deep breaths.

“Anything to say?” I asked.

She opened her lips, and before she could speak, I pushed her back down.

Over and over she sucked my cock like a good girl under the water before coming up and gasping for breath.

“You love me,” I taunted every single time she came up for air. “You’re addicted to my cock, and you worship me.”

I pushed her down again and held her there for a few extra moments. When she came up this time, sputtering, I saw the hatred had left her eyes. This was it. She was finally broken.

This time I barely had to guide her back down. She took a deep breath and ducked under to suck me. Over and over I let her suck until I got close then pulled her up so she could take a few deep breaths, reminding her over and over of one simple truth.

I was her god. Her life was in my hands.

CHAPTER 28

THOMAS

Ihad crossed the line and there was no saving my soul from damnation anymore.

It wasn’t just that I broke her in a revenge plot against her vile mother. It was that I enjoyed every single second of it, and I could not bring myself to feel guilt or regret.

When I came down her throat, she still stayed under the water until I brought her up. She didn’t fight me, or argue or anything, she just laid her head on my chest and closed her eyes.

I knew she was young, naïve, and I took full advantage of it. It never really hit me though how young she was until she was in my arms. She may have been twenty-two, but she was a very sheltered twenty-two. She only had one lover before me, she still obeyed her mother, and every time she swore, she seemed to doubt herself. Unless she was so angry that she was lashing out and even then it wasn’t rage that lashed out, it was pain.

Usually pain that I caused.

Her cheeks still had the blush of youth and there was still a slight roundness to her face and her full plump lips, slightly parted as she slept on my chest. Even with her bruised, swollen lips and the tear streaks that disappeared down her chin, she still looked like an angel. Like Leonardo or Michaelangelothemselves had created this beauty. A beauty that I was breaking. A beauty whose destruction I was reveling in.

There was an innocence, a sweetness to her. If I had believed in a single vow I had taken to earn my collar, I would have protected her with everything I had. I would have seen what she was and have wanted to preserve it as a shining light, a beacon of hope. A better man would have shielded her from the consequences of her mother’s sin. Instead, I worked hard to destroy everything about her that made her so precious. I worked to take everything she was and pervert it.

The plan I had to destroy Mary Quinn was seven years in the making. I’d meticulously examined every angle, gone over every outcome and contingency. I had never realized the cost of breaking her daughter. Mary Quinn deserved to be destroyed. Rose was innocent. Yet, I was forcing her to pay for the crimes of her mother.

I wondered how I would have felt if the crimes I had been forced to pay for were not Mary Quinn’s, but were my father’s. God knew he had plenty that could blow back on all of us at any moment. If they had, I knew that anger would have turned me cold, bitter.

Rose’s innocence would not survive this experience. And by innocence, I didn’t mean her virginity. I meant that spark of goodness in her. More than just the corruption of her body, my actions would more than likely corrupt her soul. Was this how women like Mary Quinn were made? Because they were forced to pay for the sins of others in ways that broke them to their core?

Was I damning myself to hell not just for corrupting the sweet angel, but because my actions were going to turn her into a carbon copy of her mother? How many would suffer because of the monster I was creating?

Once the water had turned cold, I lifted her out of the tub and set her on the bathroom counter long enough for me to dry her off.

Her eyes stayed closed the entire time, and I was pretty sure she was just absolutely exhausted. Physically, she was fine. Her breathing was steady, and her pulse was strong.

I may have regretted nothing I had done, but that didn’t mean I would not take care of her. After I dressed her in my T-shirt and nothing else, I laid her on the side of the bed and immediately she was asleep.

Careful not to wake her, I wrapped her ankle and even applied a soothing balm to the welts that I left on her ass.

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