Page 29 of Sin & Sapphire

“Go fuck yourself, you asshole.”

Valentin’s lips quirked up, and for one terrible moment, I found him devastatingly handsome—full lips against ochre skin, black hair cropped close against his head, and a short-trimmed beard that would scrape against the insides of my thighs so fucking perfectly.

He levered up from the bed where he’d punished me, the metal coils creaking in protest of the movement. With each step toward me, my heart pounded, until I found myself pressed up against the metal door with nowhere else to go.

Panic blinded me, and I shoved him backward, clawing wildly at his chest, desperate to escape, for space. I wouldn’t let him take me, wouldn’t let him drug me and then rape me like Grégoire had.

“Let me go,” I gasped, my breath ragged. I shook uncontrollably as my vision narrowed.

“Breathe, princess. In and out. In and out.” Valentin wrapped his fingers around my neck again, stroking his callused thumb across my cheek. I focused on his eyes, such a rich, dark brown, inscrutable, as he brought me back to earth.

I breathed in deeply, and his eyes tracked the movement of my breasts, the creamy curves pouring out of my too-fucking-small dress. My breath hitched as he pressed between my legs, and I held in the whine that threatened to escape. He’d spanked me! How could I be turned on mere seconds after a panic attack? This was so fucking wrong.

Valentin traced a callused finger down my jaw and rested it in the dip in my clavicle, pushing hard enough to feel like a threat.

“You’ve cost me money, you’ve cost me time, and more importantly, you’ve upset your uncle. All three of those are unacceptable. Now you can take your punishment like a good girl and leave with me, or I can leave you for Julian to do with you what he wills.”

My eyes snapped to his. He wouldn’t. Would he? Leave me for these fuckers to beat and rape because I wouldn’t take a spanking?

“Try me, princess.”

He would.

Valentin hated me. He always had. He hated all of us Costas, except for Angelo.

“Non?” he asked, his French accent pronounced.

When I didn’t move, he stood up straight, freeing me from the intimidating menace of his presence, then pounded on the door.

“C’est fini. À vous de la gérer.” I’m done. She’s yours.

“No!” I gasped, wrapping my fingers around his arm, digging them into the layers of fabric in his jacket. “Please, no.”

Valentin looked me up and down and sneered.

“Beg, princess. Like the stupid slut you are.”

Aghast, I didn’t move, and he lifted his fist to pound on the door again.

Shit.

I dropped to my knees and leaned my cheek against the expanse of his thick, muscled thigh. “Please don’t,Oncle Valentin. S’il vous plait.”

His fingers stroked my hair, the heat of his body searing my face as I pressed against him. “Is that begging?” he asked. “That sounds like you’re at a fucking tea party, asking for a drink.”

I clinched my arms around his legs. “Please, Valentin, please don’t hand me over to them. Please don’t make me go back. Please.”

His fingers tightened along my scalp then relaxed. His cock was hard and hot against my forehead, twitching as I breathed against it through his pants. “Beg for your punishment. Tell me how much you want me to hurt you, how much you need it.”

“Il faut me punir.” Please, punish me. God, what the fuck was wrong with me? But I couldn’t take back the words once they were said.

“Encore.” More, he said.

I nuzzled my face against his thigh, then his cock, inhaling the musk of him, hating how I wanted to rub my thighs together and relieve the ache in my pussy, as turned on as I was desperate and humiliated. “Please, Uncle Valentin. Punish me. I want you to?—”

My voice caught. I took a deep breath, and then another. I didn’t need shit, but if begging him to hurt me was the key to walking out of here with him, then I’d do anything he asked.

“I need you to hurt me. Please.” I ignored the tiny voice in the back of my head reminding me I was wet. My pussy throbbed, aching for the contrast between the gentle strokes of his fingers against my skin and the agonizing pain of his punishments. The silence in my head from when he spanked me was the sweetest quiet I’d ever known. With Grégoire, I’d disassociated into numbness, but Valentin brought me a blissful peace I hadn’t known I needed alongside the pain—a bizarre sense of safety, even as he hurt me.

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