Page 66 of Sin & Sapphire

“The latter,” Valentin answered, seeing right through my submissive facade. I focused on his shoes, keeping my eyes down, wishing I could see his face, if he were amused or angry. “But we’ll treat it like it’s the former.”

The tightness in my chest eased.

He left me sitting there for long moments, and I attenuated to the sounds and sensations around me—Angelo putting away the dishes, the cool breeze from the air conditioning, the rustle of paper as Valentin read a book, the soft carpet beneath my knees, the ache in my ribs from the beating I’d received, and the bruises on my ass from Valentin’s punishments.

Angelo joined us, sitting beside Valentin, their thighs pressing together with the comfort of an old married couple. My heart cracked—I wanted that for myself, and now? I’d amuse Angelo and Valentin for a time, and then they’d sell me off, as my father had intended to do.

“Angel?” Angelo asked, once again sensing the change in my mood. “What’s bothering you?”

When I didn’t answer, Valentin dug into his pocket for the small whip he kept there. Pain sliced across the top of my right breast.

“What’s the first rule, slut?”

“Perfect obedience,maître” I whispered.

“That includes answering questions.”

Answering honestly wouldn’t help me get out of here. And they sure as fuck weren’t going to be honest with me. I gave them a half truth. “I’m bored, and I’m lonely,maître, but I’m doing my best.”

Angelo nodded, then scooted over on the couch, leaving a narrow space between himself and Valentin.

“Up,” Valentin said, snapping his fingers. I flushed, embarrassed that I didn’t understand what he wanted, then angry at myself for caring.

“Bend over my lap, princess,” Valentin clarified.

“A spanking is my reward?” I grumbled. If I draped myself over Valentin’s thighs, Angelo would be able to see everything. Not that anything had been hidden from either man when Valentin had painstakingly punished me for every infraction over the last few days. I draped myself over his thighs, my knees on the couch between them, my ass in the air, and my breasts smooshed into the arm of the couch with my hands clenched into the fabric. Valentin had trained me in only a few days to expect pleasure with my pain, and pain with my pleasure. I hated how quickly my body responded to his touch, warming in anticipation of the punishment I knew my snark would bring.

Valentin slapped me on the ass. “Angelo is your reward.”

Gentle fingers caressed my curves, then nudged my knees apart.

“You’re dripping for me already,” Angelo murmured as he slid his fingers up and down the sensitive insides of my thighs. My muscles tensed as I waited for the inevitable pain that would follow. Instead, whisper light touches brushed over my skin, soft and sweet as they stoked the fire between my thighs.

Hands caressed the backs of my thighs, then over the globes of my ass and up my back, warm and comforting, sliding over the bruises from my punishments, digging in enough to make me gasp, to make me crave more.

I sighed, sinking further into Valentin’s lap, relaxing my abdomen against his thighs and melting against the arm of the sofa.

Angelo’s fingers traced swirls over my skin, ever-changing patterns that circled closer and closer to where I wanted him, to where I wanted pressure. I canted my hips upward, only for a sharp slap to cut the movement short.

“Stay still, princess, and take the pleasure we give you.”

My look of betrayal over my shoulder amused Valentin. I wasn’t deceived into thinking that I had a choice in the matter. He wouldn’t let me up, wouldn’t let me escape. It wouldn’t do me a damn bit of good to resist.

“Such a perfect slut,” Angelo murmured as he traced his fingers along my folds, not sliding in, teasing me, brushing his fingers through the curls that were beginning to grow back—it’d been weeks since I’d properly waxed. My unkempt state embarrassed me. I wanted to preen for these two men who tortured and teased me, and I hated that too.

“Gorgeous,” he murmured as he dipped a finger into my folds. I whined, clenching my fingers into the arm of the couch to keep my hips from twitching, from seeking out more contact with his hand.

When he slid a finger against my clit, I moaned.

“Soaking wet for me,” he continued. “A wanton slut, aching for a fat cock between her thighs.”

I closed my eyes, hiding my shame as he worked me over, his fingers sliding through my folds, leisurely exploring them. My nipples were hard against the arm of the couch, each movement scraping them against the rough fabric.

When Valentin’s shifted, fear shot through me, accompanied by desperate need. I wanted his attention too. I wanted him to want me as clearly and obviously as Angelo did.

And I hated that about myself.

Stupid slut.

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