Page 22 of Bleeding Blackheart

I look back at him once more, and he’s still asleep. My brain tells me to stop, but my heart says to keep going. I turn my body to the side ever so slightly and put my hand on the table.

When I see he’s still knocked out, I grab the antique handle to the drawer slowly and pull it gently.

Oh my God. There’s really a key in here.

My hand shakes, and my heart races. I dip my fingertips down into the box when I feel his hand wrap around my neck from behind, yanking me to his chest.

His deep, sleepy voice filters into my ears. “Oh, little fox. You shouldn’t have done that. Now I have to punish you. You’re not going to like how I punish you.”

“Please, I can explain—”

He reaches over me, grabbing the key, and then he frees himself from the handcuffs, leaving me still attached to them.

I sit up on his silk sheets, shaking while he goes over to his jeans and grabs his belt. He’s going to spank me. This crazy fucking bastard is going to spank me like I’m a little kid.

My eyes water, and I brush my hair out of my face. “Blackheart, I’m sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking.” I’m not sorry, but I have to make him believe I am.

He looks at me disapprovingly and sits in the wicker chair by his dresser. “Come here, Montana.” He holds the belt in his hands, and I start to sweat, wondering how many lashings he plans on giving me.

I stand up slowly, and hold my hands at my sides. I take one step closer to him, but I turn, trying to catch him off guard while I bolt for the door. He’s on my heels before I can step over the threshold, and he yanks me back in the room by my waist, causing me to lose my footing and stumble.

“Bend over the bed, Montana. Now.”

I’m not getting away from him. I’ll get through this. I’ve been through worse. And as soon as he lets me go, I’ll make him suffer.

On shaky legs, I go over to his bed and bend over. The cool air inside the house cuts into my skin, making me shiver. Blackheart’s heavy footsteps come over to me, andI hear his voice while he stands behind my back. “Lift your dress.”

My heart is pounding so hard that it feels like it’s palpitating. “Why don’t you do it, you fucking monster?!” I shout at him.

His rough fingers slip under the fabric of my chemise while he lifts it slowly. Then he yanks down my panties, exposing my pad. “Do you want my belt or my hand, Montana?”

I cry softly into the mattress, wishing I could crawl into a hole. “Hand.” I’ve felt his hand on my ass before, and it’s not that bad. His belt is what I’m scared of.

I hear the leather accessory drop on the floor behind me, and then my body jolts when his palm collides with my bare ass. “This is what happens to bad little bitches, Montana. They get punished so that they don’t make the same mistakes.”

I cry harder when he smacks my other ass cheek with more force.

He smacks my left cheek again, and I clench my thighs together while my clit twitches. When he smacks my right ass cheek again, I bite my tongue, trying not to moan.

Getting spanked by him feels good. It hurts, but it feels good. After each cheek gets five, he pulls back and grunts through shallow breaths. I peek over my shoulder andsee that angry bulge staring back at me, letting me know this affected him the same way it did me. I must have brain damage. My kidnapper pulled down my panties and spanked me, and I liked it.

No. There’s a name for this. It’s called Stockholm syndrome. I’m being manipulated.

He pulls up my panties slowly, and one of his knuckles grazes the seam of my ass which only makes me feel more wanton. I hate him with every part of me and want to gouge out his eyes with my bruised hands. But I want him to keep hurting me just the same.

After he covers my ass with my nightgown, he leaves me where I am and sits back in his chair. “Have you learned your lesson?”

I glance over at him, still bent over with tear-streaked eyes. “I have.”

His throat bobs and he leans back in his chair with his strong legs spread. “Good. Get in bed and go back to sleep.”

I crawl back under his soft blanket, hating that I miss his warm body next to mine when I lay my head on my pillow. “What are you going to do?” I utter cautiously.

He runs his hand over his shaved face. “I’m staying right here until morning.”

I wake up at six a.m. with the smell of coffee under my nose. “Get up and drink this,” Blackheart growls. He’s already dressed wearing a white button-down with blue jeans, tan boots, and a white hat. He looks ready for a photo shoot.

I touch my head and feel that my bandage has been replaced with a tiny piece of gauze. He must’ve changed my bandage after I went back to sleep two hours ago. I guess my wound is much better than it was when he found me. I take the cup and give it a whiff. It smells divine. “Did you poison it?”

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