Page 88 of Carry Your Debt

“That’s my girl,” he grits through his teeth as he yanks my hips up. I squeal out as the movement tips me further forward, bringing both my ass and pussy up even higher. The new angle has my forehead pressing against the backs of my hands.

“Fuck, thisfucking ass. Do you know how many men are going to die before this is all over, sweetheart?” This groan is hot against my skin. “How many I’m going to have to kill just for knowing this even exists?”

My eyes hood with his ragged praise. I might be a proud card-carrying member of theItty Bitty Titty Committee, but your girl’s got enough cake for a healthy-sized serving.

Zeus straightens and then the openingclinkof a metal buckle fills the space, followed shortly by the silkythwhipof a leather belt being yanked impatiently from its loops.

There’s a short pause—right before an experimentalsnap.

I brace.

“How many did I say?” he barks.

“Six?”

“Six,sir,” comes his firm correction.

I gulp.

“Six, sir,” I breathe, making a mental note to price a new arm cover for the couch.

Every muscle is poised, frozen in anticipation for his next move;

Everything but my heart. It’s about to beat right the fuck out of my chest.

“Are you ready?”

My fingers curl against the suede cushion beneath them.

“Yes, sir.”

“This is for the two months I went without seeing you, hearing you, smelling you,” he says, his tone imperious. “Count for me.”

Thecrackof his belt colliding with my right cheek is like nothing I’ve felt before. There’s a moment, right at impact, where everything stops—my overthinking, my trepidation, my self-loathing—even my headache.

Everything suspended, for a singular heartbeat—right before the lightning strike.

And then the pain registers and it all rushes back in together at once.

“One,” I gasp out, but it’s followed quickly by a moan when Zeus’s palm caresses the blossoming welt. “More?” he asks, lowly.

“Yes, sir,” I choke.

“This is for coming home to me for the first time in two months—covered in another man’s seed,” he says, his voice like a thunderstorm. It clashes with the sound of blood pulsing everywhere in my skull until it feels like it comes from all directions.

Fuck!

His possessiveness is a tangible thing, and I can feel its weight wrapped around me like a noose.

My chest constricts, but not with discomfort, but rather with the warm, satiated feeling of reciprocation.

Crack.

The second impact, this time on the left, rocks me forward in its ferocity.

And this time the moan comes first.

“Two.”

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