Page 39 of Split

“Is that any way to talk to your husband?” Roman growls, pushing to his feet.

“Is that any way to talk to yourwife?” I spit.

He lands another harsh slap on my ass in the exact same place as the first, so intense that a moan escapes my lips, unbidden. My mind goes blissfully quiet, overwhelmed by the rush of sensation.

“Do you like that?” he hums, his hand lingering on the cheek of my ass to rub out the sting. A surge of heat rushes to my core as his palm caresses my tingling skin, a rapturous wave of euphoria crashing through me as the pain ebbs.

From the tone of his voice, I can tell he wants me to like it.

But also…I think I actually do.

I turn to peer back at him over my shoulder, our gazes colliding.Damn, I’ve never seen him look at me like he is right now, as if he’s dangling on the precipice of his darkest fantasies coming to life. It shouldn’t excite me as much as it does.

Clenching my thighs against the ache throbbing between them, I sink my teeth into my lower lip, giving him a single nod. I can’t bring myself to say it, but some part of me likes the harsh slap of his palm against my ass. It’s not a cruel strike of anger; it’s a controlled and precise deliverance of pain that inexplicably heightens my arousal. And I wantmore.

A sinister grin stretches across his face as he lifts his palm, winding up to deliver a harsh smack to my opposite side. I yelp, body jolting at the strike of pain. I barely have time to recover before he slaps my ass again, alternating cheeks while a cacophony of whimpers and moans leave my lips. When he delivers a slap right between my legs, my elbows buckle and I drop down onto the desk, skin clapping against the slick wood and my panted breaths fogging up the lacquered surface.

Roman growls low in his throat as he kneads the flesh of my butt cheeks, my body going boneless in surrender. “I guess he was right about you after all,” he muses. “Youareobedient.”

A fresh surge of anger ripples through me at the mention of my father, but it’s quickly quelled by more intense waves of pain and pleasure as Roman resumes spanking me on my thighs, ass, and pussy until I’m reduced to a needy, writhing mess atop his desk.

“Please!” I wail, bucking my hips, the coil in my belly wound tight.

His hands stop rubbing my stinging skin, body going still. “Pleasewhat?”

I need to come so badly that I can’t even form words, barely able to catch my breath.

“Please stop?” he questions.

“No!” I cry out.

“Then what do you want, wife?”

My cheeks burn, shame coating every word as I answer, “Please fuck me.”

Once again, he doesn’t immediately spring into action like I expect him to. He seems to almost contemplate it for a moment, a low chuckle rumbling in his chest as he says, “You’re pretty when you beg.”

My pulse races at the clink of his belt, body trembling with anticipation and desperate for relief. I’m like Roman’s personalwind-up doll– he’s been toying with me so much that one more crank of his wrist is all it’ll take to set me off.

He shifts closer, a shudder running through me as the velvety head of his cock glides through my slick folds. Notching the tip at my opening, he shoves into me from behind and I instantly detonate, screaming in ecstasy while gushing all over his dick.

“Fuck,” he grits out, fingertips digging bruises into my hips as my inner walls spasm around him. He fucks me with shallow thrusts as I ride out the waves of bliss, but the moment I come back down and sag against his desk, he ups his pace, pressing a palm to the small of my back and rutting into me hard and fast.

Like always, it feels far better than it should, pressure building inside me again at an alarming rate. He always hits a sweet spot when he fucks me from behind that makes me see stars. I may hate my husband with a passion, but I’m definitely on friendly terms with his big dick. It’s the only thing that makes this arrangement of ours somewhat bearable.

Roman reaches down and buries his fingers in my hair, gathering the wild strands up in his fist and using it to yank me upright. His other arm bands around my belly, pulling my back flush against his chest as he continues pulsing his hips, burying himself impossibly deeper inside me as the edge of his desk digs bruises into my upper thighs.

“Do you like when your husband fucks you, Eliza?” he growls in my ear, nipping the lobe.

“Yes!” I cry out shamelessly.

His hand snakes down my belly, his skilled fingers deftly locating my clit. “Then come for me again, wife. Show me how much you love it.”

Fuck, Idolove it. It’s impossible not to when it feels this good, and I hate myself for enjoying every second. His fingers tighten in my hair, pinpricks of pain breaking out over my scalp as his cock slams into me, fingers rubbing my clit expertly.

Fireworks explode behind my eyelids as I shatter, coming so hard that I damn near black out from the intensity. Roman roars in my ear as he snaps his hips forward hard, burying himself to the hilt and following me right over the edge of oblivion. Then he falls back into his desk chair, taking me with him, both of us sweaty and breathless.

His arms maintain a possessive grip around my body as I lay back against his chest, panting for air. He’s still seated inside me, his cum trickling down my inner thigh from where our bodies are joined. Good thing Dr. Hargrove placed that birth control implant– the last thing I want is to carry Roman’s evil spawn. That morbid thought has never even crossed my mind before since he’s never come inside me. He always pulls out, painting me with his cum like a mark of ownership. I suppose he’s now marked me on the inside, too, and something about that feels far too intimate for our travesty of a marriage.

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