Page 49 of Brutal Savior

She tries to yank her hand away, but I hold it there for a second before letting it go. She claps her hands over her ears, eyes screwed shut, until the racket cuts off.

When she opens her eyes again, they’re shiny with tears, and she looks down at her hands as if expecting them to be bleeding. Then her eyes meet mine, full of accusation.

“You can keep your hand down there for up to ten seconds. Long enough to clean yourself if you do it in short bursts. Not long enough to get off unless you’re really fucking quick about it. And if I’m not around, I get notified every time that alarm goes off. Straight to my phone.”

It’s triggered by proximity to the strip I fastened to her skin, but I’m not explaining that to her right now. Don’t want her to get any ideas about trying to pull it off.

She’s tugging at the cuffs now, trying to work them over her hands. “Don’t bother. Only my thumbprint can remove them. You’re going to have to work for every orgasm from now on. Which brings me to the third item on my list.”

I pull out the final ruined ball. It’s covered in more cartoon dicks than a boy’s toilet stall at a high school. I trace the outline of one. “Classy. This ball wasn’t worth much money. None of the players who signed it were the big stars. But this one”—I point to the edge of a heavily obscured name—“meant a lot to me. His footy career got cut short by an injury. Bloody devastating. He was only twenty years old. But instead of letting it get to him, hewent back to uni. He ended up excelling in astrophysics, if you can believe it. He was a huge inspiration to me. And he died last year.”

Quinn is sweating now, looking from the ball to me to her new cuffs in jittery panic. I don’t blame her. I reach between her legs, teasing her clit with my thumb as she trembles. “Good girls get lots of orgasms, but you? I’m not going to be generous for a while. For about as long as it takes me to stop being pissed off about this ball, in fact. How long do you think that’ll take?”

I tease her for a bit longer, until I’m sure she’s needy as well as scared, then pull my hand away. “Get used to the feeling of disappointment. I’ll let you come sometimes, of course, but you’ll never know when it’s going to be.”

I play with her again, watching as her breath picks up. “The not knowing is a real bitch. It’ll drive you insane.”

I circle her clit until she squirms, then stop, reaching for the final item—the burnt boots. She presses her thighs together. “Now these really are priceless. I don’t care about the money, but just so you know, these set me back ten grand. They’re one of a kind and irreplaceable.”

Her chest rises and falls rapidly. She can tell something bad is coming, and I’m not going to disappoint.

“Since these boots are irreplaceable, I’m going to take the price out of your arse. Roll over like a good girl. We’re not waiting till Friday.”

Chapter Nineteen

Quinn

My throat burns, andmy jaw aches from the horrible gag. Talk about fucking degrading. Every movement I make, I’m aware of solid rubber rammed down my throat. This is the small one? I’ll die if he makes me wear anything larger.

But that won’t be an issue, because there’s no way I’ll survive what comes next. He’ll split me in two.

Now that reality is right in front of me and the alcohol buzz has turned into a hangover, I wish I could go back in time and slap myself in the face. I was supposed to be gaining Jacob’s trust. Instead, I’ve screwed everything up, just like I always do. I deserve the ass fucking just for being so goddamned stupid.

He reaches into his little box of nightmares, and I tense. What’s going to come out of there next? A giant spider? It would be about the only thing that could make this night worse.

But it’s worse than a spider. A bottle of lube. He’s really going to do this. I shake my head, but I’m not holding out any real hope. The look in his eyes since I woke up has me on red alert.

If I thought he was scary before, he’s fucking terrifying when he’s mad. It would have been less intimidating if he’d come in ranting and raving. I’d wanted to get under his skin and rile him up. Instead, I’ve created a cold, calculating demon. The gangster who slices bits off you and mails them to your mom.

He taps the bottle. “I’m not a complete monster. I’ll take it slow. Now, roll over and spread your cheeks wide for me. And Quinn?”

I find myself leaning toward his quiet words.

“Do exactly what I say. You really don’t want to push me any further tonight.”

For once, he’s absolutely right. There’s not a single part of me that wants to piss him off any more than I already have. But Jesus fucking Christ, why does he have to make me do this? I can’t imagine anything more humiliating. I hesitate.

“Quinn.”

The single word is an electric shock. I roll onto all fours, trying not to think about the view I’m giving him. It’s not like he hasn’t seen it all before. My face presses into his soft red sheets, creating more pressure on the gag.

Saliva dribbles out around it, and my throat works, desperate to spit it out. God, just to have that pressure out of my throat would feel like the best birthday present ever. My body quivers at the thought of two hours a day in this thing.

But that’s not my immediate concern. Heat rushes to my face as I reach awkwardly behind me and dig my fingers into my ass cheeks, spreading them. He can’t really enjoy this view, can he? He must only be making me do it as a punishment.

A second later, I flinch as cold lube drips between my cheeks, into my hole. He laughs behind me. “Sorry, love. Should have warmed that up for you.”

Sarcastic British bastard.

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