Page 73 of Brutal Savior

I lean in. “Are you counting the strokes? How many are we up to?”

She sniffles. “Fuck you.”

The little minx. “That’s another twenty, then.”

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Quinn

Everything from my waistdown burns. Each lash blends into the last, and I try to count them, but I can’t. I went too far. I poked the bear, and I don’t think I can stand this. I’m fucking finished.

My cheek presses into the table, and I drift. I’m pretty sure I’m crying, but I don’t even know any more. I can’t feel anything beyond the pain. The rest of me has ceased to exist.

You knew this was going to happen. You wanted it.

A single clear thought, and I’m not sure if it’s my own voice or Jacob’s. It rings through me, over and over, in time with the belt. Each agonizing lash drives sound out of me in whimpers, even as strange relaxation spreads through my body. My mind lets go, wrapping itself in the pain like a blanket.

You knew it.

You knew.

I did. I really did.

At some point, it stops.

“That’ll do. Thanks.”

The hands holding me vanish. Whose were they again? I know I should be embarrassed, but I can’t focus enough to find it. All I can do is lie like a jellyfish out of water as my mind swirls and my ass pulses with heat.

I stay there until sounds creep back in and my surroundings swim into focus. The dining room. All the people. Eve. Hadrian. The guys. Fucking Kendrick.

Shit.

I’m lying on the table, ass out for all to see. Shame spears in, shattering the weird peace with its cold, miserable reality. I fight back the last of the weird trippy feeling. What the hell was that? Kind of like the very start of an acid trip, the moment the word starts to lose focus.

A hand taps my cheek. I open my eyes and look up, searching for Jacob. I catch a brief, worried expression before he smiles down at me. “Welcome back.”

He disappears from view, and I hiss as he pulls up my panties. Even the light cotton stings, and the pain sends another ripple of something through me. A shudder that feels far too good. It’s nice. It shouldn’t be, but I don’t really care.

“Get it together, love. It’s almost time for dessert.”

What? I can’t sit and eat fucking dessert. I try to say as much, but Jacob’s hands are already on me, lifting me off the table and placing me into my seat.

Oh my fucking God.

The pain as my ass hits the seat is unbearable. I try to lurch up, but my ankles are still lashed together, and Jacob’s hands stop me. His voice drops low, a little menace creeping in. “Remember what we spoke about on day one? After your punishment, you sit and think about what you’ve done. I’ll tie you to the chair if I have to.”

No. No. No. Being tied to the chair is so much worse. At least this way, I can shift on the seat. I settle back down with a hiss, and Jacob slides me so I’m seated at the table.

I keep my eyes on the wood, not wanting to meet anyone’s gaze. I’d see sympathy from the other Wards, no doubt. And I don’t know what from the Brothers.

“Oh, one last thing. Remember what I said about the bra?”

Jesus, will he ever let one single fucking thing go unchecked? He’s like a robot, with a perfect recall of everything he’s ever threatened.

“You can take it off yourself, or I’ll cut it off. Your choice.”

My fucking choice. He loves saying that, but he never gives me any real ones. “I’ll have no clothes left if you keep doing that,” I grumble, reaching back to undo the hooks and sliding it out, one arm at a time. Why does the top have to be white? At least my tits are small.

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