Page 61 of Brutal Legacy

My eyes felt wet. The tears stung my raw-feeling cheeks and sank into the bedspread.

His hand rained a smack down on my ass, and the feeling sent ripples of embarrassment through me. Shame, humiliation… you name it, I was feeling it.

“There you go, breathe again, nice and deeply. Let me feel it,” my mercenary instructed. He put a hand high on my back. “Push my hand up with air. Fill your lungs right up,” he commanded.

I found myself obeying, even though my whole being longed to defy this man. Tension started to seep out of me.

“Good girl. That’s my good girl… breathe and calm the fuck down. You’re safe here with me. You’re not going anywhere. Not even God himself can take you from this plane or me. You can’t change anything… all you have to do is accept it.”

There was a loud sound beneath us. The wheels folding in? I shuddered again, my chest threatening to close once more.

His hand smacked me again, but it felt different. Softer, somehow. His fingers lingered after, his caress feeling indecently hot on my skin, like he could singe me with his very touch. My mind rebelled against the heat working through my blood. His hand was too damn close to my pussy, and God help me, I was getting turned on. I couldn’t help it. It was the position, the powerlessness, the way his hands were so confident and masterful, like he knew exactly how to touch me. Like he knew my body better than I did.

“I accept that you’re an asshole,” I muttered into the pillow, my tears still falling. I wasn’t crying, it was simply a tension release, but fuck, it felt good. It felt good to fight with all my strength and cry and push as hard as I could and then let it all go.

His hand moved over my ass, not smacking now, just feeling the skin.

“I think you need to accept a lot more than that if you want to save this precious ass of yours. It’s already so perfectly pink… My handprint on your ass really suits you, Signora Conti.”

“Stop calling me that!” I protested.

His finger made a long line down one cheek, then he slapped my ass, the weight of the cheek jiggling.

“Why? You don’t like being reminded of your dearly departed husband when you’re facedown, ass-up on another man’s knee? Does it confuse your sweet memories of his touch?”

I snorted before I could stop myself. “My husband never touched my ass.”

My mercenary’s hand paused its sweet torture.

“Is that right?” he mused.

I gasped at a sharp pinch.

“Don’t lie to me.”

“I’m not!” I ground out.

His hand smoothed a circle over the place he’d pinched, sending pleasure spiraling through the pain. Somehow, it felt even better, like the pinch had woken up my nerve endings and heightened their sensitivity.

“I don’t believe your loving husband would neglect to give his wife something she so clearly enjoyed.”

“Enjoyed?” I squeaked, feeling called out as hell. How did he know how good it felt? I attempted to sit up, unable to bear the thought of him knowing how his touch, delivered as a punishment, was turning me on.

“Yes,cara. Enjoyed…” he growled at me, then sent shock through my system as his fingers pulled apart my ass cheeks, exposing my most private places to him.

“What the hell?” I started but forgot my words.

His finger swiped down my ass and over my front entrance.

“You think I don’t know how wet you are?” he asked in a quietly dangerous voice.

Before I could stop him, he gathered my hair in his other hand, forced my head back, and put that wet finger to my lips.

It sank inside, and I tasted myself on his skin. Musky and desperate.

“I cansmellyou, Georgia.”

His words sent utter humiliation over me, and something else, so hot and wrong that I didn’t know what to do with that feeling.

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