Page 4 of The Devil's Spawn

The bastard was trying to trick me again. I bit my lip to keep from answering. If I said yes, he’d take advantage of any number of things. Nipple clamps. A cane or bullwhip. His favorite gag, nearly as big as my fist.

My husband was beyond sadistic. He had no qualms about pushing me past hard limits if I gave him the go ahead, and he’d hold me to my green light even if I gave it while under duress.

“That’s not fair.”

“The only rules I play by are my own,” he said, then he lowered his mouth to me again.

Nothing could be as erotic as watching him go down on me. Nothing. I reached under my splayed thighs and gripped the edge of the desk with both hands. He’d given me plenty of lessons on the art of limber movement, and right now I used my body’s capabilities to grind against his face.

There. God. So close. I was going to come, and I didn’t give a fuck about the consequences. He’d find a reason to take his pound of flesh anyway because he was Gage. “Yeah, yeah,” I panted, barely above a whisper. “So close.”

He jackhammered his fingers a few more times until I writhed on his desk, and then he shot my hopes down the drain by pulling away. “Good. That’s exactly where I want you.” Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he pulled himself upright and towered over me. “I’ll see you at home. I won’t be late.”

The fight went out of me, and I plopped onto his desk, trying to catch my breath. “Don’t leave me like this.”

“You know what I want, Kayla. Give it to me, and I’ll take you there.”

He wanted to fuck me in the ass—only he wanted me to give it to him willingly. More than willingly. He wanted me to beg him to take me in the one way he knew I despised. If that wasn’t sadistic, then I didn’t know what was.

3. Secret Little Notes

Awareness could be a cruel thing, especially when it was of one’s self. The whisper in my head, an irritating voice that sounded eerily close to my own, chanted vicious truth. I was a sex addict. No. I was a Gage Channing addict. I’d given up the idea of quitting him a long time ago, but tonight, as I set the table and prepared to greet him, I realized just how pathetic I was, how far I’d fallen through the fissures in my sanity.

He’d thrown down the anal gauntlet at the most opportune time—forhimanyway—when he had me out of my mind and foaming at the mouth from withdrawal. I could think of nothing else since I’d left his office. My head was crammed full of Gage and sex and the pain he’d inevitably inflict. Poor Eve had been dealing with my dazed-like distraction all afternoon. I’d managed to get my head out of my ass long enough to help her with her homework. We spent thirty minutes gathering leaves from the ground, each one a bright shade of autumn splendor. Afterward, I patiently watched her glue them to an outline of a tree on a white piece of paper.

But the glue hadn’t even dried before I’d gone back to obsessing over Gage’s plans for my ass. Something rose in my throat. Fear? Maybe. I swallowed that bitter lump of emotion as I layered the ingredients for lasagna into a baking dish. It was Gage’s favorite, but I guess tonight was all about Gage’s favorites, especially anal.

That word had such intensity to it, such power and control. And fear it I did, because anal was so unpredictable. Sometimes it felt good. Unbelievably good. But other times…

Gage was careful, but his definition of careful and mine were two entirely different things. Sometimes his sadism took over and my ass became the casualty. We didn’t do it often, and I suspected that was the reason why. Even he didn’t quite trust himself. How could he, when he craved my pain on such a fundamental level?

Fifteen minutes before I expected him home, a text pinged my cell. He’d given back my phone a few weeks ago, with parental controls to restrict my access, of course. In addition to emergency contacts, and Eve’s school and doctors, I could only call or text him, and vice versa.

Gage:what’s Eve doing?

Me:watching tv

Gage:did she finish her homework?

Me:yep, all done

Gage:good, go into the bedroom and touch yourself. I’m checking you when I get home. You’d better be wet.

I bit back a groan as I tapped out ayes, Master.

Gage:lock the door and get on all fours on the bed. First thing I want to see is your ass in the air. I’ll be there in a few.

Damn him.

Setting my cell on the counter, I eyed the oven and the minutes ticking by. Eve was engrossed in her “TV time,” which gave me a chance to slip down the hall and quietly push the bedroom door open.

I couldn’t help but love this game that Gage and I played. The rules always changed, and he always won, but the ride was the biggest thrill ever—like sitting white-knuckled at the top of a roller coaster, on the cusp of hurtling down into the unknown. I locked the door, well aware he had a key, and crossed to the bed and got into position. Head down, ass up. I slipped my fingers between my legs and started stroking, going easy because it would take so little to get me there, and that was, under no circumstances, allowed.

I heard his car through the cracked window in our bedroom, followed by footsteps that led him to the front door. Then silence stole over me, save for my rapid pulse. I listened for a hint of him in the hall but detected not a single footfall. Besides, I didn’t need to hear or see him to know the exact moment he entered the bedroom.

His presence tingled on my skin, sparking my nerve endings until they sizzled with electricity. My body flushed, and the satin comforter seemed to grow hot under my skin.

He had me boiling already.

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