Page 38 of Deviant

I wasn’t falling for it. Letting the door slam behind me, I started across the room with purpose and set the bowl onto the dresser, followed by the ginger root. From her corner of shame, she peeked at me.

“Rafe…no.”

“Was your visit with the old man worth it? Did you find what you were looking for?” Despite the hell she’d put me through, I hoped she’d found the closure she needed, though I highly doubted she had.

“You were right,” she said, and I knew admitting so cost her a huge chunk of her pride. “He’s a cold-hearted bastard.” She peeked at me again before her gaze darted to the ginger. “Don’t do this.”

“Your ass is gonna burn for what you did.” My tone left no room for argument, and the slump of her shoulders told me she heard it. “Bend over the bed.”

“Please!”

“Begging won’t help you, babe. Now get over there before you make things worse for yourself.”

She rose on shaky limbs and trudged to the bed, her head dipped, spirit dragging as if she were facing the firing squad. In her mind, she probably was. Alex could handle a lot of shit—all kinds of pain from whips and canes to the reliable weight of a firm hand.

But stretch her ass and make it burn, and you’d see her fracture.

She cast one final glance my way, imploring me for a stay of punishment. If not for the dampness on her cheeks, she might have persuaded me. But those tears of regret, fear, and even anger drew me in. Hardened my heart and my dick. Those tears were my weapon against her pleading, sorrowful eyes.

She draped the mattress, and I couldn’t have positioned her better myself; hands at the small of her back, legs planted shoulder-width apart on the floor, ass out.

She was the sublime picture of capitulation.

Still not falling for it, but I’d test it.

“I’m wearing your least favorite belt.” I let that dangle out there for a few seconds, giving her time to envision the agony the strap of leather would inflict, because her pain threshold was levels below it. “Can you stay still for this?”

“I’ll try.”

“No, babe. You either stay still, or you don’t. There’s no trying.”

“Don’t do this.”

“Don’t put yourself in danger again.”

Silence.

What could she say to that?

She chose the smart route and said nothing, and I reached for my buckle. “You’re damn lucky Jax has his hands full with Angel, because I’d let him whip you for what you did to his tires.” I slid the belt from the loops of my jeans, and she flinched.

I waited.

Seconds ticked off in my head, each one never quite the right moment to begin.

The first strike to her ass landed in surprise, and I got a high-pitched mewl as a reward for my sneak attack.

“How many?” she cried, voice strained with desperation. Giving her a number would allow her to focus on the end in sight instead of the pain of each burning lick. After what she’d pulled, I wanted her to feel every strike to the follicles of her hair and the bottoms of her feet.

“You’ll know when I know.”

I laid another one on her, the sharpness of thick leather on skin echoing off the walls. Then another.

I didn’t count, and even if I had kept count, I probably would have lost track. Turning her ass red did that to me—sent me to the darkest corners of my mind. The part of myself that terrified me most. With each jerk of her body, the tighter she fisted her hands, the closer together her whimpers came…

The more I fell into the pit of all that was twisted. My cock lengthened and hardened in my jeans, straining against the zipper. Painfully aroused.

Still, further into the black hole I went.

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