Page 41 of Devil's Bride

“Would you like some help?” he asked. There was such delighted amusement in his voice that my anger flared.

“Go fuck yourself.”

“I do love the term fucking.No hay nada como el brutal arte de follar con una mujer.”

Was he kidding me? There was nothing like the brutal art of fucking a woman?

I reminded myself that he was attempting to throw me off. I had to find additional defiance to fight the asshole. Fire with fire. Spears with spears.

“Y no hay nada como la idea de castrar a un hombre.”

And there is nothing like the thought of castrating a man.

He burst into laughter, the husky sound shifting over my almost naked body like smooth velvet. “I do so adore your spunk. It’s going to be one of the most incredible feelings to break you.”

I slowly slid one strap down my arm then the other as I kept my eyes on him, a smile on my face. “I assure you that will never happen.”

“We shall see.”

He sat up on the edge of his seat, shifting his glass from hand to hand. The man was chomping at the bit. I held out the bra, dangling it like the carrot I knew he craved before allowing it to drop to the floor. The moment I slipped my fingers under the thin elastic of my thong, I was certain he was going to launch himself toward me.

He was a famished man.

I tried to act as if I didn’t care what was happening while lowering my thong. However, the moment I tossed the lace to the side, I almost had a panic attack. I’d only been with two men in my life, both of which had been less than memorable. Maybe I’d once been the kind of woman hoping to find the right man, the perfect guy so eventually I’d have the quaint house on a cul-de-sac with a white picket fence and a red door.

How silly of me and how American.

I knew now that would never happen.

“Good girl. Plant your hands on the edge of the desk and spread your legs.”

Swallowing, I thought about my brother and sister once more before obeying him.

Once I was in place, it took the asshole a full two minutes before he stood. He was attempting mental torture before providing it physically. He’d mentioned patience. He had no idea how much I’d had my entire life.

He took his sweet time walking to a cabinet on the other side of the room. With his back turned, I glanced in his direction, able to see various horrific-looking implements.

Including what appeared to be a bullwhip.

My entire body tensed, but I closed my eyes and mentally prepared for the agony. I could take it. The pain would eventually go away.

What if he scarred me?

Then I’d wear the marks like a badge of honor.

I finally heard his footsteps a few seconds later. After that, I heard a whooshing sound and opened my eyes.

“There is something very magical about a strong birch cane. While the reed can do some damage if used incorrectly, in the right hands, the pain can be extraordinary.”

He made the punishment sound sensual, playful. Even exciting.

I knew better.

Jago showed me what he would use and I shrugged, saying nothing.

“You can scream if you’d like. My men won’t care.”

“Fuck you.”

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