Page 39 of Vows in Sin
“I told you to call. I told you to ask. Instead, you come prancing in here like you own the place. Like you own me.” My hand slides around the back of her neck, and I squeeze, hard but not toohard. Never too hard. Only enough to make her go limp around the edges. “But you’ve got it all wrong. You’re my pretty doll, and I own you. You want my cock tonight, princess?” I bite her earlobe to hear the little noise she makes when I do.
Too eager, she quickly whispers, “Yes.”
It’s so good, the way she says it. I want more. I want everything. “Not good enough. You need to ask for what you want.” I breathe it against her skin, making her tremble from head to toe. “I’ll teach you to use your words.”
I jerk her away from the wall, dragging her stumbling. She may be smaller than me, but she’s a force. I can feel that, even when I’m hauling her down the hallway deeper into the storeroom, back to her wall, her crate. But now there’s him, the bouncer, all cocksure and ready, leaning in the doorway like this is a goddamn show.
I push her down till her ass is perched on the edge of the crate.
“Look at him,” I order, and it comes out low and thick. “Tell him what you want.”
This time, she hesitates. She hesitates, and that’s when I know I’ve got her and really got her. Cupping my hand around the back of her neck, I repeat my words. “I said—look at him.”
She lifts her face. Humiliated. Wet already. My little masochist. My little doll in her heavenly hell we’ve created together. When her voice finally comes, it’s barely a whisper. “I… I want to be punished.”
My fingertips dip into her soft flesh. “Louder.”
“I want you to punish me.” Her breath hitches, swelling erratically, as she tries to catch it. The shame drives her, and sheglances up at me, eyes wide and glossy. “Please.” I grab a fistful of her hair, force her head back so she has to look up at both of us, look up at both the bouncer and me watching her fall apart.
“Tell him who you belong to.” I’m relentless, and she’s giving me the show I’ve been waiting for.
Her lips tremble, and I can see her lose herself to it. “Y-you. I belong to you.”
“Now ask me properly. While he watches.” She squirms, caught between her humiliation and her need. She wants this: the shame, the heat, the eyes on her. I can see her thighs clench, see her rock against the edge of the crate. She knows I won’t touch her until she says it.
The bouncer watches, his breath ragged, eyes locked on her as she begs. “Please,” she whispers. “Please use me.” Her voice shakes like it might break. “I want you to bend me over and spank me. I want your belt. I want your cock.” She’s spinning out, and I’m the only one who can catch her.
I smile. Dark. Hungry. “That’s better.”
I drag her to her feet, shove her over the crate, her skirt riding up. No panties, of course. Seeing the naked lower curve of her bare ass makes something hot and possessive rise in me. I address the bouncer with a curt, “Now get the fuck out of here.”
Her beautiful curves are for my eyes only.
I pull off the belt. She trembles.
And I give her everything she begged for. Everything and more.
The first crack of the belt echoes through the room, and she jolts forward; a cry catches in her throat. Her hands clutch the edge ofthe crate, knuckles tight, body braced. But she doesn't run. She never runs. I strike her again, the belt licking across her flesh. Her gasps fill the room with her need and her pain.
I punish her with my belt. She’s a stunning sight to behold, and she's all mine. I pause, running a hand over her hot skin, feeling the welts rising. She shudders under my touch, a low moan escaping her.
"More?" I ask, leaning down, my chest pressed to her back, my voice a rough growl. But I don’t wait for an answer. She came here to use me, but tonight, I’ll take what I want from her.
Right now.
She’s already where I want her—hands flat to the wall, skirt bunched high, bare and waiting. Soft rising welts against skin that trembles at my touch. Her back arches, involuntary, hungry. Arranging myself, I slide the latex sheath down over myself with practiced ease, the snap of it a prelude.
I press in close, my hips against her backside, the heat between us sparking like flint to tinder. My hand snakes around her waist, not tender—possessive. Her breath hitches.
“Ready?” I rasp near her ear, but it’s rhetorical.
I’m not here for permission.
I draw my fingers along her side, nails dragging a path just shy of pain—her pulse flutters where my lips find her neck. I grind against her slowly, teasing, letting her feel how hard I am, how ready.
She pushes back—desperate, aching.
I thrust forward.
