Page 125 of Riot's Thorn
“You’re moving in, Little Thorn,” he threatens. “It’d be easier if you did it on your own, but I have no problem forcing you.”
“Don’t I know it,” I mutter. “But you didn’t have to do this. I was comfortable in the old cabin, you know.”
“I know this place was old and ugly; you don’t have to lie. I just didn’t see the point in fixing it up.” His expression turns sheepish. “Plus, after you left, I sort of destroyed the place. I didn’t really have a choice but to remodel.”
“You did?”
“I was upset.”
“I don’t think I ever said I was sorry.”
“Don’t apologize. I’ll never apologize for everything I’ve done.”
“You mean kidnapping me.”
“If you want to get technical,” he says, and I swear, there’s a joking lilt to his voice. “You should check out the other bathroom and the rats’ atrium.”
“Or we could try out the new bed.”
His hands fall to his side. “Not yet. Bones is coming at the end of the week to make sure your wrist, ankle, and gun graze are stable. Then we can talk about it.”
I roll my eyes. “I feel fine.”
“Roll your eyes again, Little Thorn. I dare you.” His dark eyes turn stormy, making my clit tingle.
I roll them again. “What are you gonna do about it?”
He growls. “Don’t push me. This is supposed to be a good day.”
What he doesn’t realize is that whether he’s delivering pain or pleasure, the intimacy we share is like my version of heroin. I’m addicted to everything he gives me, and it never feels like enough. Even when I’m boneless and depleted of all energy, I still want him.
“If you won’t fuck me, I feel confident you won’t punish me either.”
“Oh yeah?” Even though it doesn’t hurt anymore, he still grabs the wrist I didn’t injure and drags me into the bedroom. “Shorts and panties off. Now.”
“Riot.” My cheeks heat. I can’t just get half-naked in the middle of the room while he’s watching me.
“Oh, no. You asked for a punishment, and now you’re getting one. Take off your panties and pants, or I’ll take them off for you.”
“Aren’t you going to undress?”
“No.”
“I don’t want to be—” He cuts my words off by pulling his knife out of its sheath on his belt. I watch in stunned surpriseas he pulls the waistband of my loose-fitting cotton shorts away from my hip and proceeds to cut them down the seam.
“Always gotta earn your nickname,” he mumbles as he moves to the other side. I’m too shocked to do anything but allow it. The shorts fall to the ground, completely destroyed. “Are you going to remove the panties, or should I cut those off as well?”
I look down at the black lacy thong from La Perla. I might’ve been wearing shorts and a tank top, but I knew today could be the day he gave up on the celibacy strike, so I wore my favorite set. “These cost a hundred and eighty dollars.”
He walks in a circle around me before grasping the dainty string on my hip and slicing through it. “You were overcharged. Maybe this will teach you to be more frugal.”
“No,” I whine, drawing out the word.
“You had your chance.” One more cut, and my pretty panties are on the ground.
I lower my arms and clasp my hands together, feeling very exposed. I don’t know why, but only having my lower half on display is worse than being fully naked. This is strange and feels all kinds of wrong.
“Riot.”
