Page 101 of The Mafia Assassin's Redemption
“My uncle’s a banker, not mafia.”
“Maybe. I’m just spinning scenarios. And getting you where I want you.”
“I wantyouwrithing in pain,” I spit at him.
He moves again, lifts the blindfold, and then plunges me straight back into the world I was in by kissing me. It’s long and deep and rough and erotic, a purely naked kiss. Honest in its needs, and I can’t help but kiss him back the same way. I just can’t control myself.
“Now that,” he says, as he lifts his head from my mouth. “Is where I want you.”
“What does that mean?”
He starts untying me, then helps me off the cross. My feet are bare and I am only in the scraps of fabric he bought me. He pulls off his shirt, walks to his bag, takes out a whip, and hands it to me.
It’s heavy in my hand, and I stare at it.
He drapes himself over the cross thing, like Jesus and nothing like him. This man has no crown of thorns, and he’s killed. Innocence might never have touched him. But still, the horrific meaning of this thing in my hand is clear.
“I thought you’re some kind of d-dominant. Isn’t that why you put your name in the guestbook with a capital letter and mine was all lowercase?” I ask.
“Prizes for the vengeful sub. Let your brat out. And I am a Dom. I’m commanding you to whip. Have your go.”
“Can I have a gun?”
He laughs and it hurts me because there’s pain at the edges. “Hurt me, not kill.”
“I don’t want to hurt you.”
“But you’ll shoot me?”
“Happily,” I push out fiercely, knowing it makes zero sense and perfect sense all at the same time.
“Harriet. I’m commanding you.”
I gulp and stare at the whip, then his perfect back.
He hisses, “Do it.”
I jerk my hand, the whip loosely snapping in the air.
“For fuck’s sake, Harry, I won’t break. That was pathetic. Do it.”
I do it a little harder.
“Harder, Harry. This is an order and I will fucking punish you if you don’t.”
I grit my teeth and bring it down, the sound turning my stomach, as does the red line.
“Not. Hard. Enough.”
“But—”
“I’ll tell you if it’s not enough. Read me, Harry, see what I want by looking. A good sub, a perfect sub, would know.”
“I’m not.”
“You are, you know,” he says.
I scowl, anger flaring in me, and I bring it down, again and again, different spots, making his back a trail of red lines. No blood. Thank goodness, no blood.
