Page 102 of The Mafia Assassin's Redemption
“How many of your subs do you make do this?” I’m aware of the vicious tone in my voice as I look for signs that I’m doing this right, that I’m seeing his sweet spot. But I don’t think he has one of those. I don’t think this is sexual.
It’s something else, something I don’t get, something that unnerves me, because I really don’t think he’s the kind to inflict self-harm even if it’s throughthe use of his sub.
Is this some kind of lesson he teaches his subs?
I’m diving down a rabbit hole now and I can’t stop the free fall. I hit him again and again, until my arm hurts.
“How many?” I shriek.
“How long have you got?” Then he laughs. “Harder, Harry, one more time. As hard as you can.”
I lift it, holding it in both hands, but there’s an added tension to his back, and his order’s at odds with it. “How many?”
“Just you.”
I gulp, a sob breaking free, and I hit him, enough to cause pain but not enough to really hurt… I hope.
He lets out a grunt I know, one that licks my clit.
With trembling shoulders, I walk up to him. “What do you want, Torin?”
“Your forgiveness.”
I drop the whip and this time dig my short nails into the back of his neck. He hisses in response.
“You can’t have that.”
I start to pull his hair, but he suddenly sits up, clamping my wrist. “I know.”
“I can’t forgive you. You took my family.”
“I know. And if your uncle’s out to get you, I’ll take more.”
“I need to hate you,” I whisper, feeling like a damn broken record.
“I know.”
This time, Torin stands and walks me back into the wall where he plunders my mouth. I kiss him back, starving for breath, for pleasure, for him. I want him.
He lifts me, tears the panties open more, and unleashes himself, thrusting into me. We fuck frantically against the wall, like we’re animals. We fuck like we want to rip the world apart. It’s carnal and primal and so fucking intense.
I explode around him, pulsating, squeezing, the cascading pleasure almost too much to take as he comes with me.
It’s not until we’re finished, still kissing and nipping at each other as he finally withdraws and sets me down, that I realize where we are and just who is watching.
TWENTY-THREE
torin
Harry’s eyesare still unfocused as I take her into the brownstone, still wrapped tight in the cloak.
No one’s up, or at least no one’s in the main living room when we arrive, so I don’t need to stop on my way down to my suite. Once I close the door behind us, I sit her on the sofa, turn on the bath, and grab a water and bottle of whiskey from the bar cart in the corner. I watch as she drinks down the water, then carry her into the bathroom. I pick up the bottle of bubble bath, pouring it into the tub. When I’m satisfied with the temperature of the water, I strip her naked and help her in.
I know I need a shower, too. I’m sticky and my back throbs from my nasty little exercise with her.
Self-flagellation or indulging in masochism isn’t my jam. I know in my bones I won’t ever be dominated. I think that’s why I did it, to show her she can be dominated into causing me pain, into keeping my kinkiest and most destructive thoughts at bay. Like ones of forever.
I also did it for her own catharsis. Or maybe to test how far deep her hatred for me goes or just to prove to her that she’s atrue sub. That she has power which she relinquishes to me, power I use within her perimeters.
