Page 108 of Pretty Vengeful Queen

“Please,” I whisper as he loosens his grip on my throat. I wrap my legs around his waist to hold him against me, my hands still bound behind my back.

He watches the word form on my lips, then drags his eyes up to meet mine. He doesn’t say a word, but when he pushes my shirt up to expose the scar he gave me between my breasts, then lowers his head and presses a possessive, claiming kiss on top of it, I’ve never felt closer to him.

I’ve never felt more seen.

My thighs are sloppy with his cum and his cock is still buried as deeply as it can go inside my well-fucked pussy, and there’s nowhere else I want to be right now. Despite the slight strain on my shoulders from my bound hands, I swear I can feel each and every one of my muscles melting in the aftermath of what he just gave me, all the tension I’ve been building up ever since all this started draining away.

That horrible, sick, helpless feeling of worry drains away too, leaving me completely at ease in a way I honestly didn’t think was possible.

And maybe it isn’t. Not without someone who understands the darkest parts of me to help me let go.

I let out a little huff of disappointment when he finally pulls out and tucks himself away. He gives me one of those small, barely there smiles that I know are just for me, lifting me up like I weigh nothing and carrying me into the small bathroom just off the room they converted into the gym.

He unbinds my hands and strips me completely, each movement careful and precise as he massages the tightness out of my hands, wrists, arms, and shoulders, then methodically cleans me up, thoroughly removing every trace of cum, sweat, and sex from my body.

“The rubber doesn’t leave welts,” he says, making a small, frustrated sound of disappointment as he runs the damp washcloth over the over-sensitized skin of my ass, still reddened and hot from the beating he gave me with the exercise band.

“But it still stings,” I reassure him, letting my head fall to the side, giving him better access. “And next time, you can use the belt again.”

He leans down, brushing the hair away from my shoulder and kissing me there as he continues to clean me. Once he’s finally satisfied, he turns me around to face him, looking down at me with serious eyes. “I like to mark you.”

My heart thumps, doing another one of those slow rolls in my chest. “I know.”

He circles my wrists with his hands, a wrinkle of concern forming between his eyebrows as he lifts them, displaying them between us. There are marks there, each wrist encircled in red.

“I bound you too tightly.”

I smile. “No, it’s because I was struggling.”

The wrinkle gets deeper. “You wanted to.”

The flat statement isn’t a question, but I can see he’s worried that he might have gone too far.

“You didn’t hurt me.” He hasn’t let go of my wrists, and I use that to my advantage. Tugging him closer. Close enough that I can go up on my toes and kiss him. “You never hurt me in any way I don’t want.”

I can feel him relax a little at that, but not all the way.

“It was all right?” he presses.

“It was perfect.” He finally releases my wrists, and I cup his jaw with both my hands, staring into his eyes and willing him to believe it, because it’s the truth. “It was exactly what I needed. Thank you. I—”

I hesitate, and the wrinkle comes back, his concern a palpable presence between us.

“You what?” he asks sharply.

I take a deep breath, not sure why it’s harder with him than with the others.

But I’m completely sure that it’s worth it.

“I love you,” I whisper, then smile despite the way he stiffens at the words. He doesn’t need to say it back. I’d never expect him to. But it feels so fucking good to finally say it out loud that I do it again. “I love you, Logan Adair.”

His entire body goes still. He even stops breathing. But when I go up on my toes to kiss him again, he finally moves, stopping me before I can.

He grabs my hair, gathering all of it into his hand in a quick move that traps me in place. He wraps it around his fist tightly enough that I can’t move while he reaches up with his other hand to trace my throat, my jaw, my lips with his fingers, all the while staring into my eyes.

“You love me,” he finally says.

I smile, turning my head a fraction of an inch, all that his tight hold allows, to kiss the tips of his fingers. “So much.”

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