Page 86 of That Girl is Trouble

“In there,” he says. He doesn’t wait for me to obey and he doesn’t release his hold on my hair. Moving for the door, he practically drags me inside and slams the door hard behind us.

The small storage room is filled with beer cases, a couple untapped kegs, crates of vodka, cheap whiskey, tequila, and a few bottles of wine Moxy hides for Triss on the top shelf.

Axe lets out a deep sigh. “You’re in trouble.”

“Am I?”

I retreat, step for step, as he stalks towards me, only stopping when I bump into the stack of beer cases lining the back wall. My skin heats when his hand finds my waist. The same place Rooster had his. He runs his fingers over my flesh, as if erasing an invisible mark. He touches my chin in the same way, in the same place. Careful. Soft. But his grip on my waist is a little too firm, his eyes a little too angry for his caress to be considered sweet. He drops his lips to my ear, just like Rooster did, his tone full of warning and malice.

“It’s fucking torture, Kat. Watching those cameras while you work, all those hands on you. It takes all my control not to barge in there and break every fucking hand that touches what should only be mine.” His breath skirts over my skin, and goose bumps explode over my body. My nipples harden, and a shiver runs up the length of my spine. “But I handle it. When it comes to you, I can do torture. What I can’t do, though, is watch that same shit go down in my fucking club. That’s not work. It’s disrespect. Another man’s hands on you? Here? Not up for negotiation.”

His words are a threat, the lips on my neck a sinful promise, his grip on my hips a mix of jealousy and possession. His.

With a thick swallow, I say, “Maybe I don’t want to belong to anyone.”

“That’s not up for negotiation either. Hand or belt?” he whispers.

My heart leaps, and another pool of warmth pulses between my legs. “Belt.”

The look he gives me is one of pure satisfaction. His hard eyes dance with wicked delight, his smile full of menace.

Backing away, he pulls open the buckle and rips his belt from his pants. The clinking of the metal sends nerves scuttering to the base of my spine. The leather strap hangs loosely in his hand as my mind races and my heart rate accelerates with anticipation, making my blood pound in my ears.

This. This is the feeling I need. My body on overdrive, my soul on fire.

“Pull down your pants,” he orders.

I comply, tugging open the button of my jeans, then sliding them down just past my ass.

His face remains impassive. “Underwear too.”

The bored expression lining his sharp features cracks the moment I pull down my panties. His eyes drop to my pussy, and his lips part. His grip on the belt gets tighter, his knuckles going white and the muscles in his shoulders tensing.

Axe jerks his head to the small table that sits low against the wall next to us. “Elbows down, Kitty. Ass up.”

“How many?” I ask.

“As many as I want,” he says darkly. “Let’s see how much you can take.”

Swallowing, I move to the table and ready myself—elbows down, ass up, back arched. He lines up behind me, and I wait for him to run a soothing hand over my skin.

He doesn’t prepare me for the first hit.

The leather bites into my skin, and I call out loudly in surprise, my ass burning, tears already threatening to spill from my eyes. But I welcome the sensation that follows, the warmth between my legs, the tingle rushing over my flesh.

“We need to work on your volume,” he says, and then slams the belt down again, pulling another loud noise from my mouth. Leaning over me, he tugs me up by the hair and levels me with a stare. “I want you silent for this. One fucking sound comes out of that pretty mouth, and I start all over again. Understand?” When I don’t answer, he lets out a deep sigh. “Words, Kat.”

“You told me to be silent,” I say dryly.

He scoffs and pushes to standing, retaking his position behind me. “Five more. You make a noise, that number won’t be goin’ down.”

Slap.

It comes down hard and fast, and I can’t help the sound I make, the moan that falls from my mouth.

“Still at five, Kat,” he murmurs. And he slams the leather down again. I whimper this time, but he clicks his tongue. “That doesn’t sound like silence.”

Another, and my skin is screaming, but this time I clamp my lips between my teeth and squeeze my eyes shut, and I manage to let out only a small huff of air.

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