Page 57 of That Girl is Trouble

When I obey, flipping onto my stomach, he lathers his hand with the butter and rubs it on my raw ass cheeks, the welts already stinging as he lathers up my skin.

I wince. “Ouch. Okay Axe, God. That’s good.”

“It’s not,” he says, dodging my hands as I swat him away. “I warned you. This will leave a mark. Not one that will be gone by your next shift.”

“I can skip work.”

His touch disappears. “No,” he says, his tone laced with a wicked satisfaction, “you’ll go to work. Try to cover this up, and I’ll go twice as hard on you next time. You leave this, Kat. So everyone can see what I did. Who you belong to.”

Who I belong to.

Last time, I let myself believe that I could be his. In the end, that was a fantasy. This is no different. Despite wanting this, and god, I want it, there’s no chance in hell I’m falling into his shit again. This is a thrill. Plain and simple. A way to get my heart beating. Like jumping into the water at the highest point of the ravine or driving too fast down the highway. There’s a risk, danger, no guarantee I come out in one piece.

And I’ll die before I let Axe Donovan take one more goddamn piece of me.

16

16 months ago

July

The hot water cascades over my head, burning the cuts on my lips and cheeks. Bruises are already forming on my chin, ribs, and lower back. Even a light cough sends jolts of pain to the pit of my stomach.

I got my ass handed to me last night. If it weren’t for that burst of strength I mustered towards the end, I’d have surely lost—the fight and Kat.

Fucking Kat.

The girl was passed out by the time I came to uncuff her around two this morning. I released her, threw a blanket over her body, and then left her alone. I took refuge on my couch for the night, which I’m already regretting. Slept like garbage, and those shitty cushions did my bruised body no favours.

It’s like I’ve been run over by an eighteen-wheeler, and I guess, in a way, I have been. That guy was a fucking tank.

Closing my eyes, I dip my head back and soak in the way the scalding water relieves my aching muscles. It’s an effort to keep my mind off her. The girl still sleeping in my bed. Her red ass after I was done with her last night. Blood rushes to my dick at the thought—her cries turning into moans, the way she spread her legs, inviting me in, her smooth fucking pussy just begging to be touched.

Somehow, I kept my dick from taking over and doing something stupid. Though, I’m still half convinced I should walk into that room right now and give her exactly what she wanted from me last night. There were a dozen women I could have fucked after I left her chained to my bed, and god, I needed to, but the one I kept telling myself not to go near was the only one I was thinking about.

A light breeze slides over my skin, and I snap my eyes open as the curtain dances, billowing into the spray, and a completely naked Kat steps in front of me.

Kat. Naked. In my shower.

I drop my eyes from her face to her tits and then lower, taking in every curve and bend of her body—slim waist, wide hips, perfect little cunt that I’m thinking would taste real good on my tongue.

“Kat,” I choke. “What the fuck are you doing?”

She tilts her head, taking me in, perusing my face and chest and ribs. Her stance is casual, like we’ve seen each other naked a thousand times. As if she’s jumping into the shower with me like it’s a typical fucking Tuesday. I don’t back away when she closes the distance between us. Instead, I grit my teeth and pull myself up straighter, giving her a look that would send any other woman scurrying away.

“Jesus, Axe,” she whispers, completely ignoring the warning painted on my face. “You took a fucking beating last night. You shouldn’t have done that.”

Her hands are on my chest, her touch light as she examines the bruises, the purple and the red and the blue marking up my skin. The marks I got for her.

“Why?” she asks, stepping closer, her nipples near-touching my chest, my hard dick practically grazing her stomach.

“I didn’t want them to have you.”

“Why?”

Because I want you. Because even after seven goddamn months, you still occupy far too much real estate in my mind. It’s what she wants me to say, what her eyes are pleading for me to tell her, but I stay silent on the subject.

“Get out, Kitty. Don’t make me ask again.”

---