Page 22 of Their Cruel Love

“It was time. There is space for only so much deception in this sort of relationship. If you want to use Melissa as a CNC name, you can,” he tells her. “To us, you’re Phoebe Bartholomew. You should have known we would check your ID, your sexual status, and tests.” He smiles. “Yes, we can access your medical data. You’re here. We see you for who you are, but I think you’re okay with that by now.”

Then he waits. Razor is good at waiting. I’ll give him that.

I release her mouth and she moves her head to look at me then at him again. Finally she nods. “Okay.”

“You wanted CNC, that’s what we aim to give you. Also, okay?”

She squirms against me, and on purpose or not, she rubs her ass into my cock. I think it’s nerves—why she’s moving—but I suck in a breath then shift one hand lower to cup her breast.

Slowly, I revolve my thumb over her erect nipple before I lean down to gently bite the angle of her neck a few times. Already, she shows red there—from my last bite.

Her soft moan and the slight sagging of her bodyweight tell me her answer.

“She wants it.” I turn her to face me, keeping her throat in hand so she cannot get away. “Say it.”

“And your truth?”

“Mine?” She wants my name. “Later, I promise.”

Phoebe looks at the floor between us. “I do want this, but first I want—” Then she quickly raises her hand and is almost at my mask.

Laughing, I grab her wrists and spin her. “No. It comes off when I say.”

“You’re not just an adjudicator!” she spits out.

I force her toward the bed, drop her there, and kneel on her ass, still holding those dainty girl-hands. “No. I’m not.” I call to Razor, “Cuffs.”

“You said truth!” she squeaks that past the bed material her face is buried in. Her head is half-turned, and she struggles to get loose.

“When I say, you get to know. Later tonight, I said. Do we need to gag you, Phoebe?” I give her a shake; my hands are now locking down her elbows.

It’s the first time I’ve said her name to her, for seven years, and it smarts. It stings me with bitterness. I’ve got her in my power, and she doesn’t quite know it.

I will make her know, soon. That moment must be calculated so I can extract the ultimate sweetness of revenge. I bare my teeth and give her another violent shake. “Answer!”

Razor frowns at me.

I draw a few breaths and nod to him. Anger is justimproper here. Punishment, that is valid for wrong-doings, but not anger. It makes me think. I vowed to not get angry with her. Let the punishment suit the crime.

Easily said. Not so easy to do.

“No gag,” she finally gasps out, and the movement of her perfectly pink lips, where they’re smooshed against the quilt, makes me consider kissing her.

Takes me a second to remember she has agreed to CNC, tonight, with us in charge, and no gag.

“No talking then,” I tell her.

Razor clears his throat.

“I’m good,” I tell him. He eyes me, nods. “Put the cuffs on her.” I jerk my chin at the cupboard, and he goes over and unhooks a pair.

Phoebe is under my hands, my power. My knee is on the bed beside her. I can see her face, her eyes swiveling so she can see me.

Problem is, how do you punish a girl for her family financially ruining yours?

Or for blocking me seven years ago.

For not letting me in to console her or to understand why she did what she did.

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